“But I should still have gone for you,” I argue. “I’m sorry. Do you want to go back today? Because I will. If you need to go again, I will.”
Finn looks at me sadly. “You need to go for you, Cal. But you’re not ready. It’ll happen in layers… in order. I promise.”
He’s talking nonsense, which worries me. “You’re taking your meds, right?” I ask him worriedly. He nods.
“Please stop worrying about me, Cal. I’m fine.”
“You’re not.” I can’t help but take in his wrinkled clothes, pale skin, dark circles around his eyes. “You’re not sleeping again. Your hands are shaking. We’ve got to get you some help. I’m going to talk to dad.”
Finn’s arm snakes out faster than I can blink and grabs mine. “Don’t,” he says quickly. “Please. We’ll handle this on our own, Calla. You and me, just like always.”
And I want to tell him that it’s not fair to me, that this weight is too heavy, that it’s too much responsibility, but of course I don’t. Because we’re Calla-and-Finn and that’s how it’s always been, and that’s how it will always be.
I finally just nod. “Ok. I won’t tell him.”
I glance at him again and remember that he’s not wearing his St. Michael’s medallion.
“You took your necklace off,” I tell him, trying not to sound accusatory. He looks away and shrugs.
“I decided I don’t need it anymore. You can have it, if you want.”
I stare at him, my mouth open. “You haven’t taken that thing off since you got it, because mom liked the idea that you’re protected when you wear it.”
His icy blue gaze impales me. “Mom’s not here anymore, Calla.”
I swallow and it hurts. “I know that,” I answer, the words raspy. He nods.
“Good. So you can have it if you want it.” He gets to his feet wearily and my heart explodes into a puff of dust.
“I’ve gotta shower,” he says quietly and leaves without another word.
I’m quiet as I stare out the window, staring at the ocean. Boats glide on the horizon and I can’t help but wish I was on one, floating far, far away from here.
But if that were the case, I’d be sailing away from Dare. And I can’t do that. Not now.
I shower and brush my teeth, then lock my bedroom door before pulling out Finn’s journal. Curled up in my window, I force myself to read the words because I’ve been putting it off and now is the time. Flipping the mysterious tarot card absently over and over in my fingers, I stare at another of Finn’s strange symbols and read his words.
Death is the beginning.
Mors solum initium est.
The beginning beginning beginning beginning
I need to start
I startle as I read the scratched words, the ink ground into the paper like Finn had used all of his strength. He needs to start what?
A new beginning?
Or death?
My heart pounds hard against my ribcage as I mark my page with the tarot card, then cram the journal back between the mattresses before I clatter down the steps.
“Have you seen Finn?” I ask my father when I meet him on the stairs.
“No,” he answers. “Are you ok?”
“Yes,” I sigh because I’m so sick of him asking. “I just need to find Finn.”