Sometimes it is just the end.
And even though she never reaches the last page of my story, she will always be my favorite chapter. Folded and stained and written into me forever.
TWENTY
Zayne
One month later
If someone had ever told me that losing someone could hurt this much, I would have laughed in their face. I would have called them delusional. Pain like this sounded exaggerated until it lived inside my ribs, until it pressed against my lungs and made breathing feel optional.
I never understood why people begged for closure. It always sounded like an excuse, a word people used to feel better about unfinished endings. Now I know. Now I felt the pain of needing it.
The case of Ozark Butcher was closed.
The case of Zayne Mercer was closed, too.
The media helped with that.
Pressure built. Cameras flashed. Questions piled up until the police sealed the files to make it stop.
No one asked how Zayne Mercer had really died. The official story was neat and straightforward. He had chased his doctor onto a construction site until they both fell, and the impact killed them on the spot.
A tragic accident that brought closure to everyone but me.
No one asked about Zeke. No one even knew he existed.
So I took his place.
It turned out Emily’s best friend, Mia, was a journalist. She wanted the truth about Eureka Springs, all of it, and she made sure the files she found at Emily’s place didn’t stay hidden. She leaked everything. And when names came to light, the whole government scrambled and fell.
Project Gemini became impossible to bury. Cloning was no longer a rumor or a conspiracy. It was the truth that came out.
Inmates labeled criminally insane, people who had disappeared from records, turned up dead overnight. Too many bodies raised too many questions, and those questions led the Halden Institute to shut down.
Its doors locked for good. Soon, construction crews moved in, tearing it apart piece by piece, replacing it with plans for a hotel.
Locals already whispered about ghosts from 1998, about spirits that haunted the land and refused to leave, but no one truly believed.
Funny how silence worked. How fear kept mouths closed until one voice dared to speak. It always took just one.
If anyone asked how I ended up on the other side of all this, watching the world react instead of chasing it, I could have told them a story about the future. I could have pretended I lived long enough to see what came next.
But that would have been a lie.
I had only three years left to live.
As usual, I watched from behind, standing apart from the small ceremony meant only for those who had truly known her.
There were not many people here. Her aunt was there, grief spilling out of her in broken sobs. She looked down with regret on her face.
Even though her death had been ruled an accident, they didn’t allow her body to leave the morgue for a month. Paperwork dragged, and procedures stalled. Time moved forward without her. By the time the funeral finally came, 2016 had already turned into 2017.
I stood there and watched, fingers curled tightly around the stems of daisies and red roses. I waited for everyone to leave so I could place them myself on her tombstone.
It felt cruel that I didn’t know her favorite flower until after she was gone. Ten years of knowing her, of seeing her pass by me, and only now did I regret not saying hello. I regretted not kissing her sooner, not hugging her sooner. I regretted every moment I wasted believing there would always be another chance.
I kept waiting until I finally understood that time was not something I had.
