What the hell?
I stare at Dare, balanced precariously, as I try and sort through what is happening with jagged, phrenetic thoughts. The pieces fly apart and whirl and come back together, forming partially cohesive thoughts. Through all of it, though, one thing is clear.
Finn isn’t here.
I’m standing on the edge where Finn had just been. Panic and confusion seize me, as I whirl about, hunting for my brother, but already knowing something deep down.
I finally know Finn’s secret.
He’s not here.
He never was.
41
QUADRAGINTA UNUS
Calla
I’m panicked as I stare at Dare, disoriented and terrified, as the wind whips my hair around my face.
No. This isn’t right. This can’t be.
Images and memories and pictures flood my mind with lightning speed, fitting together, pulling apart, forming a collage, then another and another.
Memories.
My life.
All of it.
I fight to find words, but I can’t and so I start to sob instead, stepping away from the edge and sinking to the ground. Dare wraps his arms around my shoulders, pulling me to safety.
“I’m crazy,” I hear myself cry, clinging to Dare. His voice is husky and calm.
“You’re not,” he insists. “You’re not.”
“Where’s Finn?” my voice is broken because deep down, I know where Finn is. I know it in my heart, I know it in my soul. I’ve been hiding it from myself all along.
Dare remains quiet, his large hands stroking my back, urging me to calm.
I have to know. I have to see.
Wrenching away from Dare, I leap to my feet and take off for my house. I throw open the doors and bound through the dark house, taking the stairs two at a time until I’m standing in front of Finn’s bedroom door.
I stare at the wood, at the grain, at the indention, at the handle. I don’t want to open it because I know what I’ll find.
But I have to. I have to see it.
Reaching down, I turn the knob.
The door creaks open, revealing what my heart knew I’d find.
An empty room.
The bed is still there, neatly made. Finn’s posters are still on the wall, of Quid Quo Pro and the Cure. His black converses sit next to the door, like he’s going to wear them again, but he’s not. His dirty laundry is still in his hamper. His books line the shelves. His favorite pillow waits for him, his CDs, his phone. All of it.
But he’s not coming back.