Nocte

  I’m standing on the edge where Finn had just been. Panic and confusion seize me, as I whirl about, hunting for my brother, but already knowing something deep down.

  I finally know Finn’s secret.

  He’s not here.

  He never was.

  41

  QUADRAGINTA UNUS

  Calla

  I’m panicked as I stare at Dare, disoriented and terrified, as the wind whips my hair around my face.

  No. This isn’t right. This can’t be.

  Images and memories and pictures flood my mind with lightning speed, fitting together, pulling apart, forming a collage, then another and another.

  Memories.

  My life.

  All of it.

  I fight to find words, but I can’t and so I start to sob instead, stepping away from the edge and sinking to the ground. Dare wraps his arms around my shoulders, pulling me to safety.

  “I’m crazy,” I hear myself cry, clinging to Dare. His voice is husky and calm.

  “You’re not,” he insists. “You’re not.”

  “Where’s Finn?” my voice is broken because deep down, I know where Finn is. I know it in my heart, I know it in my soul. I’ve been hiding it from myself all along.

  Dare remains quiet, his large hands stroking my back, urging me to calm.

  I have to know. I have to see.

  Wrenching away from Dare, I leap to my feet and take off for my house. I throw open the doors and bound through the dark house, taking the stairs two at a time until I’m standing in front of Finn’s bedroom door.

  I stare at the wood, at the grain, at the indention, at the handle. I don’t want to open it because I know what I’ll find.

  But I have to. I have to see it.

  Reaching down, I turn the knob.

  The door creaks open, revealing what my heart knew I’d find.

  An empty room.

  The bed is still there, neatly made. Finn’s posters are still on the wall, of Quid Quo Pro and the Cure. His black converses sit next to the door, like he’s going to wear them again, but he’s not. His dirty laundry is still in his hamper. His books line the shelves. His favorite pillow waits for him, his CDs, his phone. All of it.

  But he’s not coming back.

  Dare’s hand is on my back, comforting me. I can’t feel anything.

  I step inside and sit on the bed, listening for my brother.

  There’s not a sound.

  I hug my knees, as wave after wave of memory comes back.

  My reality hasn’t been real.

  “Finn died with my mom,” I say aloud, the pain wracking my heart, my bones, my soul. I see the images in my head, flitting together to form scenes.

  I watch him getting into his red car. The car we never shared because we each had our own.

  “He was going to a concert, Quid Pro Quo. He started down the mountain and was on his way when I called mom. Mom crossed the centerline on her way up the mountain. She was hurrying because she was late and she hit him head-on as she came around a curve.”

  I can’t take the pain.

  It blinds me, deafens me, turns everything into a roar.

  I can’t hear. I can’t see.

  “She was going too fast,” I continue lifelessly, my memories unrolling like a movie in my head. “She was distracted because she was talking to me on the phone. I killed my mom and my brother. Finn. God.”

  My head drops into my hands.

  The pain is more than I ever thought it would be, more than I ever thought I could bear. Flashes of Finn rip through my mind… of when we were small. Of when we played in the ocean. Of Finn calling to me when we played hide and seek, of Finn calling to me when he was scared. And of that night, when he poked his head into the salon before he left…the last time I’d seen him alive.

  See you later, Cal. Are you sure you don’t want to go?

  “I didn’t go with him,” I whisper, the words cutting a path along my throat. “He was going with a friend from his Group and I didn’t go with him. Because I wanted… I wanted…you.”

  I knew Dare back then.

  I’ve known him for months and months. This can’t be happening. What is happening? Am I crazy? Have I lost it?

  Dare holds me tight, letting me cry, trying desperately to shield me from my pain.

  He can’t.

  He can’t shield me from the pain anymore.

  “I wanted to stay at the funeral home so that you could come meet me so we could be alone.”

  My heart pounds, as I see glimpses of Dare in my head. His smile, his face, his hands. I stare at his hands now, the silver ring.

  “I gave that to you for Valentine’s Day,” I remember.

  He nods.

  “You…me…we’ve been together for a while. We were… that night… I let my brother go to the concert alone because I wanted to be alone with you.”

  God, I’m a monster.

  God, I’m crazy.

  I look at him. “What’s been happening to me?”

  I feel dazed, confused, lost.

  Dare swallows. “Your mind has been trying to protect itself. You’ve experienced an overwhelming loss. You felt like you were at fault when you weren’t. It was more than you could bear. The day after they died, you woke up and thought Finn was still here, in fact, there were times that you thought you were Finn. The doctors said you needed to come out of it on your own, that to try and bring you into reality would hurt you.”

  “So everyone went along with it,” I realize in horror. “I’m crazy. I’m crazy and never even knew it.”

  Dare’s dark eyes connect with mine. “No, you’re not,” he says firmly, resolutely. “You had a mental break because your reality was too hard to bear. They called it PTSD and Disassociative Memory Loss. You’re not crazy.”

  “That’s why you couldn’t be with me,” I realize slowly, putting the pieces together. “Because I’m a lunatic and I didn’t remember you. How in the world could I forget such a big piece of my life? I don’t know why you stayed with me. I’m so crazy.”

  I’m crying again, or still, because maybe I never stopped, and Dare holds me tight against his chest.

  “I love you, Calla. You forgot me because you felt too guilty to remember. Because you thought it was your fault. Because you thought you didn’t deserve to have something good.”

  “Maybe I don’t,” I cry hotly, squeezing my eyes closed, but when I do, all I see is my brother’s face.

  “You do,” Dare says firmly. I open my eyes and look at him. “You love me, Calla. And I love you.”

  I remember the first time he said those words to me, months ago, but the memories are hard to see. They’re foggy and distant, like I’m trying to pull them to me through murky water.

  “I can’t remember everything,” I say in frustration. “My memories around you are… there aren’t many.”

  Dare nods. “The doctors said they’ll come back in stages. At first, I… tried to stay away, but it was too hard, and you weren’t making any progress. We decided that I’d re-enter your life as a stranger to see if it’d jog your memory at all.”

  I feel so foolish….so crazy.

  “You staged meeting me again for the first time? At the hospital?”

  Dare stares at me, his eyes carefully expressionless. “Yeah.”

  “That’s why it felt like I knew you,” I realize slowly. “That’s why you felt familiar, why I felt pulled to you from the very beginning.” The déjà vu, the dreams.

  “You have no idea how hard it’s been,” he tells me. “To pretend that I didn’t know you.”

  I gulp, because I can only imagine, and because all of it, the whole elaborate thing, was my fault. Then something else occurs to me, something horrifying.

  “The pecans,” I breathe, my eyes wide and appalled. “Finn didn’t feed them to me. I fed them to myself. The hospital… I wasn’t there to visit Finn… I was there for me. They were watching me… to see if I’d try and hurt myself a
gain.”

  Dare doesn’t anything, but his silence is everything.

  I stare around the room, at the empty, empty room.

  “My brother is dead.” The words taste bitter.

  Dare doesn’t say anything but he squeezes me tighter.

  “You knew all along.” My words are hard. Dare looks down at me.

  “I couldn’t tell you. The doctors said you had to remember on your own.”

  “I’m so stupid.” Tears run down my cheeks and I wipe them away, ignoring my pounding heart because it hurts too much. “I’m insane.”

  “You’re not.”

  “Are you trying to convince you or me?” I ask painfully.

  “You,” he says firmly.

  I look out the windows, at the rain, at the cliffs. The wind, the rain, the clay… all of it blurs together with my tears and it all turns red, because red = dangerous.

  My loss is overwhelming.

  My brother.

  The pain.

  It’s all red.

  “Ever since we were born, we were Calla and Finn,” I tell Dare blankly. “Who am I now?”

  Dare holds me close, oblivious to the weather, oblivious to everything else but me. “I’m one half of a whole. Finn’s my other half. What am I supposed to do without him?”

  My sobs scrape my ribs, cutting them, making them bleed because I’m red now. I’ll never be green again.

  “I don’t know,” Dare admits helplessly. “I want to tell you it’ll be ok. I’ll tell you that I’ll do anything I can to make it that way. But I think… only time…”

  “Don’t say time heals all wounds,” I interrupt sharply. “That’s a lie.”

  “I know,” he says simply. “But with time, you can manage it. That’s all. The pain will become less and your memories will keep you afloat. That’s what I know.”

  “He wanted saving… from his own mind, I mean,” I try and make my heart numb, but I know that’s dangerous now. I can’t hide from it anymore. I have to feel this for all of the miserable pain that it is. “In his journal… he asked over and over to be saved. He asked me to save him.” I look into Dare’s eyes. “I couldn’t save him, Dare.”

  Dare doesn’t break our gaze. “He wasn’t yours to save, Calla. He didn’t die from his mental illness. He died from a car accident. There was absolutely nothing you could’ve done to save him.”

  “Except I shouldn’t have called my mom during the storm. That would’ve saved them both.”

  Dare grips my arms, forcing me to look at him.

  “That’s simply not true and you know it. When’s it’s time, it’s time. We don’t get to decide. God does.”

  I’m empty inside. I hear Dare’s words, but I can’t feel them.

  “I need to rest,” I decide, curling onto my side in my brother’s bed. I close my eyes against reality, seeking comfort from the blackness. Dare doesn’t argue. He just lays down behind me, his arms holding me tight.

  “You don’t have to stay.”

  “I do.” His words are firm. “Your dad’s not here and I’m not leaving you alone. I’m not leaving you again, period.”

  Tears streak my face and I keep my eyes pressed closed.

  I turn into Dare, inhaling his smell, listening to his heart while it beats strong and loud and true. He’s alive, and I am too.

  But Finn’s not.

  “I don’t know how I’m going to survive this,” I whisper.

  Dare kisses the top of my head, his breath a mere whisper.

  “One day at a time.”

  I look up at him, my eyes hot and red. “With you?”

  He nods. “With me.”

  The pain floods me and so I do the only thing I know to do.

  I sleep.

  And I dream.

  Because all along, my dreams have been memories.

  42

  QUADRAGINTA DUO

  “He’s gone, honey.”

  I stare at the wall, my phone in my hand. I’d been waiting and waiting for Finn to call, waiting for his voice, waiting for him to be okay. Dare’s arms are wrapped around my shoulder, holding me up.

  My dad stares at me, his eyes pale blue like Finn’s, and shocked.

  “Calla?”

  I turn my face to look at him, but looking at him makes it feel too real, so I close my eyes instead.

  I can’t do this.

  “Calla, they found his car. It’s in the bay. He drove off the edge… your mom was in the ravine, but Finn’s car plunged the opposite way. Down the rocks, into the water.”

  No, it didn’t.

  He couldn’t have.

  “No,” I say clearly, staring at my father dazed. “He was wearing his medallion. He was protected.”

  My father, the strongest man I know, turns away and his shoulders shake. After minutes, he turns back.

  “I want to see,” I tell him emptily. “If it’s true, I need to see.”

  My father is already shaking his head, his hand on my arm. “No.”

  “Yes.”

  I don’t wait for him to agree, I just bolt from the house, down the steps, down the paths, to the beach. I hear Dare behind me, but I don’t stop. There are fireman and police and police tape and EMTs congregated about, and one of them tries to stop me.

  “Miss, no,” he says, his voice serious, his face aghast. “You can’t go over there.”

  But I yank away because I see Finn.

  I see his red smashed car that they’ve already pulled from the water.

  I see someone laid out on the sand, someone covered by a sheet.

  I walk toward that someone calmly, because even though it’s Finn’s car, it can’t be Finn. It can’t be because he’s my twin, and because I didn’t feel it happen. I would’ve known, wouldn’t I?

  Dare calls to me, through thick fog, but I don’t answer.

  I take a step.

  Then another.

  Then another.

  Then I’m kneeling in the sand, next to a sheet.

  My fingers shake.

  My heart trembles.

  And I pull the white fabric away.

  He’s dressed in jeans and a button-up, clothing for a concert. He’s pale, he’s skinny, he’s long. He’s frail, he’s cold, he’s dead.

  He’s Finn.

  I can’t breathe as I hold his wet hand, as I hunch over him and cry and try to breathe and try to speak.

  He doesn’t look like he was in a crash. There’s a bruise on his forehead and that’s it. He’s just so white, so very very white.

  “Please,” I beg him. “No. Not today. No.”

  I’m rocking and I feel hands on me, but I shake them away, because this is Finn. And we’re Calla and Finn. He’s part of me and I’m part of him and this can’t be happening.

  I cry so hard that my chest hurts with it, my throat grows raw and I gulp to breathe.

  “I love you,” I tell him when I can breathe again. “I’m sorry I wasn’t with you. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

  I’m still crying when large hands cup my shoulders and lift me from the ground, and I’m pulled into strong arms.

  “Shhh, Calla,” my dad murmurs. “It’ll be okay. He knew you loved him.”

  “Did he?” I ask harshly, pulling away to look at my father. “Because he wanted me to go with him, and I made him go alone. And now he’s dead. I called mom and they’re both dead.”

  Dad pulls me back into his arms and pats my back, showing a tenderness that I didn’t know he possessed. “It’s not your fault,” he tells me between wracking sobs. “He knew you loved him, honey. Everyone knew. Your mother, too.”

  My mother. I choke back another gasping sob.

  This can’t be happening.

  This can’t be happening.

  This isn’t my life.

  I shake off my father’s arms and walk woodenly back up the trails, past the paramedics, past the police, past everyone who is staring at me. I walk straight up to Finn’s room and
collapse onto his bed.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see his journal.

  I pick it up, reading the familiar handwriting written by the hands that I love so much.

  Serva me, serva bo te.

  Save me, and I will save you.

  Ok.

  Ok, Finn.

  I close my eyes because when I wake up tomorrow, I’ll find that this was all a dream. This is a nightmare. It has to be.

  Sleep comes quickly and when I wake up, I’ll save Finn.

  I wake up with a start, the memories from that night so vivid, so awful, so paralyzing.

  Sunlight floods my room, exposing every corner, every empty corner.

  I shudder and climb from bed, looking out the window. Dare and my father sit on the porch below, talking earnestly.

  I throw some clothes on and slip out the back door and toward the road. When it starts to rain, I pull my hood up, but I keep going.

  I have someplace to be.

  I pick up the pace, jogging until I get to the cross and ribbons.

  Gulping, I stand at the side, looking down at the ravine, at the broken trees, at the black marks and bent limbs.

  My mother died here.

  But I always knew that.

  Turning, I cross to the other side, to the side facing the ocean.

  Living things are broken on this side too. The bracken and bushes and trees. They’re bent and broken but still living. They thrive on the side of the mountain, coming back from the brink.

  The viridem.

  The green.

  It’s still here, but Finn isn’t.

  His car flipped down the side of this mountain and plunged into the water.

  Staring out over the glass-like surface, you’d never know that Finn died there. But I do. I know it now.

  And it’s too much to bear.

  It’s too much.

  I sink to my feet and pull my knees to my chest, closing my eyes, feeling the hot tears form beneath my eyelids. Focusing hard, I picture Finn’s face. I picture him sitting right next to me, right now.

  “Hey Cal,” he would say. “Do you know that the sloppy handwriting of physicians kill more than 2,000 people each year—from getting the wrong medications?”

  I shake my head sadly at him. “No.”

  He nods, smug in his superior knowledge of strange death facts. “It’s true.”