Her eyes squint. “Like heaven?”
I shrug one shoulder. “I don’t know if I believe in heaven, but I trust, after everything my brother went through in life, that whoever is in charge up there wouldn’t make him suffer now.” I press my lips together and think how to word my next sentence. “And being trapped here, a wandering soul or whatever, becoming lost in darkness. No. I refuse to accept that. In life, he was lost in that darkness, and I won’t accept he’s not at peace now. I feel it here.” I tap my chest, over my heart. “He’s where he needs to be. It’s all the proof I need.”
Sam’s eyes are unblinking, intent, as she stares at me. “You must think I’m the cruelest person . . . That I’m trying to keep Tyler bound—”
“No.” I sit forward and take her hand. “No. Don’t go there. I know you would never try to keep him here. Look at what you’re doing. You’re traveling across the fucking country, dealing with me”—a smile breaks across her face—“just to help Tyler. If he was here? If I believed beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was? I’d be happy he chose to stick close to you. You’ve always taken care of him.”
Her eyes pinch in confusion. “It was the other way around, Holden. He took care of me.”
“You don’t even know, do you?” I smile and lace my fingers through hers. “Sam, you’re what helped him through his darkness. You were his heaven on earth. And you’re still looking out for him, even in death.”
She blinks, and a tear trails her cheek. She sucks in a shuddering breath. And with a forceful shake of her head, she breaks. “I wish I believed that. I wish I believed Tyler was in a better place. I wish I could set him free. Oh, God . . . I want to believe that so badly.” Her shoulders begin to tremble, and I can feel her walls, whatever psychosis is trapping her mind just—for this split second—come down.
She wants to believe. It’s a fucking start. And as her sobs take her, I can’t help myself. I’m on my knees and crushing her to my chest, holding her with everything in me—clinging to hope and prayer and her—while I try to offer whatever comfort she can find in me.
Sam folds into me, and I let her work out her cry. I hold her for a long time, just listening to her hitched breaths, until they become calm and slow. And when she’s done, I keep holding her. I’m scared to let her go. I don’t want to. I don’t want to lose her to her own darkness.
SAM
“I should’ve known.” I stare at the seedy-looking little bar tucked into a pocket of Wichita that no one probably knows exists. It’s so out of the way, but somehow right in the middle of everything.
Holden chuckles. “You were expecting a concert hall or something?”
“Or something,” I mutter as my phone beeps. I pull it from my back pocket and open a message from Melody. “They’re inside.”
“Come on.” Holden takes my hand, and it feels natural. I don’t fight it. “I’ll protect you from the hyper biker chicks.” He says it as a joke, but there’s a hint of threat in his voice. And I know if anyone did try to mess with me, he would protect me.
We walk into the Milk Bar (that’s the name, for real), and I think about my Clockwork Orange poster. This bar does remind me of the one in the movie. It’s dark and loud, and white mannequins are positioned around the room. Lights from the tiny stage dance around the overcrowded room and along the low ceiling. Tall speakers on either side of a three-foot high stage blast out screeching guitars, heavy drums, and distorted vocals. Along the back wall, a giant poster advertising “Hottest Topless Bar in Wichita” proudly displays another neighborhood club.
I have to admit, I was freaked out at first, but I suddenly want to whip out my sketchpad and capture everything.
Holden continues to hold my hand as he leads us to a table near the stage. “She can find us here,” he shouts over the music. I take a seat, and Holden lifts his chin. “You want a beer?”
“Yeah,” I shout back. He hurries off, and I’m surprised he’s left me alone. But I figure he doesn’t feel any real danger from this crowd. As I glance around, I notice a lot of them are teens.
A row has formed right in front of the stage, waiting for the band to start. Dark-clad bodies, leather, pale faces, and wild, multi-colored hair are everywhere. I don’t feel out of place at all, unlike the biker bar we went to in Talladega. Here, there’s a mix from just about every scene.
Sinking into my seat, I let the music drown out the thoughts trying to break through. I haven’t thought too much on what happened at the park. Truth is, I feel like I needed that cry, and Holden hasn’t spoken of it since. But his words stuck with me. Even now, here, as I’m actually looking forward to this show and hanging with Melody and Darla, his words are in the back of my mind, lingering and coiling.
When Tyler first told me he was getting trapped in that dark limbo, I felt so selfish for needing him. Wanting him to stay with me. I just couldn’t imagine my life without us. Then today when Holden voiced why he believed it wasn’t possible, my selfishness felt like a stab right through my heart.
I would never do anything to hurt Tyler. Not on purpose. When he died, it was the worst moment of my life. The days that followed, I had never been so lost. Do I believe my desperation could’ve brought Tyler back to me? Did I pull him out of the light?
I’m not sure. Sometimes I think so . . . only I don’t want it to be true. I don’t want my pain to have trapped him here. But Holden is right about one thing. I don’t want Tyler lost and wandering, surrounded by darkness. I did suck up my fear to do this trip. And I’m determined to free Tyler no matter what.
Only, his words also made me realize that maybe, just maybe, I’m still lost. That Tyler’s darkness is not his, but mine. Holden trusts that his brother is in a good place already. How come I could never believe that? Can I now?
I told Holden the truth. I wish I did. If this was all in my head, I’d take my pills and finish the trip and love the memory of Tyler.
Holden has created doubt.
For the first time, I’m questioning what’s real and what’s not. Because one fact remains: I love Tyler. And I want to believe he’s not suffering.
Arms wrap around me from behind, and I startle out of my morbid thoughts. “You’re here!” Melody screeches. She plunks down in the seat next to mine and sets her beer on the table. “Where’s dickhead?”
I laugh and point toward the bar area. “Getting beers. Where’s Darla?”
Melody rolls her eyes. “She’s a fucking sex kitten, that one. She’s getting it on with Derick in the bathroom.” She sips from her beer bottle. “She’ll find us when she’s sexed up enough.”