“Something,” Elkin says flatly.
“Very funny. I spill my guts and you go and make a joke about it. Let’s just forget it then, okay? That’s what’s easier.” Muzi holds a claw to each temple and makes buzzing sounds like he’s got mind control. “Okay, Elkin, yesterday never happened. Now go ahead and get in the pool, bru. No use in me freezing my ass off all by myself.”
Elkin lifts his right foot and steps into the water, almost as if he were expecting a solid surface, but then sinks straight down to the bottom. Muzi laughs at first, but panic sobers him up when he sees Elkin isn’t moving at all. Muzi swims down, grabs him in his arms, then kicks back up to the surface, struggling under Elkin’s heft. They break the surface long enough for Muzi to catch a mouthful of air, and then down they go again.
“Swim, damn it!” Muzi says, his voice a spray of air bubbles underwater. Elkin starts to kick, weakly but enough, and together they make their way to the pool’s edge. Elkin isn’t breathing. With everything he’s got left, Muzi hoists his best friend out of the water.
Hard, ragged shivers run through Muzi’s body as he looks down at Elkin, wishing he hadn’t bunked school the week his health class covered CPR. He presses his lips against Elkin’s cold, blue ones and breathes three strong breaths, even though Muzi barely has breath to call his own. He then pounds Elkin’s chest with a doubled fist. “I swear, I’ll kill you if you bladdy die on me!”
Elkin’s head lolls to the side and he coughs out an unseemly amount of water. He blinks his eyes a few times, as if risen from a dream, then he begins to shiver.
“Let’s get inside before we both catch pneumonia.” Muzi helps Elkin to his feet.
“Shit, man. You’ve gotta try this new stuff Rife gave me,” Elkin says through chattering teeth. “This stuff is prime. Seriously, they could cut your whole dick off tonight and you wouldn’t give a rat’s puckered ass.” He scratches his head and looks down at his sopping clothes, then cackles. “I can’t even remember how I got out here!”
“Yeah, yeah. I think we’ve both had enough godsend for one weekend.”
“So you’ve tried it?”
Muzi rolls his eyes and props the screen door open with his elbow as he guides Elkin inside. Okay, so they’re definitely forgetting about yesterday. Completely. Yeah, it hurts a bit, but whatever. He’ll play along. “Ja, I’ve tried it. Hallucinations. No inhibitions. Makes you do stuff you’ll probably regret for the rest of your life.”
“I was a fucking purpose, man! You should have seen me.”
“Porpoise, idiot. Yesterday never happened. I get it. Now stop acting like an ass.”
“Friday never happened? What’s so bad about Friday?”
“Saturday. Saturday never happened.”
“But it’s happening right now.”
“Today’s Sunday, Elkin.”
“No way! That means . . .” Elkin stares at Muzi’s crotch and pantomimes scissors with his fingers. “I missed it? Man, I was going to surprise you with balloons and everything. Sorry. It’s really Sunday?” He scratches his head again. “I’ve blacked out before, but I’ve never lost a whole day.”
Muzi’s heart drops to his gut. What if Elkin isn’t playing? Maybe he’d hit his head on the side of the pool, or his brain had been starved too long of oxygen, or maybe his drug use had finally killed one too many brain cells, or . . .
No.
The flash behind his eyes comes again, this time more intense. There’s fear, fear so acute that Muzi nearly vomits. A fist comes at him so fast he doesn’t have time to see who’s behind it. It connects right below his eye, and all at once his brain rings out with pain. “You no good piece of shit,” says the man behind the fist, and though Muzi is too dazed to see straight, he recognizes it as Elkin’s father. The scene fades, but the fear sticks. Muzi grabs Elkin tight in his arms and doesn’t let go. He remembers the shiner Elkin had a few months ago. Said he’d got it at rugby practice, Ray Collin’s sharp elbow had caught him in the ruck as they scrambled for a loose ball.
“What the hell are you doing, Muzi?” Elkin squirms in his grip.
Something’s wrong. Something’s terribly wrong. He’d somehow linked to his cousin’s memories, and now Elkin’s. He’d made Molly play quiet by herself and made his best friend forget what had been the most intimate moment of Muzi’s sixteen years of life. And if he can make a person forget about that, he can make them forget about anything.
A smidge of guilt returns, but this time it’s all his own, because once Muzi figures out how to control his new gift, he knows he’ll never want to stop.
Chapter 15
Riya Natrajan
Riya Natrajan lingers under her sheets, fighting and twisting and turning, avoiding the sunlight seeping through her eyelids. Her alarm clock goes off for the third time, and again she smacks it. She’s left in the quiet of her thoughts. Her body feels strange, light, cottony. But her mind is her own, not gaffed or buzzed or high.
She sits bolt upright, covers slipping off, her negligee a whisper against her skin. The air is cool enough to stand the hairs on her neck on end. Riya Natrajan feels the gentle tremors of her heavy-footed neighbors up at the crack of dawn. The slight sway on the sixty-fifth floor of this luxury hotel sits softly in her gut. She feels a dozen things, but for the first time in almost two decades, pain isn’t one of them.
And it makes her uncomfortable.
Riya Natrajan dials her manager on the hotel’s phone—yes, she still actually uses one—then draws her covers up and over her chest. Nothing he hasn’t seen on a dozen occasions, but this time of morning, these things are best left to discretion. The line rings. Adam picks up, deep, rough circles under his eyes from their hectic night of last-minute concert changes.
“Hey, love,” his voice scratches. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
She pauses. What’s she supposed to say? He doesn’t know about her multiple sclerosis—Adam, who she’s entrusted with her career, life, and even her heart a few times. But she can’t actually share this miracle, not with him. Not with anyone.
“Are you feeling okay? You’re not canceling this afternoon’s rehearsal, are you?”
“No, nothing like that. I’m feeling fine. Great in fact.” Her voice is chipper. Actually chipper! She can’t bear to spend another moment in bed, so she stands up, stretches, flings her arms out in each direction.
“Hmmm,” Adam groans. “Now I know something’s wrong. It’s not LSD again, is it? Please tell me it isn’t.”
“Adam, go back to bed. Sorry I woke you.”
He yawns wide. “Take care of yourself, Riya. Contrary to popular belief, divas can live well into their forties. I’ve seen it happen once or twice.” Adam attempts a wink, but his lid sticks shut.