Dead River

Chapter Twenty-Six



When I wake, I’m in the middle of a big, fluffy bed piled high with white comforters and pillows. It’s Angela’s cabin, bright lacquered log walls covered in rustic frames holding wilderness scenes, windows open to the green pine boughs outside. I prop myself up on my elbows and inspect my white nightgown, unable to recall where or when I got such a strange piece of clothing. As I’m contemplating the contents of the bag I dragged up here, there’s a creaking in the doorway, and Trey appears.

He’s perfect. His face may not be clean-shaven, but his wounds are gone. He smiles at me.

This isn’t real, is it? I don’t say it. I don’t need to say it. He understands every word. He nods and slips a hand behind my neck, pulling me up to him in the most real kiss I’ve ever felt in my life. His lips burn mine, etching a permanent impression there. When he pulls away, I reach for him, wanting more, and when my hands graze his skin, I hear his voice, clear inside my head.

I’m moving on. Wanted to tell you something, though. I shouldn’t have denied it.

No, I say. Don’t. Say it to me when you’re holding me for real. Because you’re not moving on. I won’t let you.

You’re not moving on. My eyes flicker open. Unlike in my dream, this time the room is bathed in darkness. There is no strip of light under the door; the only brightness comes from the moon peeking through the pines. It’s late. My skin feels clammy, all except for my lips, which still burn from the kiss.

I won’t let you.

I stare at my hands, wondering what I could have meant. And all at once I remember the fireballs in the forest. The bright explosions that bewildered me and Justin.

They were mine. I created them myself. With my powers.

I pull off the covers and I’m wearing only a long thermal T-shirt, but I don’t think about the cold. I run barefoot down the stairs and out into the night as a chorus of owls hoots a welcome. I rush to the darkness, letting it envelop me, no longer afraid of what it might bring. I do not fear what is out here. Somehow, even in the darkness, I can find the place I’d last seen him. Take me there, please. Take me to him.

“Trey,” I whisper.

And suddenly he is lying before me, in the clearing, the moonlight making the sweat glisten on his forehead and bare chest. It’s the only thing that glows, because there is no shine left in him. His eyes are closed, but they flicker a bit when I approach him.

“Hey, you,” he mumbles.

“Hey,” I say, drawing his head onto my bare knees.

“I thought you were gone for good,” he says.

I wipe a tear from my eyes. “I thought the same thing about you.”

I think he tries to shrug, because his body tenses. “Soon.”

I shake my head. “Look, did you really mean what you … didn’t say?” I realize it’s stupid. I dreamed it. But there’s no time for it now. “Do you love me? Because I think I love you. Actually, I know I do.”

His mouth spreads into a smile. “Since I first met you. You and your attitude and your fancy-shmancy fishing pole.”

“What? Are you serious?” I sputter through tears. I can barely see him.

“You think I did all that for your momma because of her? It was for you, kid. Always you.” He reaches up to touch my face, but his hand falls back. I know he is too weak.

I know I don’t have much time. “I guess you were right about me. I am stronger than I’d thought,” I whisper, wiping my cheeks with the back of my hand. His forehead is strangely warm when I press my fingers against it. “And there’s this thing I think I can do.”

Just let this work, I pray as I close my eyes and concentrate on the one thing I know I really want.