I’m often lost when he babbles like this. I figure out what he means; it’s usually months later when it comes to pass.
“If this object is dangerous, maybe it should remain hidden.”
“If it remains concealed, the world will crumble.”
“Everett, you make no sense. If the object is hidden, the world ends, but if it is found, the world can also end.”
“I just have to get it in the right hands. One outcome can save us all. One set of hands.” He nods to himself, blowing out a slow, measured breath.“Unfortunately, the only way it can find the correct hands is through the wrong ones.”
“Why are you making yourself sick over something you cannot change?”
“Contrary to what you think, little sister, I am selfish, and I don’t wish for both of us to die, but I have to come to terms with interpreting sacrifice.”
Howl! Bark!
No! No to everything he said!
It’s not the first time he has mentioned my death. His foresight saved me the day Sable tried to drown me. He’s saved me many times, so hearing of my death isn’t creepy. But this is the first time he sees no way around it.
“We all must die at some point,” I whisper.
“I know.” He faces me for the first time. His eyes are wide yet taut with misery—a string pulled beyond its designed capabilities.“I just have to make sure you and I get to that point.”
“Is…” I already know the answer to my question.“Is the person who finds this terrible object Sable?”
His swallow sticks in his throat.“Promise me you won’t stop Sable.”
“Everett, you should not force promises.”
“This one must be.”
“In the end, she’s going to kill me,” I mutter.
Everett doesn’t reply.
A part of me floats away. I wish my relationship with my twin were different. I long for so many things to be different.
“Does this have something to do with why she was in the library all those years ago?”
“Stop before you alter the future, Selene,” Everett bites.
Bark! Snarl!
I glance towards the forest. Hounds gradually emerge. Their paws dig deep as they find purchase in the sand. Time’s hourglass slows and traps every detail.
Everett pushes his stick back into the sand. I look down and see what he is drawing.
“What is that?” I grab his hand.“What are you drawing?” It’s not just random circles or lines. The sand is covered with odd symbols. Dozens he must have drawn over and over again. I watch in horror as his eyes trace the patterns, carving the images into the air.
“I sent these to a new friend.”
“Why?”
“He is a hook,” he pokes the pattern with the stick,“these are bait.”
I suck in my abs.“Everett…” I struggle to sound stern,“what are those?” It feels like some old power slumbers in them. I kick my foot out and rub one away.
He jerks his hand free and redraws what I expunged.“This is what will kill and save us.” He stands, smirks at the designs, then kicks the sand, erasing his patterns with his boot.
