The music is slower this time.
“Dance with me again. It’ll help pass the time.”
“Fine.” I step into him, somewhat reluctantly, but the truth is that I also welcome physical closeness and comfort because I’m beginning to falter in my faith that Sam will be okay. I put an arm over Costa’s neck and a hand in his. “What are we listening to?”
“Matthew Mayfield. ‘Heartbeat.’”
“Ironic.”
Costa’s hand moves to the small of my back, and he pulls me in hard, his waist pressing into mine. “Feel.”
I push away. “Don’t be a shit again.”
“No, notthat.” He repositions me against him. “Feel my heartbeat. I’ve died way more than Sam has. My heartbeat is still strong, so feel.”
I lean the side of my head on his chest. Even with music filling the room, I can hear, and I feel a little better—only a little, but it helps. I let Costa rock us back and forth to the lyrics. “Who tripped you?” I asked.
“Some guy.”
I step on his foot. “Say more.”
He laughs. “About ten miles north of here, there’s a place where people go cliff diving. It’s illegal, but it’s fun. I never jumped, but I used to go sit and watch from a distance. I caught him there, alone—the death tripper.”
Costa makes a dramatic ghost sound, and I smile.
“When he jumped and crashed, I saw him die. I saw him and the blood on slabs of rocks. Then, I watched his body disappear. I thought I’d made it up. I stayed there all day, trying to convince myself that I wasn’t crazy.”
His heartbeat continues to keep me calm.
“I understand that.”
“He came back just before nightfall and did it again. Hetrippedover death. It was awesome. I don’t know what he calls it, but Sam and I go withdeath tripping. Nice ring to it, huh? I watched him a few more times, and then I asked him if could make me what he was, if that were possible. He said he could do it to anyone. So, he did it to me. Made me a death tripper. End of story.”
“Just like that? But why did you want to be tripped?” I ask with skepticism. “You went up to some stranger and—”
“End of story, okay? The point is, I got what I wanted, and I never saw him again.”
“This doesn’t make any sense.” I step back just slightly and look up at the raven-haired boy who I know damn well is holding back the full truth. “You hardly knew anything about death tripping. You still don’t. Why didn’t you ask him about it? I mean…if there are rules or whatever? Will you and Sam ever die? Are there more death trippers? There have to be, right? Shit, Costa, why would you ever choose this?”
He stops dancing and holds me still. “You, more than anyone, should understand wanting a way out. That’s what I got. I got my out. Death tripping gave me a life. Until it took my son’s.”
I don’t know what to say to this, so I move into his body and make him keep dancing with me. Three more songs play before I speak again, “What the fuck is this song we’re listening to?”
“Hey, be careful there. This is Bret Michaels. ‘Every Rose Has Its Thorn.’ Don’t mess with Bret.”
“Fine, fine. Sorry. I had no idea this was so important to you.”
“Ballads from the eighties are very important to the world. And this is the updated country version. It’s hot.” He steps back and gets on one knee while he serenades me.
“You’re so weird.”
“And you love that about me.”
“Iacknowledgethat about you.”
“Same diff.” He stands back up and continues our dance.
“What power do you have now?”
