Towering - By Alex Flinn Page 0,93

one thing, at the rhapsody plants.

The flowers drooped, turning from blue to brown before my eyes. The rhapsody was wilting. It was as if my healing tears had sealed up its ability to accept water. It was dying.

And so was my Wyatt. If he was not dead already.

I knew what I had to do.

Now that the job had been done, the mobs of people were moving away, streaming away to the stairs. The rhapsody dead, they were leaving. The man who had been climbing the wall stopped in his tracks, knowing now it was useless. But I could not watch what happened. I knew what I had to do. I knew they would not help. I wanted scissors, but I only had a key. A key with a sharp side. I grabbed a big section of my hair and began to saw upon it with all my might, using the key. I could see below me that it reached nearly to the ground. I sawed and sawed, and as I did, I was crying, weeping for Wyatt. Little bits, then, finally, the whole braid of hair gave way under pressure from the key. It detached itself from my head. I pulled it up beside me. Part of it was still braided, from the car. The rest was not. From where it ended, I began to braid.

Below me, I heard a voice, Mama’s voice. “Rachel!”

I looked down. It was her. It was really her!

I kept braiding, but I shouted, “Is he alive?”

She heard what I said and rushed over to Wyatt. She touched his neck.

A moment later, she said, “Just barely.”

It was enough. But I had to go, had to go now.

I looped the hair around the railing that held the platform in place, then knotted it. It was not completely braided, but it hung to the bottom, beginning to unravel. It would have to do.

I tested the strength of the knot. I could not help Wyatt if I fell myself. When I was certain it would hold me, I grabbed the rope, first with one hand, then the other.

Then, as I had the first day we had met, I slid down it, to Wyatt.

Once down, I rushed toward him. I felt weak, spent. I knew that my strength was gone and I hoped that my other gift, the one gift I still needed, was not. I had counted on it.

I reached Wyatt. He was bleeding in so many places. Yet, I could tell that he was barely alive, and even though I had used so many tears, I found more.

My tears touched his flesh.

57

Wyatt

I was floating, first just above my body, then high above, like the snow angels we had made that time only real. I saw Rachel turn the key in the lock. I saw the rhapsody wilt.

And then, I saw Rachel begin to climb down.

I was dying. And yet, it didn’t matter, for I had fought. This time I had fought. I had done the right thing, the good thing. I hadn’t let fear or even inertia stop me. I had done what I was meant to do. I closed my eyes. Even though I was bleeding, nothing hurt. I felt relaxed, at peace.

Then, there were hands on my body, on my face. Something wet. Tears.

I opened my eyes.

Rachel was there.

“My darling,” she said. “My Wyatt, it’s not too late.”

“You came back. I didn’t expect you to. I didn’t know if you’d still be able to heal me. I was willing to sacrifice, for you, for them.”

She kissed me and said, “Yes, but I’m so glad you didn’t have to.”

The room was empty. The rushing water had stopped, and the rhapsody, just wilted, was melting away. All the workers had streamed up the stairways and out the door, the Fox brothers behind them. It was as if the rhapsody had never been there. I held out my hand to Rachel. “Hey, your hair looks cute short,” I said. “And you’re pretty strong. Mind giving me a hand?”

She took mine. “Gladly.”

She helped me up and gestured to Mrs. Greenwood, who was standing nearby. “Mama, I think you’ve met Wyatt.”

She nodded. “Lovely boy . . . if a bit of trouble!” She reached for my arm. “I think you’re going to have to help me a bit with these stairs. The trip down was bad enough.”

We rearranged ourselves, one on each side of her, and started toward one of the staircases. “This one goes outside,” Rachel said.

But when we reached