“I saw a face. In a corner room, through the window. I don’t know if I really saw it that day. I don’t think I did. If I had, it would have haunted me my whole life, I think. I would have remembered that. But yesterday, with the . . . halo . . . on, I saw her.” His eyes find mine. “I saw you.”
I lick my lips, not wanting to belittle his experience, not wanting to hurt him further, but knowing the impossibility of it. “I would have been—what?—three years old, Marco. It couldn’t have been me.”
“But it was. I ran toward the window, but before I could get there, the window shattered. Glass flew everywhere, stopping me. Keeping me from reaching you. But you were there. Staring back at me, your . . .” His face contorts and he buries it in his hands, his words spooked and muffled. “Your blond hair was on fire, and your white dress. Your eyes were so blue, and they looked right through me. And then . . .”
“And then what?” Kaylee asks, climbing onto the bench next to him.
He drops his hands, his green face tortured, like some sort of tragic swamp thing.
“You disappeared.”
26
Brielle
Saluting Teddy the Elk, I push my way out of the community center. The sun’s no longer in sight, hiding somewhere below the low-sitting buildings of downtown Stratus. The sky’s still streaked with light, the windows fronting the community center reflecting a blue expanse dewy with the promise of a summer rain.
I cut behind the community center and through the alley connecting it to Main Street. It’s darker here—secluded—and worry flutters through me once again. Before it can settle in my gut, a prayer whispers across my lips.
I pray all the time now. When I’m walking. When I’m sitting. When I’m eating.
I wake up praying.
All this unease has driven me to seek answers—real answers—and as infuriating as these dreams are, the only place that’s ever provided me completely satisfying answers has been the Throne Room.
So I pray.
My prayers aren’t particularly eloquent. They’re more of the desperate variety, and I don’t always feel heard. But saying the words, asking my Creator for answers, for direction, is right.
I know it is.
Even if I don’t feel it.
Feelings can’t be trusted. That’s something else I’m learning.
I round the corner, stepping onto Main. The Donut Factory is down the street from here, but its sugary smell dances down the street, smelling an awful lot like Jake. It reminds me of an encounter we had there, in front of the theatre, the very first time I saw Damien.
The thought is mostly pleasant, and I relive it as I meander down the street. I pass the Auto Body and wave at Grace, an old classmate of mine. She started working there just after Dimples was arrested.
Dimples. The super-nerd who kidnapped Kaylee and dragged her into the mess at the warehouse.
Just beyond the Auto Body is a real estate office and then the Photo Depot where I’m to meet Jake. He doesn’t get off for another few minutes, but I can wait.
And stare.
I haven’t had time to adequately stare at him lately.
But just as I’m crossing in front of the real estate office, the world flashes orange.
Celestial orange.
What the . . .
Sweat breaks out along my neck and chest, and I stop. The street and the sidewalk, the ramshackle old buildings, the few cars parked along the storefronts—all of them shine with the light of the Celestial.
And then the summer night folds in around me once again.
My hands fall to my left wrist, to the halo thrumming there.
Did I just see the Celestial without the halo on my head?
I blink and blink at the blue sky. I will it to happen again, but only the stars wink back.
Both Jake and Canaan have warned me about this possibility—that I might one day see the Celestial without the halo.
Is this what they were talking about?
Will it come in strange flashes?
Or has the lack of sleep finally gotten to me?
A gust of wind blows against my bare knees. It’s colder than it should be, but that’s the Northwest for you. I hear the footsteps of another pedestrian, but when I look left and right, there’s no one there. I’m alone on this small strip of Main.
I so need to sleep.
I rub life back into my arms and continue on.
But another step forward and I feel a tug on my head, like fingernails raking through my hair. I whip