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Ilaced up my boots and grabbed my backpack, knowing I had to time my escape just right. Downstairs, morning activity was humming—the refrigerator opening and closing, Mrs. Dixon complaining about her coffee going cold, and the twins whining for more syrup. Mr. Dixon was down the hall hiding in the bathroom, where he would likely stay until his wife had gotten the kids taken care of.
I waited, listening to the sounds of this family, which had nothing to do with mine. I snuck from my room, cursing when the stairs creaked beneath my weight.
“Tori?” Mrs. Dixon called. “Do you want breakfast?” But what she really meant was, Will you please help me with my bratty kids?
I ducked my head into the kitchen. The twins were shoving chocolate chips from their pancakes into their mouths and smacking the syrup-covered table.
“No, thanks. I’m late,” I lied.
Mrs. Dixon sighed, leaning back against the countertop. Her frizzy hair hung over one eye. “Are you sure?”
“Yep.”
One twin started guzzling her juice. The other one spilled hers all over the table.
“Ugh, Emmy!” Mrs. Dixon’s shoulders slumped as she started wiping. I’d only lived there for two weeks, but I’d learned that Mrs. Dixon slumped her shoulders a lot—and wiped things. She seemed like she wanted people to feel sorry for her. I would’ve, but she was the idiot who’d had kids with the jerk hiding in the upstairs bathroom, then kept feeding them too much sugar at breakfast.
Not that I was judging or anything.
“See you later!” I bounded out the door before she could ask me to release one of the vile little beasts from its chair restraints and wipe its sticky hands.
My mother would not have approved of me running from the house when Mrs. Dixon needed help, and neither would my little sister, Izzy. But they weren’t here. A wave of something, some sort of terrible, big emotion, threatened to crash over me. I avoided it with a mental side step, just like I avoided stepping on the crack on the sidewalk in front of me. Step on a crack, and break your mother’s back.
Who comes up with stupid sayings like that? It didn’t matter. My mother was gone, but I still wouldn’t risk it. It seemed blasphemous, tempting fate to do something even worse to me. I had enough to deal with already.
***
“I don’t really think they were looking to foster a needy kid. I think they were looking for a live-in babysitter.” I scowled at Katie, my best friend.
She tucked a lock of blond hair behind her ear and scowled back. “You could’ve just stayed with us.”
“I didn’t think it was fair. At least the Dixons get money from the state.” Katie’s family had taken me in, but her parents already had four kids. Another person to feed and clothe was asking too much.
Katie shook her head. “You can still sleep at my house whenever you want.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled. But my caseworker had told me I needed to stay at the Dixons’.
I still couldn’t believe I had a caseworker. Some words from my new life seemed inexplicable and foreign to me, deserving of italics—foster family, legal guardian, and death certificates. Orphan was another one.
“Are they creepy?” Katie asked. “The Dixons?”
“I mean, yeah.” I shrugged, thinking of Mr. Dixon hiding from his wife and kids in the bathroom. “But it’s not even their fault. Living in somebody else’s house is just weird. It’s like I’m a guest, but no one’s on their ‘we-have-company’ behavior. The dad snores, the mom complains, and the twins are brats. I don’t even know them, but I’m seeing all their… stuff. No one’s on their best behavior at home.”
Katie nodded. “That sounds awful.”
I felt the prick of tears and decided to change the subject. “Did you study for the chem test?”
“Sort of.” She pulled her backpack on. “You?”
“Yep.” I viewed good grades as a step toward freedom. I was woefully behind on my college applications, but I figured any As might contribute to an acceptance letter and a single dorm room. A ticket out of here.
She glanced at me. “It’s going to be okay, you know.”
Stupid tears pricked at my eyes again. “I know. See you later, okay?” I veered off before she could say anything else to comfort me. Katie was the only person I still had, but I could barely stand to be around her. She knew how I felt. She understood. It almost made me feel worse. The rest of the kids at school just thought of me as that girl, the one whose mom and kid sister had died, the one who had a caseworker—the orphan. My classmates had flooded me with texts and posts about being sorry for my loss, but they avoided me in real life as though I had something contagious. I didn’t blame them. What could they say?
I headed to the bathroom and locked myself inside a stall. My breath was coming fast. Oh crap. It was happening again. I started wheezing, my chest tightening as my heart pounded. I sank down, clutching myself, praying that no one else would come into the girls’ room. Then my reputation would really be in the toilet, har-de-har-har.
Stop it, Tori! My heart thudded in my chest, a wild, jagged rhythm that made me think it would explode. Just breathe. But I couldn’t. I gasped for air as my whole body shook, racked with spasms, out of my control.
My arms tingled and started to go numb.
The first time I’d had an anxiety attack, I’d thought I was going to die. I’d tried to cry for help, but I couldn’t get the words out. It hadn’t mattered—no one could have heard me. That was because my mother was dead. Izzy was dead. They were dead, and they couldn’t hear me.
I tried not to think about it. Breathe. Just breathe. But the other voice in my head kept saying, Dead, dead, dead. My chest squeezed tighter. My arms went completely numb as I prayed no one would come in and find me wheezing and crying—or worse, passed out on the floor.
I struggled to catch my breath. The tightness in my throat spiked my panic. It was like trying to get air through an ever-narrowing straw. I could hear myself wheezing, an ugly and panicked sound. Dark spots danced in front of my eyes. No, no, no! I’d passed out one other time. Please, God, not here, not now. They’ll find me, and they’ll all know. Crazy Tori. Orphan Tori. I might as well have the plague.
The door opened, and I wheezed again. “Help me. Please help me.” The words came out in an inaudible croak. I slumped against the stall as the world went dark.
“What on earth?” It was a woman’s voice, a mom’s voice.
It was the last thing I heard before hitting the bathroom floor.
2
“Does your head hurt?” The school nurse peered at me from beneath her auburn bangs as she ran a thermometer across my forehead.
After blinking a couple of times, I said, “No.” I felt perfectly fine. It was as though nothing at all had happened.
“Good.” She shined a small light into my eyes. “You didn’t hit your head too hard, and your pupils look good. I’m not concerned about a concussion. Any nausea?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“Excellent. And no fever.” She checked my pulse, counting silently and checking her watch. “Your heart rate looks normal, too, so no issues there.” She turned her back to me and started scribbling in a notebook. “Has this been happening to you recently?”
I sat up, still surprised that I felt fine. “Fainting?”
She nodded. “And the anxiety attacks.”
For a minute, I said nothing. “I passed out last week…but I think I had the flu.”
The nurse turned to look at me, arching an eyebrow. “Huh. I didn’t know the flu was still going around.”
Shrugging, I said, “It could’ve just been a cold.”
“But colds rarely make you faint.”
I ducked my head. “Mm-hmm.”
She crossed her arms against her chest, looking quite serious in spite of the fact that she was wearing scrubs with minions on them. “Anxiety attacks are nothing to be ashamed about, Tori. They’re very common. And you’ve been through an awful lot.”
“I just felt dizzy in the bathroom. I skipped breakfast.” That, at least, was the truth.
The nurse gave me a long look. “What about the marks on your torso? Do you want to tell me about that? You can talk to me, you know.”
I stared at her blankly. “What marks?”
“The ones on your right side.”
I shook my head again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Lift the hem of your shirt.” I did, and she came closer, pointing to the lower right side of my torso, on the edge of my back. “Right here.”
Looking down, I pulled my skin forward a bit so I could see better. There were some small red scabs, about eight of them. “I didn’t even know these were there. Is that a rash?”
“It’s not a rash. They’re wounds.” The nurse just looked at me.
“Maybe I scraped myself when I passed out.” I shook my head. “How would I cut my own back? I can’t even see what’s there.”
She brushed the bangs off her face. “It’s a spot that’s easy to hide. And most of the time, it’s not an exact science.”
I shook my head. “I’ve never hurt myself. I don’t know what those marks are.”
“Just remember that I’m here if you need someone, okay?” She sighed. “Let me get you something to eat. Don’t stand up just yet.” She rummaged
around in the closet, then handed me an apple juice and fluorescent-orange crackers. “The guidance counselors said you refused to meet with them after the accident.”
I shrugged as I had a sip of juice. “I have a caseworker. Isn’t that enough?”
“Are things okay with your foster placement?”
Geez, have they all been talking about me? The nurse knew way more than I’d expected. And she thought I was hurting myself. I must’ve been the topic of conversation at a staff meeting: Kids Whose Family Died and What to Watch For.
“It’s fine.” I ate some crackers, then nodded at her. “I’m feeling better. Can I get back to class? I have a test.”
She pursed her lips, a sharp contrast to the goggled minion grinning up at me from her shirt. “Sure. But if you feel dizzy again or anything else, come and see me. It’s quiet here. And safe. And there aren’t cooties on the floor if you happen to pass out.”
I grabbed my backpack and nodded. “Thanks.”
“You didn’t let me help you,” she called after me, “but you’re still welcome.”
Per my new normal, I couldn’t sleep that night. I lay in bed, thinking about the day in an endless, useless loop. That was the third panic attack I’d had since the accident. The first time was right when I found out about Mom and Izzy. I’d thought I was having a heart attack. The paramedics gave me something, and I felt my heart rate slow. My arms stopped tingling, and my throat opened up enough so that I could breathe again.
But this attack was worse. It came on swiftly and without provocation. And as soon as I’d known what was happening, my embarrassment contributed to the problem. My arms tingled, my heart pounded, and I’d felt my anxiety spike. Will it happen to me in class? Will people see my body shake and hear me wheezing? And last but not least: Am I going crazy?
I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want to talk to Katie, I didn’t want to talk to the school nurse, and I sure as heck didn’t want to talk to my case manager. I felt certain she would put a sticker on my file, some sort of code that meant I was damaged goods. They would try to medicate me or “help” me or, worst of all, make me talk about my feelings.
There was nothing to talk about. The thing on my back was a rash. I had panic attacks. The only people I’d loved were dead, and I was on my own for the rest of my life. Who wants to talk about any of that?
***
I jerked awake early the next morning, when it was still dark out. I lay there, wondering why my eyes had suddenly snapped open. Just as I drifted off, I heard it again—a scratching noise.
Peering out the window, I saw the streetlights cast a dim glow, but nothing moved that I could see. Then I heard it again—the whisper of nails across the glass. I held my breath, telling myself I must be dreaming, but the noise continued. I sat up, heart pounding. Someone was outside my window.
What I saw didn’t make any sense. There was a boy out there, his face floating just outside. He had close-cropped black hair, pale skin, and dark, luminous eyes, and he put his long, graceful fingers against the window and tapped. Though I wanted to scream, it felt as if I were in a dream—a trance—and my voice was nowhere to be found. I got out of bed and went closer. He looked familiar, maybe a few years older than me, but I didn’t know him from school. Still, when he put his palm against the glass, I put mine on the other side. As if I were trying to touch him.
A noise came from the street, and he turned, his dark hair reflecting what remained of the moonlight. He turned back quickly and tapped the window one last time. Then he disappeared.
Disappeared as in vanished.
I stumbled back to my bed, mind racing. That was a dream, wasn’t it? A handsome, strange boy wasn’t really floating outside my window… right?
I tried to fall back to sleep, but the question that had bubbled earlier boiled up to the surface of my consciousness again. Am I… Am I going crazy?
3
Mrs. Dixon banged on my door. “Tori, wake up!” The alarm on my phone buzzed.
The cacophony of noise finally roused me. I sat bolt upright in bed, the sun streaming through my empty window. “I’m awake. I’m awake.” I swatted my phone and tried to tame my hair, which was knotted and tangled in an unruly heap.
Mrs. Dixon knocked but didn’t wait before sticking her face in the room. “Your alarm’s been going off for fifteen minutes. It was bothering the twins.” Her voice quavered, as if she were simultaneously afraid to be scolding me and delighted that someone had bothered the twins, instead of vice versa.
“Sorry. I guess I overslept.”
She nodded, distracted by a crash and the girls yelling from down the hall. “You’ll be late for school. Get a move on.”
“Yes, ma’am.” As soon as she closed the door, I shot to the window but found no evidence of the boy from the previous night. I peered at the ground, oddly crestfallen. Of course, it had been a dream. I was on the second floor of an old Victorian house. If he had been real, he would’ve needed a ladder to look in my window. And that would have been creepy.
I scrambled to the shower and used half a bottle of conditioner to help me comb out the knots in my hair. After throwing my clothes on, I flew down the stairs. I didn’t want to be late for school. I needed to stay with the herd, the pack. The less attention I drew to myself, the better.
“You don’t have time for breakfast, I guess.” Mrs. Dixon shoved a granola bar at me. “The school nurse called. She said to make sure that you eat something.”
My cheeks flushed. I didn’t want to get Mrs. Dixon in trouble. “Sorry about that.”
“It’s okay. Just eat.” She smiled at me. “Girls, say bye to Tori, okay?”
One twin stuck her tongue out at me, and the other one picked her nose.
“Bye, girls!” I shoved the granola bar into my pocket, vowing to eat it before class.
As I hustled down the street, I thought about my dream. The school was only half a mile away, so I slowed down a bit and took out the granola bar. I was half lost in my thoughts and half hoping my hair would dry a little before first period.
What was that dream about? The boy had been handsome, startlingly so. His black hair was close-cropped, showing off his chiseled features and prominent cheekbones, and he had dark eyes fringed by thick lashes. I didn’t understand why he’d felt so familiar or why I’d been drawn to him. I didn’t think I’d ever seen him before. Yes, he was handsome, but he’d been floating outside my bedroom window at four
o’clock in the morning. That was not attractive.
But I remembered how I’d felt when he vanished. I’d been heartbroken.
I shook my head as I finished the granola bar. It was a crazy dream, but at least it was something to think about. As I headed inside the school, I had a lighter step than I’d had in months.
“You look… cute.” Katie frowned at my wet hair. “And like, you just sprinted here from the shower.”
“That’s about right.” I smiled at her. “How was your morning?”
“Fine. Trina stole my new shirt, so I retaliated by taking all of her gum and packing the last cookie for myself.” She shrugged. “Ready for chem?”
I wrinkled my nose as we headed into the lab, which smelled vaguely of formaldehyde. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
The jars on the shelves held different things, from toads to newts to an alligator eye, which our teacher said she discovered near a canal in Florida.
Said teacher, Ms. Barnes, cleared her throat as we took our seats. “Open your textbooks to page three hundred thirty-three. We start our new chapter on kinetics.”
Several of the students groaned, but Ms. Barnes beamed at the class. “Kinetics is a fascinating field of study. It involves measuring the effects of forces that produce or change the motion of masses.”
“Huh?” Katie blinked at me. “I should have stopped for a mochaccino with an extra shot.”
“You can say that again.” I dutifully opened my book to page three hundred thirty-three, hoping that what I would find there could explain, in English, whatever it was Ms. Barnes was rambling about. Instead, I found a note written in refined, looping script in the margins of the book.
Dear Reader,
I’ve left something for you in the back of this book.
Sincerely,
Yours Truly
Who wrote that? It was a newer textbook, and I’d never seen any notes in it before. When I turned to the back of the book, I found an ivory envelope addressed to no one. I stole a glance at Katie, but she was staring, brow furrowed, at her textbook.
I flipped back to the page we were on and slid the envelope in between the pages. Why was my heart thudding? I prayed I wasn’t about to have another panic
attack, but this felt different. Excitement zipped through me. It thrilled me to feel something other than grief or anxiety, just like the dream from the previous night..
The letter inside was written in ink, in the same looping script, on heavy ivory paper.
Dear Reader,
I would’ve left this inside the pages, but I do enjoy leaving a trail for you.
I have a request. A favor, if you will.
On your walk after school today, turn your attention toward the pond. You will see a gate in the water. Go to the gate at midnight tonight, when the moon is high in the sky, and have a closer look. I’m sure you’re scoffing at this, but search your heart—you know you’ll be safe.
In any event, what do you have to lose?
Sincerely,
Yours Truly
I slid the letter into my bag and stared blankly at the words in my book.
And then I started counting the minutes until I could leave school.
4
Iducked out of seventh period just as the bell rang, eager to avoid Katie because I hadn’t told her about the letter. She would nag me, just like a worried best friend should. But I’d already thought about all the bad things that could happen if I followed the letter’s instructions. I could be kidnapped, attacked, or dragged into the pond at midnight by some crazy stalker, but I wasn’t as worried as I should be. What do you have to lose? That question, asked so casually in the letter, played over and over in my mind. What did I have to lose, indeed?
Once I got to the pond, I slowed down. Even in early spring, ice clung to the sides of the bank. I’d walked that way hundreds of times since starting high school, but I’d never really looked at my surroundings. Instead, I’d taken them for granted, like so many other things. But now I paid attention to the scrappy-looking trees and brush growing on the banks. A woeful collection of juvenile-delinquent litter—candy-bar wrappers, empty beer cans, and cigarette butts—was strewn across the banks. And farther down was the gate. A gate in the water. I shivered.
How did I never notice it before? It was a small section of a white picket fence, half in the water and half out, blocking the sticks and debris that flowed to the pond from nearby drainage ditches. The streams emptied into a small basin at the base of the gate. The water looked deep enough to come waist high, but perhaps it was even deeper.
I’m supposed to come here at midnight? When it’s pitch-black? Shivering, I wrapped my jacket tightly around me, then I hurried to the Dixons’.
That night, I went to bed early and just lay there, staring out the window and wondering what my dream had been about and who the strange letter was from. I felt certain that the boy and the letter were connected. Two strange events in less than twelve hours made it seem like a no-brainer, but the problem was you didn’t even really need a brain to comprehend that none of it made sense.
The boy was a dream, and the letter was some sort of scam. I could think of no good reason for me to go to the pond in the middle of the night. It wasn’t logical. Still, I couldn’t not go. I felt compelled, in every cell of my body, to find out what was going on, who had written the letter, and if it had been meant for me specifically. In the end, I wasn’t sure I even cared. I was simply glad to be thinking about something other than my mom and Izzy.
When it was almost time, I slipped out of bed and put on jeans, a T-shirt, and my favorite warm hoodie. I grabbed three things. First was the picture of the three of us, one we’d taken the previous Thanksgiving. People always commented on how much we looked alike. We all had blond hair, the same coloring, and the same cheekbones. But my mother was the prettiest. She had the nicest smile. She’d told me over and over that she’d never really smiled until she became a mother. “I saw a picture of me with you as a baby, and I thought, ‘Oh! My smile goes all the way to my eyes!’ I’d never been that happy before.”
The smile definitely reached her eyes in the picture I held. Mom had her arms wrapped around Iz and me, and the three of us were laughing. Our waitress at the Chinese restaurant had taken the picture, saying that we were a lovely family.
I put the photograph in my back pocket and grabbed the can of pepper spray my mother had given me when I’d started jogging. She’d insisted that I carry it if I went on a trail alone. Finally, I put on some lip gloss Izzy had given me for my birthday. I rarely wore makeup, and she’d only bought it so she could borrow it from me, but I didn’t mind. Its bubblegum smell reminded me of her.
When I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror, I paused. My long, thick hair hung limply over my shoulders. My face was pale and pinched. My mother
would not want me to go to the pond. She would warn me that all the pepper spray in the world couldn’t really protect me. Izzy would say that I was crazy, and she would definitely cry and beg me to stay.
But they were gone. Their imagined worry made it seem even more important for me to go, to get away from their fresh ghosts. I put on my long puffer coat, listening for noises outside my room. Mr. Dixon was snoring. Exhausted from a long day with three-year-old twins, Mrs. Dixon was also likely fast asleep. Holding my breath, I snuck down the stairs and out the front door of my foster family’s home.
The cold nipped at my cheeks, but the fresh air revived me. With the streetlights on, the family-friendly neighborhood didn’t seem scary. It was, however, silent. The quiet roared in my ears. I stuffed my hands in my pockets and hustled down the sidewalk, heading back toward school. No one else was awake. The cars parked on the street were empty and dark, and the lights in all the houses were turned off.
I wondered if someone was waiting for me at the pond and clutched my pepper spray, vowing to spray first and ask questions later—during the daytime, when I was safe and near a police officer. Though I was vaguely worried about a panic attack, I felt strangely calm, more alive and engaged than I had in what seemed like forever.
The calm drained from my body as I neared the pond. It was darker there. I took out my cell phone and turned on the flashlight app, which didn’t do much but was better than nothing. I walked down the embankment and stopped when I reached the stream. My light showed the white gate, half submerged in the water and half out, and the dark pond beyond. I couldn’t see anyone else.
They could be crouched in the shadows, behind a bush or a tree. I listened, concentrating hard on my surroundings. But all I heard was the water flowing.
I jumped over the stream. On the other side, closer to the pond, I hesitated and looked around wildly, waving my flashlight in every direction. No one sprang
out from the bushes—at least not yet.
Heart pounding in my ears, I crept closer to the gate. A small embankment separated the drainage streams from the pond. It was where the gate was secured. The water passed underneath it, possibly through a manmade tunnel into the pond. I shined my flashlight on the patch of muddy grass behind the gate and saw, wedged in between two rocks, another ivory envelope. This one had my name on it.
Dear Reader, I thought, this is nuts!
Nuts or not, I’d come this far, so I had to know what the letter said. I snatched the envelope and purposefully moved away from the water’s edge. Wielding my light with shaking hands, I read the note.
Dearest Victoria,
You made it. I’m never really sure how this part’s going to go, so perhaps it’s a good sign you responded so quickly. You’re often quite difficult!
This next request will seem a little extreme—it always does. But I’m afraid there’s no getting around it. You need to wade into the stream and swim under the fence. I’ll be waiting for you on the other side, the side you can’t see from here. I can just imagine you now, shaking your head, thinking there’s no way on God’s green earth you’re going to do this.
Alas, there’s no other way. You have to come through. The things you’ve lost… They will come back to you. But you must return to the kingdom in order to find them.
You’re needed here for more than that, of course. It’s time for the Trade. My mother’s about to have my head if I put her off again.
Ah, I know you’re hesitating. I also understand that you likely have no idea what I’m talking about. But have a little faith. Because really, that’s all you have left, isn’t it?
So hold your breath and be brave. The water is cold, but passage doesn’t take long.
I’ll see you on the other side. I promise.
Sincerely,
Moi
I had the rather illogical urge to find this Moi and smack him across the face. Though I wasn’t sure why I was so certain that the author was male, it seemed right for some reason. No woman would be so cruelly cryptic or ask me to wade into a freezing stream in the middle of the night and swim into filthy, dark water. I paced the bank. No way was I going to swim underneath that fence—it was madness. Who wrote this? Who is doing this to me?
“Is this some sort of joke?” I hiss-whispered into the darkness. “Because it’s not funny.”
No one answered. I clutched the note in my hand. The kingdom. The Trade. Whoever had written it was a lunatic. The only thing that kept me from running away was the other thing the letter had said, the thing that tugged at me. The things you’ve lost… They will come back to you.
I looked at the dark water. If it meant that I could have my mother and sister back, I would swim through fire. But that wasn’t possible. They were dead and gone.
Why am I even considering this? Looking at the letter again, I studied the looping, perfect script. I wondered if I was hallucinating, if maybe I had snapped from too much grief and the letter was my mind’s way of bringing me relief. If I went into the water, I could die. It was certainly cold enough, and it was the middle of the night. If I got stuck or something else happened, no one would hear my cries. No one would know. Maybe my mind was trying to trick me into such a scheme to lure me away from my sadness forever.
But I knew in my heart that I wasn’t ready to die. Whatever spark was inside people, the thing that drove us to get out of bed every morning and continue to face the world, even when it was unbearable—I still felt that spark inside of me. That was how I’d managed to drag myself to school every day. In spite of who I’d lost, I wanted to live. I didn’t even know why—perhaps it was some base, irrefutable instinct. But I knew that if someone jumped out of the bushes at me, I would fight for my life until my last breath. I would fight to live.
I clutched the letter, the paper heavy and thick. It was no hallucination. Even when I had the panic attacks and felt completely out of control, I’d known I wasn’t crazy. The letter and what it was asking me to do was nuts, but I wasn’t.
I walked across the embankment and peered at the pond. The water was still, silent, and the surface looked like smooth, perfect glass. What’s in there? Why do I have to swim underneath the gate to ‘cross over?’ Whoever wrote the letter had said they would be waiting for me on the other side, but I was staring right at the pond. What else is there?
Carefully, I made my way back down the embankment until I came even with the gate. I listened to the stream waters bubble and run together, heading straight through the fence to the pond, and checked my coat pockets. My cell phone, the pepper spray, and some tissues were all I had. I took off my jacket and put it on the edge of the embankment. Remembering the photograph, I took it from my back pocket and tucked it inside my coat.
I was an excellent swimmer. If I got in and it seemed too risky, I would immediately climb back out. I had zero desire to hurt myself, but my fear was trumped by flaming curiosity—first the boy, then the letters. A mystery. A mystery was so much better than the tragedy I’d found myself living.
The things you’ve lost… They will come back to you. Moi was right. All I had left was my faith and the crazy feeling that I should do what the letter asked.
Taking one last look around, I waded into the water.
