SAM RIPS COSTA OFF THE FLOORand charges him across the living room until his body is pinned up against a wall. “What the fuck are you talking about? Don’t you dare use Toby to try to repair what you’ve done.”
I quickly get to Sam, but I can’t pull his hands from Costa. Appealing to his non-death-tripper side is the only hope I have that Sam won’t kill him. “You are not a murderer. You’re not. Please.”
Sam pulls his hands back, and Costa catches his balance before he falls. Sam’s face tells me that I’m right, that he was on the brink of going too far. He doesn’t kill people when he’s sober. I know him. It’s a line that he cannot cross without hard repercussions, but this is now the second time that he’s come close. The day on the dock when his hearing power was making him edgy, he nearly choked Costa, and I was barely able to stop him.
Costa’s leather jacket is off one shoulder as he stands fully and runs a hand through his hair. There is a ragged and unfamiliar air about him, and he strains to sound casual. “So what? You can fly now? That’s kinda badass.”
Sam makes a slight move, and Costa holds up his hands to block him. “Okay, okay. Sorry.”
I have to work to pull Sam back and move myself in front of him. I hate the mood between them, between all of us. “What are you really doing here?” I demand. I can hear Sam pacing behind me. So far, this is much less fun than martini night would have been. “You want something. So, what is it? What else are you trying to take from us now?”
Costa is noticeably thinner and paler than usual, and dark circles leave shadows under his eyes. “Can I sit down?”
I hardly recognize his voice. He’s shaky and emotional and nothing like I’ve seen him before. He’s even pathetic-looking. But I’m still suspicious of his motives. I wish to all hell that I could blindly trust him, but he’s ruined that. I know broken and crazy well, and I’m willing to forgive. Only, Costa has been pushing it beyond reasonable limits.
“Please. I don’t deserve for you to hear me out. I get it. You feel like I’ve wrecked everything we ever had. You’re right, but I’m going to ask you to just listen to me anyway.”
Sam can’t even begin to form a response, so I figure that separating them for the time being can only help. “Sam, why don’t you get him some water?”
Sam scoffs but goes to the kitchen.
There is too much tension for any of us to think reasonably. And Costa’s mention of his son has made it impossible to throw anything solely hateful his way. Losing a child will always take precedence over any other pain there is to be felt.
Costa and I sit silently in the living room, and being alone in his presence, even for a few minutes, is unsettling and confusing. I am at a loss about what to believe or what to say. Sam returns with a plastic cup and keeps as much distance as possible while passing it over.
Costa chugs the water and then keeps his head down while he fiddles with the cup. “I’m so sorry. Really, I’m so sorry.” He rubs his fingers over his eyes. “I need you both. You’re the only chance I have.”
“What are you talking about?” Sam throws himself into an armchair and glares at his friend. “Spit out whatever crap you’re here to tell, and then you can get the hell out. I can’t do this anymore with you. Every single time you show up, you rip out some piece of my heart. No more.” Sam is now consumed with his emotion. “I can’t stand it. It hurts too much. I am begging you, Costa. Please get out of my life. Stop shredding me. I have nothing left to give you.”
Costa breaks down, hiding nothing from us. For once, I see honesty and not some kind of manipulative display. Costa is raw and unrestrained when he cries and lays out his pain, and it’s excruciating to be present in his grief. “I don’t know how to explain it all,” he says rather helplessly.
As much as I want to destroy him for what he’s done, I also want to heal someone who’s been broken. I had to be healed, and I didn’t do that alone, so I try to ease him into his story, whatever it might be. “Start with why you came back to town,” I say.
He looks at me with gratitude. “Yeah. Okay. Last spring…I came to see you, Sam. I missed you, but I was scared to see you again, too. After the ice…the drowning…when I had been away and alone, I’d needed you so much, but I hated you at the same time. It was impossible. Losing Toby was my worst nightmare, but I couldn’t do anything about it. My whole life had been eviscerated, and maybe I’d deserved it because I probably hadn’t deserved that miraculous kid in the first place. But I’d had him and then lost him, and there’s nothing like that. There’s no way to explain exactly how my world fucking ended. But I did what I could. I just kept going because there was no other fucking option. I couldn’t die, right?” He laughs, but his laugh just hurts all of us.
“Except, eventually, I got an idea. It was vague, nothing really thought out, but just an idea that maybe Toby could still be alive. Sure, at first, it was just wishful thinking. That’s normal, I guess—the denial stage of grief. But there is truth in it. I mean, we never found his body, Sam. Nobody did.”
I glance at Sam and see that a good portion of his fury has subsided. Now, he is trying to hold it together while Costa talks about his little boy.
“I came back home, back to my lifeline,” Costa continues. “You, Sam. So, I watched you for a while, just to get used to the idea of seeing you again. It sounds weird, I know, but I did. I’d see you water the garden circles every day. I liked that.” He gives a light smile.
“But you looked as fucked up as I felt—angry and miserable. Part of me thought you deserved to live in such agony, but most of me just hated it. I hated that you were suffering, that everyone around here saw you as some kind of monster that I knew you weren’t.
“Then, Stella showed up, and I saw you two together. Right from the start, it was so obvious that there was something really strong between you two.” He pauses and taps his fingers over his knees while he fumbles to stay with this narrative. “Then, holy shit, you two made that storm. I knew it because you were together that night. Your rain became the storm. I figured there was a power connection between you two.”
“You watched us the night of the storm?” Sam’s anger resurfaces.
“I know, I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t hang around or anything. Really. Just listen, okay? Please. I knew immediately that Stella was influencing what you could do. So, I tripped you to test it out. Then, there were the fireworks and everything else from the glowing lights.” Costa rubs his jeans. “That was because of you, Stella.”
I nod. We know this to be true. There’s no question. It makes me uncomfortable, but he’s right.
“So, all of this drove me to the idea that if Sam were somehow…strong enough…that we could trip and find Toby. And I think I’m right. I know he’s supposed to be dead, but I can’t accept that—not just because I don’t want to, but because I don’tfeelit, you know? I don’t. Toby is still with me too much. I don’t care how little he was. His body would have turned up sometime, especially after the thaw in the spring.”
Sam shakes his head, but it’s not entirely with disbelief. It’s also with understanding—and maybe hope.
“But to do it,” Costa continues, “we need Stella. She makes you stronger when you’re not tripping, and if you had a…I don’t know…” Now, he stands up and walks the room, agitated. “A vision power or something, then Stella could get you skilled enough that we could trip and find Toby. You know how hard it is to see when we’re under, right, Sam? I can’t do it alone. But you could take your power with you and maybe be able to see where I can’t.”
Sam is now slumped in his chair with his head in his hand. “Why didn’t you just come to me and ask? I would’ve done anything for you.”
