I sink against the wall and wrap my arms around my knees because it’s the only way I can keep from shaking. I catch my breath. The second floor is grayer, the air is colder, and I gulp.
What did they do to her?
What did they do to her?
What did we do to her?
I can’t stop trembling, but I need to find more signs of Kyra’s life here.
But the second floor, which consists primarily of bedrooms that were used when the spa was still a tourist attraction, is mostly empty. Aside from a few footsteps in the dust, it’s largely untouched. I zigzag my way through the two wings of the building, until I reach the last room in the east wing.
The door stands slightly ajar, and inside, I see a flash of color.
A bright blue sleeping bag sits on top of an old bed. A portable radiator stands at the foot of the bed, and at the head is a bedside table with a lamp and a book on it.
The book is in my hands and clutched to my chest before I’m aware of what I’m doing.
Oral Tradition and Storytelling in the Arctic. Kyra read this book until it started to fall apart. I almost laugh out loud. Nerd. My loveable, weird best friend. This was the Kyra I knew.
I sit on the bed, and my vision blurs. She was here.
The room wouldn’t be remarkable but for the fact Kyra stayed here. The bedside lamp switches on and off—apparently Aaron fixed the generator. A bundle of purple cloth lies next to the pillow. I pick it up and unfold it. It’s a scarf with subtle threads of silver and tiny stars sewn onto it. They follow constellations. The Big Dipper. Cassiopeia. Cygnus—the swan. Lyra. Orion. The stars we saw together.
I gave this scarf to Kyra for her seventeenth birthday, almost a year ago. When Mom accepted her new job, Kyra held me close, wrapped the scarf around us, and reminded me we’d still be under the same night sky.
I bring the scarf to my face and inhale. There is no trace of her. My hands thump back into my lap as I take in the rest of the room.
The walls are covered with writing. It’s the same phrase, repeated over and over again.
I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.
Now nothing can stop my shaking. I stand, clinging tightly to the scarf, and move from one wall to the other.
I can’t stay.
It’s everywhere, on all the walls. Scrawled in pencil and pen, in blue and black and the bloodiest red. All in Kyra’s distinctive script.
Then above the door:
They’re watching. The shadows, Corey. They’re always watching.
I want to reach up and trace my name, but it’s too high. Higher still, in the farthest corner, more scribbles: Don’t go.
Nightmares
Eight Months Before
We spent lengthening early summer nights at the spa, when it was still light enough for Kyra and me to walk home, no matter the hour. We lay on the roof, staring up at the midnight sun, shoulder to shoulder.
“I hate summer,” Kyra said. “The light goes on forever, and my thoughts won’t stop. I can’t breathe here.”
I threaded my fingers through hers. “Winter will come soon, and the nights will be darker again.”
“Not soon enough.” She sighed. “Besides, you’re scared of the dark.”
“I don’t like shadows. I don’t like not being able to see. I am not scared of the dark.”
She smiled. “Liar. You’re terrified of night, which seems rather irrational for an aspiring astronomer. But I’ll stand beside you. I’ll face the shadows with you.”
“I’m not scared,” I lied. But I was. Scared of the darkness, of the nights, ever since Dad left. Scared of waking up in the morning to discover another part of our family missing.
“It’s okay if you are.” She muttered something else but so quietly that I couldn’t hear it. I could guess though. I was terrified of her nights too.
I clung to her hand. “What if we can’t build a life outside of Lost, even with Mom’s new job?”
She smiled. “You can always come back to me.” With her free hand, she brushed a twig out of my hair. “I’m scared too.”
I shifted so I could look at her.
She didn’t speak for the longest time. “It scares me to think that my episodes will overtake me, that I’ll lose myself completely. It scares me to think that one day, I’ll see myself the way Lost sees me. That I won’t be enough.”
I hesitated and in that moment, Kyra tried to pull away from me. I held on tight. Kyra was always so full of life and wonder that I couldn’t imagine her losing that. I didn’t want to. “If that ever happens, I’ll come back for you. I’ll stand beside you. I’ll face the shadows with you,” I said. “But you’ll tell me, won’t you?”
She squeezed my hand, her thumb rubbing my palm. “I will always tell you everything. I promise.”
I leaned back against the shingles. “You matter, Kyr. To me. To your family. To Lost, even if they don’t always understand you.”
“Then why don’t I feel like I’m enough? Why does trying to fit in hurt so much? I can’t always be there for you, and it feels like I keep disappointing you—keep scaring you away.”
“You don’t. Don’t even think that.” I blinked back tears I didn’t want her to see, but I couldn’t keep them from my voice. I propped myself up on one elbow. “We’ll always be here for each other. And you should never settle for enough.”
She buried her head against my shoulder, and in that embrace I could feel all of her pain. I held her. She shivered, and I cradled her closer. Kyra’s sorrow left me empty, and I didn’t know how to relieve it. But together we held our darkness up to the light, and it became easier to carry because we were not alone.
The Way the World Changes
I spent more time at the spa than I’d anticipated, and the sun has reached its highest point in the sky when I start back to town. Two lone figures walk back from the lake. I recognize Piper’s silhouette, but I can’t tell who the other person is until he looks up, and I see that it’s Sam. Sam Flynn. The boy who never spoke and never smiled is now trading gibes and grinning at Piper.
Piper laughs.
Then Sam spots me. He points and says something, but I look away before Piper responds. I keep my head down as I walk back to Main. I pass two young girls having a snowball fight in their yard. Their squeals sound out of place, but they draw a smile from me nonetheless. It’s the first time I’ve heard children laugh since I arrived.
“Corey!” Piper calls from behind me.
I stuff my hands deep into my pockets and pretend I don’t hear. I don’t want to deal with her hypocrisy right now.
But this is one of the downsides of a town the size of Lost; everyone can find anyone here if they want to. I used to think that was an upside. I felt like it was impossible to feel lost here—or to lose yourself.
“Corey.” Piper’s voice sounds a lot closer now, and I can’t avoid her any longer.
I stop, but I don’t turn.
She catches up with me and drags me to a corner, away from the road. She’s pale and the circles under her eyes are dark. “How are you?”
I’ve had enough. I can’t play this game anymore. “I went to the spa.”
“And did you get the answers you were looking for?” she asks, although I’m quite sure she already knows.
“None at all.”
Piper shakes her head and lets go of my arm. She looks genuinely disappointed, but she doesn’t hold back. “You come barging in to investigate a murder that never happened. You come to tell us all that we did wrong when you weren’t even here. You don’t understand how much Kyra meant to this town.”
“Is that why you kept her locked away in a ruined building? An artist, whose only job it was to produce? Did her meaning come from serving as Lost’s own private oracle? Or did you actually see her as a member of this community?”
“Her art mattered.”
“Her art was hardly the most important thing about her. She didn’t even care about it.”
“She loved her life in Lost Creek.”