“No,” he says. “You’re not, Calla.”
Clouds surround me and lift me up and carry me away from logic, from reason, from reality. I fight to keep my feet down, to keep from being lifted away, into the sky, across the ocean.
“How do I come back?” I ask, and my voice is like a child’s.
Finn stares at me, and his eyes are blue rocks, blank and shiny and bright.
“You focus. You do what you have to do. You think you have to be me, but you don’t. I’m fine where I am, Calla.”
“But you’re dead,” I almost whimper.
He grins, the crooked one that I love, the one I know like the back of my hand.
“Is that what I am? And if so, is that a bad thing? When you’re dead, there’s nothing to worry about. I’m ok, Cal. Come back. Just come back.”
“I can’t do it without you,” I say firmly, because that’s what I know in my heart.
Finn rolls his eyes. “Of course you can. You were always the strong one, Calla. You always were.”
“But I don’t know how to come back,” I tell him. “Even if I wanted to, I don’t know how. I’m too lost, Finn. I’m lost.”
Finn is unsympathetic though, and his voice is firm.
“Do you know what I always did when I was lost?” Finn asks, and he’s holding my hand again. I shake my head because I don’t, and so he tells me. “I re-trace my steps.”
“But…” my whisper trails off, and so I bolster myself. “But where do I start?”
Without Finn, I don’t know if I want to start at all.
He stares at me because he knows me, because he knows what I’m thinking better than anyone else.
“You start at the beginning, Calla. Choose a point of reference that you know is true, and start there. Don’t let anything get in your way, and don’t try to fool yourself, no matter how much pain you think the truth will cause. Do you understand?”
I do.
But I don’t want to.
“Reality is real,” he tells me sternly. “I’m not. You’ve been given a gift, Calla. Don’t waste it. You have to find your new reality without me.”
“But how can I do that when you’re my point of reference, Finn?” my voice fractures. “How can I decide what is real when you aren’t?”
My chest hurts and I can’t breathe, because every breath I take is one more step that I take further away from my brother.
“You just have to find a way,” he answers, and his words are cool and unflinching.
My tears are hot and I squeeze his hand because no matter what he says, I’m not letting go.
“I’m sorry, Calla.” Finn’s voice is small. His slim shoulders are hunched now and he’s angled away from me.
“Sorry for what?”
“I’m sorry for everything.”
The clouds clear for a minute, then surround me again.
“But it wasn’t your fault.”
“It wasn’t?” Finn sighs. “Honestly, it doesn’t matter anymore. Fault, cause, roots. None of that matters. All that matters is you. You have to face what is real.”
His hand starts to fade and he seems to slip into the air, away from me. I grab at him, but my fingers come up empty.
“Finn!” I call. “Come back! Don’t leave me!”
But he’s gone, and I’m alone, and all that is left is Finn’s soft voice, and it seems to come from nowhere, yet everywhere.
“If you have to live for both us, then do it,” he whispers. “But live.”
“Finn?” I ask hesitantly, but there is no answer.
He’s truly gone.
The room is empty and cold and stark.
My entire life, my brother has been my other half. He’s loved me unconditionally, completely, with everything he has.
And now he’s dead, and he’s asking me to do something.
Something hard.
To exist without him.
To figure out, once and for all, what is true,
What is real.
I have to do it.
And to do that, I have to re-trace my steps.
If Finn is gone,
There’s only one thing in my life that is true.
One true point of reference.
One important thing.
Dare.
With shaking hands, I close my eyes,
and try to think about Dare.
Because it’s always been about Dare.
I try to focus on his dark eyes, and his bright smile, and his swaying shoulders…but thoughts of him won’t form. They’re stubborn and elusive, and all I can think of is the beginning.
The beginning
The beginning.
With a start, I remember scratched words from Finn’s journal.
Mars solum initium est. Death is the beginning.
The beginning, the beginning.
I NEED TO START.
My breathing catches then quickens, because maybe once again, like always, Finn is telling me where to go.
Maybe the beginning is exactly where I need to be.
* * *
Chapter Two
The smell of the school gym permeates my nose. The dust motes float in the air, the floor scuffed and hot. Around me, the other kindergartners screech and run because Capture the Flag is our favorite game. Our skin smells like sweat, our breath is heavy and hot in our chests, and the sense of competition is so thick I can taste it.
I look up to find my brother Finn grabbing the other team’s flag. He’s as surprised by this turn of events as I am because one thing about my brother… he’s not athletic. It’s not his thing. His smile is beatific as he sprints toward our side, because if he can just manage this, he’ll be the hero of the day. We’ll win, and it will be because of him.
I wave my arms and motion for him to run harder, as if he weren’t already. His skinny arms are pumping, his legs scrambling. But he needs to run faster because I want everyone else to know how amazing he is.
“Calla!” Finn shrieks, and for a second, I think it’s from the excitement. “Calla!”
The tone of his voice is anxious or desperate and his hair is plastered to his forehead, and he’s not excited. He’s terrified. His eyes are wide and focused on something behind me, on the wall, on nothing.
I’m confused, but panicked, because something in me is triggered. The age-old innate instinct to protect my twin. Fight or Flight. Protect him.
I sprint to catch him, to try and shield him from the kids trying to bombard him for the scrap of material in his hand. I’m not sure what is wrong with him, but he’s no longer trying to play the game. He’s trying to escape it.
When I reach him, his eyes are sightless and he’s screaming in terror. Around me, I hear other kids snickering and see them staring and I want to punch them all, but I don’t have the chance.
Finn drops the flag and it flutters to the ground like an orange ribbon.
Before I can stop him, he shimmies up the old creaking rope, the one that goes to the ceiling. He hovers by the stained ceiling tiles, looking down at me, but not really seeing me.
“It’s here, Calla!” he screams. “It’s here. The demon. The demon. It’s eyes are black.” His eyes widen, and he shrieks again, shirking away as if something unseen is chasing him. He tries to climb higher, but there’s nowhere else to go. He’s at the top, next to the ceiling and something imaginary is chasing him and I can’t breathe.
What is happening?
My heart pounds and I grab the rope, climbing it as quickly as I can to get to my brother.
One hand after the other, I push with my feet. The thick twine cuts into my hands, burning and hot, but it doesn’t matter.
Only Finn matters.
But Finn isn’t seeing me. He looks through me, and shrieks and shrieks and shrieks.
He scrambles away, and I’m terrified.
“Finn, it’s me,” I tell him softly, my voice as steady as I can make it. “It’s me.”
I have to help. I have
to. What’s wrong with him?
I touch his shoe, lightly, so very lightly, so lightly that I think he won’t feel it.
But he does. His face twists and he turns because he thinks I’m a demon, and as he moves, his hands slip away from the rope.
Life is slow motion.
He falls away from the rope and he screams. He flails as he falls and the sound he makes as he hits the gym floor is startlingly soft, like a pillow. How can that be?
I’m stunned and detached as I stare down at my brother, at the blood pooling on the gym floor, at the teacher ushering the kids away from his body, at my brother, at my brother.
Finn’s light blue eyes are open and staring at me, but he’s not seeing me.
Not anymore.
Because he’s dead.
My father is an undertaker, so I know what death looks like.
I don’t remember how I get down from the rope, because my hands are numb, my heart is numb, my head is numb. I don’t remember who picks me up from school. All I remember is lying in bed and staring at the ceiling and feeling lifeless, like the whole world could fall into pieces and float away and I wouldn’t care. Because if Finn is gone, I don’t want to be here either.
The sadness presses on me like a heavy, heavy weight, and I know I can’t withstand it. It will crush me.
I close my eyes,
And it’s dark, and I dream.
I’m in a darker place, and my brother is there. His eyes are dark and murky, without whites, and I realize that he’s an embryo, and I’m an embryo and we haven’t been born yet. I reach out my webbed fingers and touch his face through the liquid, through the fluid, and he’s my brother. Although he doesn’t have hair yet, I know it. I feel him, I feel his heart.
He looks at me through the dark, and just as if he were speaking, I hear a voice. It’s him, it’s my brother, it’s Finn.
Save me and I’ll save you.
He is loud, and quiet, and everywhere, and nowhere.
Something is troubling him, and I feel it in my bones, so I nestle closer to take it, to absorb it, because I can’t let anything happen to him, not ever. I failed him once, and I’ll never fail him again.
He brings me comfort and I bring him comfort and that’s the way we’ll always be.
I feel his skin. I feel his heart beating against me.
I feel our cells splitting as we grow, as we develop, as we become beings.
Save me, and I’ll save you.
Yes, I will.
I will.
I awaken with a start, and the light is pouring into my bedroom window.
The bedding is pulled up to my chin and I untangle one hand, staring at it. My fingers are no longer webbed. My fingers are separate and long. I wiggle them in the light.
It was a dream.
It was a dream.
My thoughts are muddled though. It’s hard to focus and something moves in the corner. Something with dark eyes. It stares at me for a moment, then it’s gone, and I remember Finn’s scream.
“The demon is here, Calla!”
My heart is frozen as I sit straight up in bed and stare at the empty corner, where I could swear a black-eyed being was standing just a scant moment ago.
That’s impossible.
Impossible.
I feel so tired, so weak, so confused.
I shake my head, trying to clear it, but it refuses. The fog remains, mucking up my thought processes, interrupting everything.
From outside the door, I hear voices.
“Will she be ok?” my mother’s voice is anxious.
“Her hold on reality is tenuous.”
It’s a murmur that cuts through my panic.
I pause, halting all movement, not even breathing. The whisper comes from the other side of the door.
“No, I don’t want to do that. Not yet.” The voice is hissing and firm, and it can’t be real. There’s no way. I’m frozen as it envelopes me, as reality slithers further away.
“We have to. She wouldn’t want this.”
Confused, I stare at the wooden planes of the door, at the grain.
Is this really happening?
Or is my mind playing tricks on me?
I gulp and draw in a shaky breath.
“Anything could send her back over the edge,” the familiar voice cautions.
“That’s why we have to handle her carefully.”
Handle me?
The door opens and I look up to find three shadows looming over me.
My father.
My mother.
And someone I can’t see, a faceless, nameless figure lurking in the shadows. I peer closely, trying to see if it’s him, even while knowing in my heart that it can’t be Finn.
It’s impossible.
I scoot backward until my spine is against my brother’s bed. I’m a skittish fawn, and they’re my hunters. I’m prey because I’m in danger, and I don’t know why.
But they do.
“Calla,” my dad says, kindly and soothingly. “You’re ok. You’re ok. But I need you to trust me right now.”
His face is grave and pale. The air in this room is charged now, dangerous, and I find that I can scarcely breathe.
I brace myself.
Because deep in the pit of my stomach I feel like I can’t trust anyone.
When I open my eyes, the room is empty.
They’d given up.
Whatever they wanted to tell me, I’m safe from it now.
Because I’m alone.
With shaky steps, I climb to my feet and walk to Finn’s nightstand. I pick up his St. Michael’s medallion and fasten it around my neck. If he’d been wearing it at school, he’d be here right now. He’d be fine, he’d be safe.
Holding it in my fingers, I whisper the prayer, each word quick and stiff on my lips.
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.
I say the prayer three times in a row, just to make sure.
I’m protected.
I’m protected.
I’m protected.
I’m safe now. I’m wearing Finn’s medallion. I’m safe.
I’m just drawing a shaky breath of relief when the door creaks open again and I’m faced once again with my insanity.
My startled eyes flash upward, finding the impossible.
Finn.
My dead brother.
Standing in the doorway of the bedroom.
He walks in just like normal, and there is no blood, no fear, no crazy look in his eye. His hair is brown, his eyes are blue, like always.
He sits next to my bed, his face pale as he takes my hand and his hand is real, and he’s alive, and he’s here. He’s breathing and he’s warm and he’s here.
I exhale.
“The doctor says you’re crazy, Cal,” he tells me seriously. “You have to take your medicine, and everything will be ok.”
I’m crazy, and everything will be ok.
Will it?
But I nod because Finn is here, and I’ll agree to anything because he’s not dead.
He’s here.
And I’m here.
And I don’t care if I’m crazy.
Finn squeezes my hand, and I breathe and breathe and breathe.
“Our cousin is here,” he tells me finally. “He’s going to stay for a while. He’s nice and you’ll like him.”
I nod but I don’t really care. All I care about is that Finn is here and I had a nightmare and it wasn’t real.
My mom comes in and flutters about, and my dad speaks in a quiet voice, and they make me stay in bed. Later, my step-cousin comes in.
His voice is low as he introduces himself. He’s three years older and his name is Dare.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I say
politely, and I’m still tired. I look up at his face and I suck in my breath.
His eyes are black.
* * *
Chapter THREE
Black like the night, like the dark, like onyx. Black like obsidian, like ink. I can’t help but stare at Dare’s eyes as Finn and I walk with him along the trails a few days later.
“Why do you keep looking at me?” he asks with impatience. His hands are grubby because we’ve been outside, on the beach and on the trails.
“Because your eyes are black,” I tell him stoutly. Because honesty is the best policy.
He snorts. “They are not. They’re brown.”
With a flicker of hope, I study him again, watching the way the sunlight hits his eyes. He might be right. His eyes are very, very dark brown, like dark chocolate or the darkest of tree bark. Almost black.
But not quite.
I exhale in relief.
Finn watches me. He watches my relief, the way I can breathe now, and he sighs.
“Cal, it wasn’t real. You know it wasn’t.”
His voice is soft because I’d told him everything. They way he captured the flag, the way he’d seen demons, the way he’d died.
He’d laughed at first, until he realized I was serious. And then he made me promise not to tell the doctor, because the doctor and my parents already think I’m crazy and everyone is watching my every move. I have to rest, I have stay in bed, I have to take my medicine. It’s been exhausting.
“There is no black-eyed demon,” Finn assures me quietly, so quiet. I stare at Dare’s eyes from across the trail as he searches for pebbles to skip on the water. I’m not sure though, and Finn knows it.
“Trust me,” he instructs firmly. “You have to.”
“It felt so real,” I tell him finally, limply. “At first it was you. You were crazy, and then you died. You died, Finn. But when I woke up, you were alive and I was crazy. I am crazy. I’m so confused, Finn. What is happening to me?”
My brother looks at me, then away, and he grabs my hand.
“I don’t know. But I’m not dead and I won’t let you be crazy, Calla. Never tell mom and dad the things you see. Only tell me, ok?”
I nod, because I can see the wisdom in that. They can never, never know.
“It’s you and me, Cal,” he says solemnly. And he’s my brother, and I know he’s right.