Page 77 of The Serpent King

“Do you still believe in God?”

He fiddled with his shirt cuff before answering. “Yeah. But I think maybe he made all this and got in over his head a little. Like he can’t keep track of all the bad stuff that happens or stop it.” He reflected for a moment on what he’d said. “How about you?”

“I don’t know. I want to. Sometimes I do. Sometimes I don’t.”

A humid gust of wind mussed their hair. “Do you ever wonder how many springtimes you have left?” Dill asked, brushing hair from his eyes. “We’re seventeen now, so we get sixty-three more springtimes if we’re lucky. Like that?”

“I hadn’t. But I will now.”

“I guess the answer is always one more, until it’s zero more. And you never know when the answer will be zero more.”

They watched a vulture turn lazy circles in the distance, floating on updrafts, gliding. “Nothing stops when we’re gone,” Lydia said. “The seasons don’t stop. This river doesn’t stop. Vultures will keep flying in circles. The lives of the people we love won’t stop. Time keeps unspooling. Stories keep getting written.”

“Lydia?”

She turned, tilting her head, seeking Dill’s face. “Are you okay?”

He studied his feet. “I’m not sure. I’m numb right now. But I can feel the darkness coming. The way you can see a storm coming. I can hear voices in the darkness.” He paused, gathering his strength. “I need to tell you something about myself.”

He told her the story of the Serpent King. She clearly made a great effort to remain neutral, which Dill appreciated, but her face betrayed her horror.

And now you know who I am. Now you’ve seen the tracks that have been laid for me. Maybe the force of my destiny is so great that Travis had to die to bring it into being. Run. Run from me the way people did from my grandpa, the Serpent King.

Lydia sat confounded and speechless for several minutes after he finished. “Just because grief ruined your grandfather doesn’t mean it’ll ruin you,” she finally said. Dill detected the trace of uncertainty in her voice, much as she may have tried to mask it.

He put his face in his hands and wept. “It’s in my blood. It’s like each of my cells has this poison inside it, and the grief chemical from my brain dissolved whatever kept the poison bound up. So now it’s starting to flow free and poison me. Like it did my grandpa and dad.”

Lydia took Dill’s hand and pulled it to her. “I want you to listen to me. They surrendered to their darkness. You don’t have to, and I want you to promise me that you never will.”

“I can’t promise that.”

“Promise me that if you ever feel like surrendering, you’ll tell me.” She put her hand on his cheek, turned his face to hers, and stared him dead in the eyes. “Dill, promise me.”

“You’re leaving. You won’t be around.”

Her eyes welled with tears, and they began streaming down her face and dropping onto the concrete. She pointed and spoke with greater resolve. “Dill, I will spend my life savings and charter a private jet if I have to. I will literally tie you up with duct tape and kidnap your ass and take you home with me. Now promise me.”

Dill took a deep, shuddering breath and turned his gaze away, but he said nothing.

“Dill?” She reached over and turned his face back to hers.

“I promise,” he whispered finally. I don’t know if I can promise what I’ve just promised.

“Say the words.”

“I promise I will tell you if I feel like surrendering.”

“At least promise me that before you consider surrender, not only will you tell me, but you’ll at least try something completely unexpected with your life instead, since you’ll have nothing to lose.”

“What?”

“Anything. Go to college. Join the circus. Live naked in a tepee. Whatever. Just nothing involving snakes or poison, though.”

“I promise.”

They sat their vigil like some sacrament. Until sundown and the blood-orange winter light of the dying day cast long shadows. Dill watched Lydia out of the corner of his eye. The breeze blew her hair across her face. She wore the sunset as a flaming crown. Young and beautiful and luminous and alive, keeping the darkness at bay if only for that brief moment.

When she arrived home, her dad was sitting on the couch, looking at a photo album. He still wore his suit and tie from the funeral. She sat down beside him and laid her head on his shoulder. He put his arm around her and kissed the top of her head.