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Before I light the flame, I look for any sign of my brother. He’s gone, at least for now, leaving me alone with these bodies lying in wait.
I flick the flame using my fire starter, and it takes no time to spread to the other bodies. One after another, they start to burn, melt, and begin their process of rebirth. I step back as far as I can as the fire catches on the nearby trees.
May their souls rest in peace.
Mine is the one that needs saving because right now… I’m about to burn in hell.
Chapter Twenty-Six
London
Four Months Later
“London, honey. Are you almost ready to go?”
I pull on a pair of loose-fitting jeans and stare at myself in the mirror, running my hands down my hips. Finally, I’m coming alive after months of looking like a zombie. Day by day, I’m slowly getting better—at least on the outside. The shine of my hair has returned, the natural blush to my skin is back on my cheeks, and my lips are a natural cherry red. I’ve gained thirty pounds, and my breasts are almost the size they once were. My womanly curves have returned.
However, it still takes every ounce of energy to breathe. I close my eyes and try not to think about Micah—which is nearly impossible.
He consumes my dreams, my thoughts, and every corner of my mind. And when I’m not thinking about him, Nigel haunts me. I’m honestly not sure which one is worse.
I fuss with my hair, trying to style it so it doesn’t look completely disheveled. I should try harder, but I hardly feel like there’s a point anymore. I might not look like a zombie, but I sure feel like one. So, instead, I pull on a baseball cap and rush out to meet my mom so we can walk to the beach, hoping no one will recognize me today.
We moved to California a month ago, and I’m still getting used to it here. I was going to move here alone, but my mom insisted on coming with me. So she sold most of our things, and we are starting over in a gorgeous two-bedroom condo by the beach. It’s small and simple, but I can’t imagine having anything bigger. I haven’t stepped foot in New Ocean since we left four months ago.
Strangely, my favorite part about this place is the people. No one knows me here. I blend in much easier than in Portland and definitely more than I did in New Ocean, although sometimes I get hushes and stares as people recognize me from the news.
“It’s that girl from the plane crash. She’s one of the New Ocean survivors. The one that won’t speak.”
A spectacle who won’t give the world their story.
The cool ocean breeze hits my lungs as we walk the three minutes to the public beach and stroll down the boardwalk. Eventually, we find a nice spot on the beach, and I sit back and stare at the ocean before bringing out my book. Since getting rescued, I don’t know what scares me more: wide open spaces or tight confinement. Both chill me to my core, making every living moment a struggle.
I’m constantly looking for ways to escape.
I barely left my room for three months, crying and shaking in my sleep, refusing to speak about what happened out there. My mom finally shut herself in my room and refused to leave until I talked.
It all poured out of me, and I opened up to her.
The plane crash, our bullshit society, who really killed Olivia, my relationships with Maison and Micah, the death, the pain, the anguish, my hallucinations…
I couldn’t, however, bring myself to tell her about Nigel—what he did to me, or in turn, what I did to him. I also didn’t tell her the real reason I no longer have feeling in my hand.
My instinct is still to protect Micah.
She sat and listened and tried not to have a horrified look on her face. When I was done, she made a phone call to the police and forced me to tell them everything I told her. I was admitted to the hospital for the psychiatric care I desperately needed and also received two reconstructive surgeries to save my hand. I still have no feeling in it, but I can move it and use it reasonably well.
Out of the group, two of us were charged with criminal offenses. One simply cannot mutilate a hand and get away with it. Ezra and Naomi were charged with bodily harm resulting in loss of limb, and they are currently awaiting trial. Thomas’s parents demanded justice when they found out what happened to him.
I refuse to testify against Ezra—he knows my secrets and keeps them to himself. I told him I’ll stand by him through the trial, but I think he understands he will have to face the consequences of his decisions, regardless of whether I testify for or against him. It would mean standing in a courtroom and rehashing everything, and I simply don’t think I can do it.
Some secrets are better left unsaid.
Naomi denies her involvement, saying Ezra and Nigel made her do everything. She can rot in jail for all I care. Me not testifying has nothing to do with her, even if she ends up benefiting from it. Due to the circumstances and heated emotions from all the families, it will likely be a long, drawn-out trial. I told the others all along we weren’t above the law, and since Naomi was eighteen, they have to charge her as an adult.
Ezra’s parents insist on pressing charges against Micah for the same offense he committed against Ezra. You can’t, however, charge someone who is legally declared dead. They searched for him for months and found no sign of him out there.
I don’t believe he’s dead. There’s something in my bones that tells me he’s discovered the place that brings him joy, and I can’t blame him for wanting to remain there. All I ever wanted was for him to find happiness.
