Lux

  DEATH IS THE BEGINNING.

  The beginning.

  The beginning.

  I need to start.

  I drop the journal and take off running, back through the trees. The branches whip at my face and I slip around in the dew, but it doesn’t matter.

  I know why Finn wouldn’t come with me.

  He knew I’d find his journal, and he knew I’d stop him from whatever stupid thing he’s going to try and do. I can tell from his writing… he believes what Sabine told me. A sacrifice must be made, and he’s not going to let it be me.

  DEATH IS THE BEGINNING. I NEED TO START.

  A sacrifice.

  A sacrifice.

  The sacrifice is me.

  We pay for the sins of our fathers.

  I am the sin.

  I am the sacrifice.

  The words race through my head, over and over, as I burst from the trees, and I see him. I see Finn, and he’s running with the hooded boy, with Death.

  I chase after them into Whitley, as I bound up the stairs, as I race to Finn’s room. It’s empty…except for Pollux and Castor. Finn had closed them up in the room, and there’s only one reason. So that they couldn’t follow him.

  “Go,” I tell them firmly. “Go find Finn.”

  They run from my room, their great bodies so loud as they thump down the halls. I follow as fast as I can, and I slam into Dare as he rounds a corner.

  “What the devil…?” he asks, and he’s confused and I shove past him.

  “My brother is in trouble,” I yell over my shoulder. He doesn’t ask questions, but I hear him behind me, I hear him running, I hear his breath. But I can’t pay attention to that. All I can do is follow the dogs. I chase them from the house, I chase them through the gardens, and I watch the tips of their black tails disappear through the gates of Whitley.

  “Calla, wait,” Dare grabs my arm. “We’ve got to get the car.”

  “There’s not time,” I mutter, and Dare yanks me to the side.

  “Then the scooters. We’ll never keep up.”

  The old scooters are next to the gate and I don’t know why they aren’t put away, but I’m grateful as I grab one and the battery is charged and I go full throttle down the road. Dare is with me on the other one, and we go and go, until the dogs race up a cliff.

  Our scooters make winding sounds and lag behind because the climb is too steep and so I cast mine aside and run, my breathing labored, because somethingsomethingsomething is going to happen. I can feel it, I can feel it.

  My brother.

  My brother.

  It’s a chant in my head and I can’t focus, and then I clear the crest at the top and there’s Finn.

  He’s standing on the edge and the dogs have skidded to a stop and we all watch my brother.

  “Don’t do it,” I plead with him because his face is serious and pale. “I don’t know what this is about, but please don’t do this, Finn. I need you.”

  “I need to save you,” he says simply, and his voice is emotionless and there is no fear in his eyes. Absolutely no fear. “It has to be me. I’ve always known. Dare told me long ago.”

  His black Converses teeter on the edge and he lifts his hands.

  “I love you, Calla,” he tells me. “I’d die for you. It’s got to be me, because it can’t be you.”

  Life is in slow motion, and he limply falls back, like he’s falling into bed, but instead, he falls off the side of the cliff.

  I race to the edge, and I watch and there’s no sound when he hits the water. No sound at all. How can that be?

  Dare grabs my shoulders and I scream and scream and scream, and then two black flashes sail over the edge next to me.

  Castor and Pollux.

  They dive right through the air with purpose and I remember what Sabine said.

  “He’d die to protect you.”

  Maybe they’d die to protect Finn, too.

  The dogs hit the water and I do hear them, and I turn, racing to the bottom, desperate to reach my brother and when my feet hit the wet sand, I run and the dogs are limping in from the surf, dragging my brother’s limp form between them.

  The dogs are bloody and they’re dragging their bodies on splintered legs and they’re broken broken broken, and a wave of familiarity rushes over me and through me and I’ve seen this before,

  I’ve seen this before,

  I’ve seen this before.

  I’ve been here before, but that’s not possible and I can’t think about it because all I can think about right now is my brother.

  I yank him away from the dogs and I breathe into his cold mouth, and he’s limp and he’s cold and he’s wet.

  I drag him onto my lap and we’re halfway into the water, and I hear Dare on the phone and he’s talking to someone.

  “There’s been an accident,” he’s saying, and I’ve heard those words before, from his mouth from his lips from his voice.

  “Was it?” I look up at him, and my eyes are burning burning burning. “Was it an accident?”

  Because Finn’s words his words his words. I’ve always known. Dare told me long ago.

  Dare closes his eyes, and Finn’s eyes are closed, and he’s limp and he’s cold and he’s dead.

  He’s dead.

  Death is the beginning and he needs to start.

  “I can’t do this without you,” I whisper in his wet ear. “Please God, please God, please God. Finn. Please.”

  Silver glints and it’s his St. Michael’s medallion and he was wearing it and he wasn’t protected he wasn’t protected.

  “Fuck you, St. Michael,” I scream and Dare’s hand is on my shoulder and I yank away because somehowsomehowsomehow, this is Dare’s fault. I feel it. I feel it. The pictures that Finn drew in his journal… Dare’s face was scratched out. Finn knew something I didn’t.

  “What did you do?” I screech at Dare, and I refuse to let go of my brother. I clutch at his buttoned up shirt, and I clutch at his cold skin.

  Help comes, but they’re too late, and they try to pry me away from my brother and I hate them I hate them I hate them.

  I hold my brother’s hand as they lift him into the ambulance, but there’s a sheet over his face and they know he’s dead and no one has the guts to make me move. No one.

  I ride with him to the hospital, and I hold his hand the whole way.

  “What did you do?” I ask Finn, into his ear. He doesn’t answer and the sheet is over his face. His hand doesn’t move and he’s dead and he’s dead.

  “Miss, you have to let go,” one of the paramedics tells me. She’s sympathetic, but firm, and they don’t know what to do with me.

  “Never,” I tell them. And that’s metaphorical, and they know that. My hand falls away and they take my brother.

  I sink to the floor and I stay there until Dare comes to get me, until he carries me to the car and straps me in and my head is on the window.

  “What did you do?” I ask him, my eyes closed.

  “Nothing,” he says simply. “That’s what I did.”

  He reaches over and his hand is warm. “Because it can’t be you, Calla. I can’t let it be you.”

  Nothing makes sense and when I get home, Sabine ushers me to my room and she forces me to drink tea, and I do it because I need the oblivion it brings.

  I need to be in darkness.

  I need to be with Finn.

  I can’t exist in a world without him. He’s my light. He’s my light.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  I’m wooden for days. I barely speak, I only eat what they force me to eat. I don’t want to exist, not without Finn.

  Jones takes me to church, because I need to pray, even if it’s to a God who took Finn away. It’s the only thing I can do.

  With a plain brick Gothic Revival exterior, the church looms against the cloudy sky, sort of severe and imposing.

  I’m hesitant as I peer out the glass.

  “It’s the Church of St. Thomas of Canterbury,” Jones tel
ls me. “This is where Savages go.”

  I know he means the family, but the irony isn’t lost on me because people seem savage to me right now, all people, particularly people who follow a God who takes away my brother.

  “I’ll wait, miss,” Jones tells me, settling into the seat. I nod, and with my shoulders back, I walk straight to the doors.

  Once inside, the demeanor of the church changes, from severe gothic, to lavishly decorated, firmly in line with Catholic tradition.

  It feels reverent in here, holy and serene. And even if I’m not a religious person, I enjoy it.

  The statues of saints and angels hanging on the walls are gilded and full of detail, including the crucifix of Christ at the front.

  His face is pained, His hands and feet are bleeding.

  I look away, because even still, it’s hard for me to imagine such a sacrifice, but at the same time, I can feel it. Because my brother is gone, and that’s the biggest sacrifice in the world.

  “Are you here for confession, child?”

  A low voice comes from behind and I turn to find a priest watching me. His eyes are kind above his white collar, and even though he doesn’t know me, this man, this priest, is kind simply to be kind.

  I swallow.

  “I’m not Catholic,” I tell him, trying to keep my words soft in this grand place. He smiles.

  “I’ll try not to hold that against you,” he confides, and he holds his hand out. I take it, and it’s warm.

  “I’m Father Thomas,” he introduces himself. “And this is my parish. Welcome.”

  Even his hands are kind as he grasps mine, and I find myself instantly at ease for the first time in weeks.

  “Thank you,” I murmur.

  “Would you like a tour?” he suggests, and I nod.

  “I’d love one.”

  He doesn’t ask why I’m here or what I want, he just leads me around, pointing out this artifact and that, this architecture detail or that stained glass window. He chats with me for a long time, and makes me feel like I’m the only person in the world, and that he has no place else to be.

  Finally, when he’s finished, he turns to me. “Would you like to sit?”

  I do.

  So he sits with me, and we’re quiet for a long time.

  “My mother used to come here, I’m told,” I finally confide. “And I just wanted to feel like I’m near her.”

  The priest studies me. “And do you?”

  My shoulders slump. “Not really.”

  “I’ve been here for a long time,” he says kindly. “I knew your mother. Laura Savage?”

  I’m surprised and he laughs.

  “Child, you could be her mirror image,” he chuckles. “It wasn’t hard to figure out.”

  “You knew her?” I breathe, and somehow, I do feel closer to her, simply because he was.

  He nods and looks toward Mary. “Laura is a beautiful soul,” he says gently. “And I can see her in your eyes.”

  I swallow because of pain and the priest blinks.

  “I’m so sorry. She’s with the Lord now, though. She’s at peace. Your brother is too.”

  My breath leaves me. “Did you know my brother?”

  Father Thomas shakes his head. “No. But I gave him the Last Rites at the hospital. And I’ll be coming to the family mausoleum this week for his funeral.”

  My eyes burn and fill, and I twist and turn Finn’s medallion in my fingers.

  “I cursed St. Michael,” I admit to him. “On the beach. Do you think that’s why we couldn’t save Finn?”

  He’s surprised and his eyes widen. “Of course not, child. God and St. Michael knew your pain. You have to believe that. Everything happens for a reason.”

  He stares at the medallion and it’s around my neck and I don’t know why I’m wearing it. I guess because it’s Finn’s.

  “My mother gave it to my brother a long time ago,” I tell the priest. “But it didn’t work. It was supposed to protect him….”

  Father Thomas nods. “It was Finn’s time. Keep wearing the medallion. You’ll feel close to your brother and St. Michael will protect you, Calla. You just have to trust.”

  Trust.

  That’s actually a bit laughable in my current circumstances.

  “Let’s pray together, shall we?” he suggests, and I don’t argue because it can’t hurt.

  Our voices are soft and uniform as they meld together in the sunlight,

  In front of Christ on the Crucifix,

  and the two Marys.

  St. Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our defense against the wickedness and snares of the Devil. May God rebuke him, we humbly pray, and do thou, O Prince of the heavenly hosts, by the power of God, thrust into hell Satan, and all the evil spirits, who prowl about the world seeking the ruin of souls. Amen.

  “Do you believe in evil?” I whisper when we’re finished, and for some reason, my goose-bumps are back. I feel someone watching me, but when I open my eyes, Christ Himself stares at me. From his perch on the wall, his eyes are soft and forgiving while the blood drips from his feet.

  “Of course,” the priest nods. “There is good in the world, and there is evil. They balance each other out, Calla.”

  Do they?

  “Because energy can’t be destroyed?” I whisper. Because it goes from thing to thing to thing?’

  The priest shakes his head. “I don’t know about energy. I only know that there is good and evil. And we must find our own balance in it. You will find yours.”

  Will I?

  The priest examines me for a moment. “Twins are such an interesting thing,” he tells me. “Did you know that some believe that Cain and Abel were twins?”

  I shake my head.

  “There are scholars who believe that,” the priest nods. “They feel like they were the first example of the darkness and light capable in people.”

  “Cain killed his own brother,” I manage to say. “That’s pretty dark.”

  “And Finn died thinking he was saving you,” Father Thomas says. “That is light.”

  I don’t ask him how he knows that. I just thank him and stand up and he blesses me.

  “Come back to see me,” he instructs. “I’ve enjoyed our chat. If you’re not Catholic, I can’t hear your confession, but I am a good listener.”

  He is. I have to agree.

  I make my way out of the church, out of the pristine glistening silence, and when I step into the sun, I know I’m being watched.

  Every hair on my head feels it, and prickles.

  I turn, and a boy is standing on the edge of the yard, just outside of the fence. He’s watching me, his hands in his pockets, but I can’t see his face. His hood is pulled up yet again.

  With my breath in my throat, I hurry down the sidewalk to the car, practically diving inside and slamming the door behind me.

  “Has that guy been standing there long?” I ask Jones breathlessly.

  “What guy, miss?” he asks in confusion, hurrying to look out the window.

  I look too, only to find that he’s gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Finn’s bedroom is still and quiet. Since Castor and Pollux are dead, not even the dogs keep me company. Yet somehow, I still feel Finn in here, as though if I spoke to him, he’d answer.

  “Finn?”

  I feel ridiculous, but God, I miss my brother. It’s only been a few days without him, but it feels like eternity.

  There’s no answer, of course, and I press my forehead to the glass, watching the cars come and go. Finn is laid out in a room downstairs, for visitation. His funeral will be tomorrow and I can’t bear it.

  I lay with my face on his pillow and I close my eyes and I rest.

  “You don’t belong here, do you?”

  The voice is quiet, yet cool.

  Startled, I open my eyes and stare up at the boy in the hoodie. With a gasp, I sit straight up in bed, because the voice was feminine.

  His head is tilted ju
st enough that I can’t see his face.

  I peer toward him and his face is dark.

  “Who are you?” I ask, and my words sound hollow. He cocks his head but doesn’t answer, although there’s a low growl in his throat.

  “What do you want?”

  He’s calm, his head is down. But his arm comes up,

  And he points at me.

  He wants me.

  “Me?”

  “Of course.” I know him I know him I know him.

  But I can’t place from where.

  “I can help you, you know.”

  “You can?”

  He nods.

  “Let’s get out of here. I’ll show you where horrid things hide.”

  His smile is one of camaraderie, and any port in a storm.

  When we’re in the driveway, he turns to me.

  “Maybe you should’ve brought a wrap. You might get cold.”

  But he puts the top down on his car anyway, and we speed through the night, away from Whitley.

  “Where are we going?” I finally ask, relieved to be so far away.

  He glances at me.

  “Someplace you should see. If you think you want to be with Dare, you should know all about him.”

  “Do you know Dare?”

  “Of course,” he says. “He’s my brother.”

  I’m surprised, but not, because I knew that I knew that I knew that. I just don’t remember how. There’s something in his voice now, something rigid, and I startle, because maybe I shouldn’t have chosen this port.

  He turns down a dark road, a quiet lane, and then we pull to a stop in front of an old, crumbling building.

  “Come on,” he calls over his shoulder, traipsing up the steps. The sign by the door says Oakdale Sanitarium and I freeze.

  “What is this place?” I whisper as he opens the door.

  “You’ll have to see it to believe it,” he murmurs.

  In front of us, a long hallway yawns farther than I can see, the walls crumbling with age, the lights dim when he flips a switch.

  There’s no one here, but I can hear moans, screams, whimpers.