“Because he is. We were on the beach and … Jamie, his body washed ashore.”
“I don’t believe it.” Jamie steps back. “He’s a US citizen. They would have told Grandpa. You have to be wrong.”
“They haven’t identified him yet. We just came from the beach. We were just there.”
“No. No. You’re wrong.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say.
“Did you see his face?” my brother shouts.
“He was wearing your jacket. That’s why they thought his name was … It was him.”
“It wasn’t.” Jamie’s acting like denial can make something true. But it can’t. And no one knows that better than me. “It can’t be —”
“James.” At the sound of Grandpa’s voice, my brother’s face goes white. Slowly, he turns, and just that quickly Jamie knows. Grandpa doesn’t have to say that someone called the embassy — that it’s official. That it’s true. And there is nothing anyone can say to change it.
It takes a long time to fall asleep, and when I do, I dream of bodies.
I dream of ghosts.
Some are floating on the waves and others lie in clouds of smoke, but all are just out of my reach. I’m far too late to save them. And yet I try, over and over, tossing and turning until my legs are tangled in my sheets and I’m covered in sweat.
I blame it on the chaos that’s filled the embassy for hours, on the meds that I’m not taking. It’s natural, I tell myself, to be haunted. But as I lie somewhere in that place between sleep and wake, it takes a while to realize that I’m not making up the voices.
“Ah, she looks so sweet.”
“Should we wake her?”
“Don’t touch her! I touched her once. It was a mistake.”
Slowly, the whispers penetrate the haze that surrounds me and pull me gently from the dream.
When I open my eyes, Rosie’s face is inches from mine. “Good morning!” Her voice is too chipper and entirely too loud. I don’t know what time it is, but the room is bright, and decidedly not empty.
“Good. You’re up,” Megan says, plopping down on the foot of my bed.
“Now I am.”
Slowly, I push upright, trying to hide my worry. Was I talking in my sleep? Did they hear me? What dream was it this time? I have to wonder as I look at my friends, hoping they didn’t hear enough to figure out any of my secrets.
“What are you two doing here?”
“Three!” a voice calls through the window.
I throw off my covers and go over to look out at Noah. He’s trying to ease his way onto one of the limbs of the tree outside, but he’s bigger than Megan and Rosie, and the limb is bending under his weight. He has a death grip on the tree trunk and all the color has drained from his face.
“Rosie, how do you make this look so easy?” he asks.
Rosie shrugs. “I’m little, but I’m strong.”
“Noah,” I say slowly, “why don’t you try coming in through the door?”
Noah shakes his head. He keeps his gaze on the ground. “Can’t.”
“Noah, you’re gonna get yourself killed breaking into the US embassy. And I’m pretty sure, diplomatically speaking, that’s frowned upon. Now climb down and come to the door like a sane person.”
I have no right to question anybody’s sanity, but my friends don’t know enough to say so.
“That’s the thing, Grace …” Rosie looks up at me. “We had to climb over from Germany because the main gates are kind of busy.”
I’m just starting to say something when the limb cracks. Noah winces, and I turn and yell, “Are you coming in or aren’t you?”
“I’m good out here. You guys just … talk loudly.”
“Talk about what?” I’m still half asleep, and I really need to go to the bathroom. I want to eat something and go back to bed and wake up when I can convince myself that the last twenty-four hours were a dream. But they weren’t. I can tell by the looks on my friends’ faces. “What are you guys doing here?”
Megan and Rosie share a glance, and then Megan steps slowly forward.
“Grace, we have a problem.” That’s when I notice she’s holding her phone.
There’s a video paused on the screen, and Megan presses PLAY. At first, the screen is too small for me to make out the moving image. For a second, I don’t know what I’m watching.
“What is it?” I ask.
Megan turns up the volume and instantly the audio fills my silent room. Only then do I recognize the flickering light of the bonfire, hear the sickening sounds of the hits.
And when Alexei shouts, “Touch her again, and I will kill you,” the words are as clear as a bell.
“There were four different versions from four different angles uploaded the morning after the party,” Megan says. “You can hear him say it on every one.”
“That’s online?” I ask, panic rising. “Who put it up? We’ve got to get it taken down. Now.”