narrow corridor. Within three steps, Lawrence starts to go
fuzzy. I gasp. “It’s happening.” “Do you feel anything?”
“Why would I? You’re the one disappearing.”
“Keep going,” he says, though his voice is becoming more
muffled.
“We should stop.”
Even though he’s fading before my eyes, I can still feel his
grip on my hand. He pulls me toward the lawn.
“Lawrence, I’m freaking out. I want to go back.”
“Keep going!” His voice is garbled and faint. Vanishing.
I stumble into the yard, pulled by the fading shape in
front of me. His grip lightens, like sand sifting through
my fingers. My pulse is pounding in my head. My ears are
ringing.
“Stop!” I shout. I make out the slightest suggestion of his
silhouette before he’s gone.
“Lawrence! Go back to the beach! Hurry!” Frantic, I
smash through green branches until, gasping for breath, I
collapse onto the sand.
What is happening? I’m losing it. I am legitimately losing it.
Or maybe I’m not. Maybe this is the end of the world. Not a
big bang but a whimper. Everyone just vanishes. It would make
a fantastic sci-fi novel.
Two hands clamp down on my shoulders. “Cassandra.”
Screaming, I whirl around. Lawrence is on his knees before
me, panting and pale, but flesh and bone.
“Did you see Ned?” he asks.
“What?”
“Ned.”
I blink. “What are you talking about?”
“Ned was on the back lawn. You didn’t see him?”
I stare at him, my brain unable to handle all of this. I feel
sick, light-headed. I bend forward to keep from throwing up.
Lawrence’s shoulders rise and fall with his breath. His eyes scan
my face, as if searching for answers embedded somewhere in
my eyes.
“Are you a ghost?” he whispers.
“What? No! What are you—? Of course I’m not!”
He cocks his head, unsure. My jaw sets. “If I were a ghost,
would you feel this?” I punch him in the arm.
“Say!” He rubs the spot, grimacing. Then his eyes narrow. “It
could be a trick. I’m not familiar with the supernatural.”
“I’m not a ghost, Lawrence.”
“Well, neither am I. So, what’s the explanation?” He taps his
fist to his mouth, deep in thought. “What if it’s the pathway
that’s haunted?”
“But we’ve both walked it a hundred times and nothing
strange has ever happened,” I say. “Whatever is going on, it has
something to do with you.”
“Or you.”
“Or us together…”
Our eyes meet. Lawrence pushes his fingers into the sand,
absently carving a line as he thinks. Then he looks up hesitantly.
“I say we try it again. Maybe if we run, we can make it to the
house together.”
I shake my head, but he grabs my hands.
“Once more. Please.”
We try it three more times. Running at full speed the first
time, crawling on hands and knees the second, and pausing in
the middle the last time to examine the bushes and surroundings. But each pass brings the same result. The person in front vanishes, as if some otherworldly force is determined to blot
them out.
As the sun dips low, the sky orange and purple with the
coming twilight, Lawrence and I sit on the beach in silence,
staring out at the waves like the first time we met. But I have
no words this time. No witty punch lines. What can you say
when faced with the inexplicable?
Lawrence pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling. And then
suddenly he snaps his head up. “What?” I ask.
“What year is it?”
“Excuse me?”
“What year do you think you’re from? You said nineteen
twenty-two was more than ninety years ago.”
“Because it was.”
He swallows hard, says nothing.
“Do you dispute this fact?”
For a long pause, he only stares at me. Then he releases a
shaky breath and rubs his face.
“Is it possible?” He mutters to himself. “From the first time I
met her, all the confusion, all the strange insisting.”
“What are you talking about?”