“Everything hurts.” He begins to choke and turns to hang his head off the bed. The ice packs fall to the floor, and he empties his stomach once again.
“Just get through this, and it’ll be over. No more. You’re done.”
“No, no, no. Toby.” He is pleading with me, but he can’t possibly continue death tripping, especially given that we are no closer to getting a useful power to search for Toby.
Some power augmenter I am.
“I’ll be fine,” he says.
I wipe his face with a wet cloth. “No, you won’t. This isn’t working.”
“Do me a favor?”
“Anything.”
“Just trip me again, Stell. Just trip me. Please.” His desperation is excruciating.
“No, Sam. I can’t. It’ll just be worse after.”
“Then, I won’t stop. I’ll just keep tripping and tripping…” He laughs, but there is nothing the slightest bit funny about what he’s saying. “I can’t do it myself, so you have to help me. There are scissors in that bureau over there.”
“You need to sleep. Please just sleep. There’s not going to be any more dying.”
He begins to sob. “Don’t say that! That’s not fair!” Sam, usually so strong and rational, is like a child now. “The screaming won’t stop, and the headache won’t stop. You just have to kill me. You have to kill me! I would do it for you!”
“I can’t. I can’t.” This is a nightmare.
I use towels and the mop we have stashed in the room to clean up the floor for the umpteenth time.
He rubs his arms and then looks at me, his eyes red and weary. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay. This isn’t you. It’s not your fault.”
“Can you…can you get me some more water?”
“Of course. I’ll be right back.”
As much as I don’t want to be away from him when he needs me this much, I also can’t deny that I could use these few seconds to take a breath.
Costa is at the kitchen table when I get there. “How is he?”
I try to smile. “Tough.”
“Thank you, Stella, for everything that you’re doing. I know I’ve been an asshole.”
I nod. “You have. But it’s part of your charm.”
I wash my hands and face and then take a water bottle from the fridge. Just as I shut the door, a loud crash comes from the bedroom. Costa flies out of his chair and runs through the living room with me at his heels.
“Shit!” Costa yells, moving like lightning to Sam.
Sam is on the bedroom floor, surrounded by shards of broken mirror.
“Sam, no!” Then, Costa screams at me to get over there.
I finally make my feet move. He’s sitting on Sam, pinning his arms to the floor, and Sam is kicking and trying hard to maneuver out from under Costa.
“Let it go, Sam!”
Sam is clutching a jagged shard in his blood-soaked hand. “Fuck off!” he spits out.
Costa releases one arm just enough to slam it back onto the floor. Sam swears but doesn’t let go.
“Stella, get a pillowcase from that closet. Cut it into strips.” Costa nods at the scissors on the floor, the pair Sam wanted earlier.
I do what he asks, noticing the blood on the scissors. The blades are dull though, and cutting up the pillowcase is slow-going.
“Now, wrap up each wrist. Make ’em tight.”
It’s only then when I notice the precise slices on Sam’s wrists. The scissors must not have been sharp enough, so he broke the mirror. I guess we’re even now because I destroyed a mirror myself not that long ago. Wounds that lead to a death trip are gone upon surfacing, like Sam’s gunshot ones, but these on his wrist will take time because they have not caused his death. It’ll be an unpleasant reminder of this week. I wrap up one wrist while Costa holds him down. I’m trying to block out the fact that Sam is furious with me.
“Why are you helping him? You should be helping me! I thought you loved me!” he keeps repeating.
“I do love you, Sam. I love you so much.”
“Fuck you! You’re such a bitch!” There is venom in his voice.
Costa is angry now. “Hey! You’re the one being a little bitch. Keep your mouth shut, or you’re gonna say something else you’ll regret later.”
I move around them to get to Sam’s other wrist, and I slide the fabric under it. Before I tie it though, I’m compelled to stop and rub my thumb over his cuts. The blood doesn’t scare me now. In fact, it calls to me.
How could I have ever been repulsed by something so perfect? I wonder. It’s beautiful.
I start to get a little dizzy, a little high, as I smear the wetness onto my other fingers.
“Stella, snap out of it! Keep moving,” Costa orders.
Slowly, I look at him. Costa is so handsome, I notice. And he’s so in charge right now. When I look down again, I see my fingers on Costa’s arm, painting him with blood. The contrast against his fair skin is stunning, so artistic. I wonder what my own blood would look like on him. Plenty of sharp objects are across the floor, and I begin letting my eyes drift over the many choices.
“Stella!” Costa jars me enough that I pull my hand away. “Listen to me. It’s just the blood getting you crazy. And Sam reeks of death. It’s making you trippy. Just shake it off, okay? Shake it off.”
I nod.
“Bandage up his wrist,” he says sternly. “Do it now.”
So, I do. It seems to take eons, but I do it.
“Now, get out of the room. Go outside, and wait for me. You need fresh air.”
Some piece of me knows he’s right, so I get up and walk through my fog and out the door to the porch. The salt smell hits me hard, clearing my nose and throat, letting reality seep back in.
“Shut the door,” Costa says. “And go wash your hands.”
I feel better already—embarrassed but more myself.
Costa is still on top of Sam, and he’s talking. I don’t know what he’s saying, but he looks calm and even. For twenty minutes, I watch through the door window as Costa talks, and finally, Sam’s body relaxes until he’s not struggling at all. I take a step back when Costa releases Sam’s arms, but Sam just lifts his wrists and looks at them. He shakes his head and puts an arm over his face. Then, Sam holds out a hand, and Costa takes it in his. They stay silent and unmoving— just holding hands and breathing—and eventually, I walk away.
Later, when it’s dark out, Costa calls to me.
“I’m up here,” I answer.
“Where? Are you on the roof?”
“Yeah.”
I hear Costa stepping up the ladder to reach me. “You’re as crazy as we are, huh?”
“Good spot to stargaze,” I say blandly.
He makes his way up the sharp angle of tiles on the roof to the small flat spot I’m sitting on and hands me a beer. “Good place to fall off and break your neck.”
I don’t acknowledge how appealing that sounds, but I gladly take the beer.
He studies me for a minute. “Oh. You’ve got it bad, don’t you?”
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. You need a fix.”
“I don’t want to talk about it. How’s Sam?”
“Dead asleep.” Bright moonlight shows me the smile that he flashes. “Pardon the overly appropriate clichéd phrase.”
“You’re a riot.” The beer tastes beyond good right now. “Costa, what are we going to do?”
“I don’t know.” He hangs his hands over his bent knees and swings his beer. “I really don’t know. He could be detoxing like this for days. I’ve never seen it this bad. He has to stop tripping, but he also can’t stop tripping. Toby…I mean, it’s for Toby, you know? How do I tell Sam that I’m giving up on my kid, so he should quit?”
“You can’t,” I agree.
“But he has to get sober and strong again.”
“And we have to figure out why this isn’t working. It seemed like it would be so
easy to nail down his power. We got all those others without even trying.”
“Are you sure you’re all right?” he asks.
“Yeah. Why?”
“Your hand is shaking.”
He’s right. I didn’t notice, but the bottle in my hand is practically sloshing beer. I down the rest. “I’m fine. Totally happy. I’m just shitting rainbows all over the place.”
“That sounds attractive. Where the fuck did you get that expression?”
I shrug. “I read it in some book. It seems applicable here. ‘Bucking up in the face of tragedy and whatnot.’ You know, shitting rainbows.”
“I kinda dig that. Here’s to shitting rainbows.” He clinks his beer against mine. “But you’re still all wonky. Give me your arm.”
“I said, I’m fine.” I can hear how irritable I sound.
“No, you’re not.” Costa takes my arm and begins kneading his fingers into me.
“Ow!”
“Shut up. It’ll help.”
I let him dig into my muscles and nerves, and it actually does work to soothe my agitation. “Why is this happening to me?”
“Being around a death tripper who is dying or who has been dying a lot is a trigger.”
“A trigger for what?”
“Don’t you feel it?” he asks with a smirk.
“Feel what?”
“The urge to trip, to die. That’s what your body is after.”
I yank my hand away. “Don’t say that.”
“You’re a death tripper, Stella. You need to trip occasionally. At least once a month, if not more. I don’t know how this power-augmenter thing is going to play into it. Tripping enough but not too much keeps you sharp and stable.”
“That’s bullshit. Sam hadn’t tripped in months and months when I first got here.”
“Yeah? And what was he like?”
Costa has a point.
“He was…angry, cold.”
“Probably drinking a lot?”
I nod. “But he had a lot to be angry about.”
“That’s true. He had a lot of good reasons to act however he was acting. But the need to trip was one of them, whether you like it or not.”
“But then, we got together.”
“Right. And he got better.”
“Yes,” I say. “So, he doesn’t need to trip.”
“Well, it might be less true now that you’re in the picture. But you’re his power augmenter, so you’re giving him something, some kind of influence or energy. You’re feeding the death tripper in him, so it might satisfy his craving enough that he can go without tripping—until he gets a taste of it.”
“Oh, like when you shot him,” I say snarkily.
“Well, yes.”
“Sorry, that was mean. Sort of.”
“I can take it,” he says. “Now, give me your arm back.”
“Fine.” I rest my arm across his legs while he tries to rub away the craving. “So, I’m going to need to start tripping regularly?”
Costa doesn’t look at me. “At some point. Maybe.”
I finish my beer and take his. All this talk of tripping is only upping my desire. “Maybe that point should be now.”
“No way,” he says quickly.
“Why not? You could trip me again, Costa.”
“You’re just still hungry for death from being around Sam.”
“So what? I can’t do it myself. I’m too scared.” I stare at him until he’s forced to look into my eyes. “But you could do it for me.”
“You’re being crazy. And I’m already on thin ice with Sam, so there’s no way in hell I’m tripping you.”
“Maybe it’ll make me stronger. Then, I can focus on Sam, on getting him a vision.”
“Nice try. I’m not tripping you. When Sam’s back in his right mind, you can talk to him about this. But I’m pretty sure he won’t trip you either. Sam believes in only doing it yourself. Well, obviously, except when he’s like this. He’s just desperate though. He resents me enough for tripping you in the first place.”
I can tell there’s no getting Costa to budge on tripping me, and it’s probably for the best. I just have to ride out this craving. “Sam says we’re tied together—you and me. Do you think that’s true?”
He freezes.
“Costa?”
“Yeah. I mean, I don’t know. Probably a little.”
“When I was under the surface, you reacted to my touch—”
“That wasn’t because I tripped you.” He takes his beer back. “Or maybe it was. I guess that makes sense.”
“Is there something else that you’re not telling me?”
“No.” He looks at the sky and smiles. “Check out all the stars tonight.”
“Costa, I’m serious. I feel like there’s another piece to this whole death tripping. What else is there?”
“I’m telling you what I can. Fuck, I don’t know everything,” he says with a scoff. “I might have tripped more than Sam, but we’re all just winging it.”
“There has to be someone who knows what we are, what the rules are. The guy who tripped you? Haven’t you tried to find him again?”
“No. He was just some dude. I don’t know who he was, so there’s no way to find him.”
“But maybe he could help us with Toby?”
Costa throws the bottle off the roof, and it shatters on a rock below. “I’m doing the best I can in this, okay?”
“I’m sorry. You’re right. I know you are. We all are.”
“No, I’m sorry. Don’t you know that it rips my heart out to see Sam like this? Especially because I’m sober. It hurts me as much as it does you, but I’m stuck. Do you see that, Stella? Christ, I’m damned if I do, damned if I don’t.”
“I get it. I get it. We’re going to figure this out. But we have to get him clean first. Sam can’t continue like this.”
“Fine. I agree. We’ll get him clean, and then we’ll…come up with a new plan.”
“If Toby can be surfaced, we will find a way. I swear to you. Look, you had Toby after you were a death tripper. Maybe our DNA changes after we’ve been tripped, so you could have passed on a genetic component. He could be strong already.”
“You know, you’re right. I didn’t think about that.” He lets out an exhausted laugh. “Right now, it feels like everything is a possibility, and nothing is a possibility.”
I put an arm over his shoulders. There is a bond between us. I don’t know what it is or where it came from, but I feel that strongly today. Maybe it’s our mutual love for Sam. Maybe it’s from watching him care for Sam, the mix of capability and concern and vulnerability Costa brings. Maybe it’s because he made me a death tripper. Maybe, despite so much, we just have a true friendship.
But my connection to Costa is real. I just can’t get clear on why.
“Show me pictures of Toby again,” I ask.
Costa takes his cell out, and we spend the end of the day looking at the little boy who makes all of this worth it.
FELICIA IS TAKING A BREAK on the inn’s outdoor seating area—the place where we first met—when I find her the next morning. The breakfast crowd has cleared, and she’s having coffee and looking out at the water. The sea is rough today, and the waves make white caps as they roll across the surface. She glances up when I come onto the deck but turns back to her view.
Shit. She knows something is wrong.
“Hi.” I pull out a chair and sit at the table.
“You’re here to tell me that Sam isn’t coming in to work today.”
“Yes.”
“He’s already four hours late, so I figured. And he’s been a sloppy mess when he has been here.” Felicia takes a sip from her mug and carefully places it back on the saucer. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
I don’t want to lie to her, but I have to. “He’s not feeling well.”
For the first time, Felicia raises her voice at me. “Don’t bullshit me. Are you going to tell me he’s drinking?” br />
I run my hands through my hair. God, I hate what I’m about to do, but I do it anyway. “Yes.”
Sam drank to cover up his death tripping before, and then he drank after Toby died. But now? He hasn’t been drinking enough to make me worry. It is, however, the easiest excuse to use now.
Felicia focuses on the waves. “How bad is it?”
“He went on a bender.”
“Is it over?”
“Yes. Costa and I are cleaning him up. I swear to you that he’s going to be okay.”
She nods. “I don’t want him back here until then. He knows where I stand. His father and I went through hell with him last time, and we understood then. We were supportive and did everything we could. There was Toby and all…it was a nightmare. So, what’s going on now? Does this have to do with Costa?”
I don’t know how to answer this. “Maybe a little. It’s hard to say.”
“Does this have to do with you? Because I really like you, and I’d hate for that to change.”
I like that she’s so protective of Sam. My mother never was with me. “Sam and I are good. It’s not because of me.”
“Okay. How much time does he need?”
“At least a few weeks. He just needs to dry out and get his head back on straight.”
Felicia folds her napkin and sets it on the table. Then, she moves her chair back and faces me directly. “Sam hasn’t smelled of alcohol at all. Something else is going on here. However, I’m going to trust you and assume you have a very good reason for feeding me this story. Get a handle on whatever this is, and you tell me the second you’re in too deep. Fair enough?”
Apparently, I’m not the best liar. “Fair enough. Thank you.”
“Don’t fuck this up.” She stares at me, but then her face slowly softens to a hint of a smile. “Do you need anything, Stella?”
“I do have a favor.” I wait for her to nod. “I’d like to take Sam up to your family’s cabin. Get out of town for a bit with him and Costa. Would that be all right?”
“Sam and Costa agreed to this? They haven’t been there since…”
“I know. Since the accident. But they want to go.” This isn’t exactly true because I haven’t told them yet.
“You’d be taking my two best employees, not to mention my two favorite boys.” The wind blows her hair across her face, but she doesn’t move. “I’ll get you the keys and the address. I’m guessing that Sam is in no condition to direct you. Or to drive.”