Lux (18 page)

“What did you do?” I ask him, my eyes closed.

“Nothing,” he says simply. “That’s what I did.”

He reaches over and his hand is warm. “Because it can’t be you, Calla. I can’t let it be you.”

Nothing makes sense and when I get home, Sabine ushers me to my room and she forces me to drink tea, and I do it because I need the oblivion it brings.

I need to be in darkness.

I need to be with Finn.

I can’t exist in a world without him. He’s my light. He’s my light.

I
’m wooden for days
. I barely speak, I only eat what they force me to eat. I don’t want to exist, not without Finn.

Jones takes me to church, because I need to pray, even if it’s to a God who took Finn away. It’s the only thing I can do.

With a plain brick Gothic Revival exterior, the church looms against the cloudy sky, sort of severe and imposing.

I’m hesitant as I peer out the glass.

“It’s the Church of St. Thomas of Canterbury,” Jones tells me. “This is where Savages go.”

I know he means the family, but the irony isn’t lost on me because people seem savage to me right now, all people, particularly people who follow a God who takes away my brother.

“I’ll wait, miss,” Jones tells me, settling into the seat. I nod, and with my shoulders back, I walk straight to the doors.

Once inside, the demeanor of the church changes, from severe gothic, to lavishly decorated, firmly in line with Catholic tradition.

It feels reverent in here, holy and serene. And even if I’m not a religious person, I enjoy it.

The statues of saints and angels hanging on the walls are gilded and full of detail, including the crucifix of Christ at the front.

His face is pained, His hands and feet are bleeding.

I look away, because even still, it’s hard for me to imagine such a sacrifice, but at the same time, I can feel it. Because my brother is gone, and that’s the biggest sacrifice in the world.

“Are you here for confession, child?”

A low voice comes from behind and I turn to find a priest watching me. His eyes are kind above his white collar, and even though he doesn’t know me, this man, this priest, is kind simply to be kind.

I swallow.

“I’m not Catholic,” I tell him, trying to keep my words soft in this grand place. He smiles.

“I’ll try not to hold that against you,” he confides, and he holds his hand out. I take it, and it’s warm.

“I’m Father Thomas,” he introduces himself. “And this is my parish. Welcome.”

Even his hands are kind as he grasps mine, and I find myself instantly at ease for the first time in weeks.

“Thank you,” I murmur.

“Would you like a tour?” he suggests, and I nod.

“I’d love one.”

He doesn’t ask why I’m here or what I want, he just leads me around, pointing out this artifact and that, this architecture detail or that stained glass window. He chats with me for a long time, and makes me feel like I’m the only person in the world, and that he has no place else to be.

Finally, when he’s finished, he turns to me. “Would you like to sit?”

I do.

So he sits with me, and we’re quiet for a long time.

“My mother used to come here, I’m told,” I finally confide. “And I just wanted to feel like I’m near her.”

The priest studies me. “And do you?”

My shoulders slump. “Not really.”

“I’ve been here for a long time,” he says kindly. “I knew your mother. Laura Savage?”

I’m surprised and he laughs.

“Child, you could be her mirror image,” he chuckles. “It wasn’t hard to figure out.”

“You knew her?” I breathe, and somehow, I do feel closer to her, simply because he was.

He nods and looks toward Mary. “Laura is a beautiful soul,” he says gently. “And I can see her in your eyes.”

I swallow because of pain and the priest blinks.

“I’m so sorry. She’s with the Lord now, though. She’s at peace. Your brother is too.”

My breath leaves me. “Did you know my brother?”

Father Thomas shakes his head. “No. But I gave him the Last Rites at the hospital. And I’ll be coming to the family mausoleum this week for his funeral.”

My eyes burn and fill, and I twist and turn Finn’s medallion in my fingers.

“I cursed St. Michael,” I admit to him. “On the beach. Do you think that’s why we couldn’t save Finn?”

He’s surprised and his eyes widen. “Of course not, child. God and St. Michael knew your pain. You have to believe that. Everything happens for a reason.”

He stares at the medallion and it’s around my neck and I don’t know why I’m wearing it. I guess because it’s Finn’s.

“My mother gave it to my brother a long time ago,” I tell the priest. “But it didn’t work. It was supposed to protect him….”

Father Thomas nods. “It was Finn’s time. Keep wearing the medallion. You’ll feel close to your brother and St. Michael will protect you, Calla. You just have to trust.”

Trust.

That’s actually a bit laughable in my current circumstances.

“Let’s pray together, shall we?” he suggests, and I don’t argue because it can’t hurt.

Our voices are soft and uniform as they meld together in the sunlight,

In front of Christ on the Crucifix,

and the two Marys.

St. Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our defense against the wickedness and snares of the Devil. May God rebuke him, we humbly pray, and do thou, O Prince of the heavenly hosts, by the power of God, thrust into hell Satan, and all the evil spirits, who prowl about the world seeking the ruin of souls. Amen.

“Do you believe in evil?” I whisper when we’re finished, and for some reason, my goose-bumps are back. I feel someone watching me, but when I open my eyes, Christ Himself stares at me. From his perch on the wall, his eyes are soft and forgiving while the blood drips from his feet.

“Of course,” the priest nods. “There is good in the world, and there is evil. They balance each other out, Calla.”

Do they?

“Because energy can’t be destroyed?” I whisper. Because it goes from thing to thing to thing?’

The priest shakes his head. “I don’t know about energy. I only know that there is good and evil. And we must find our own balance in it. You will find yours.”

Will I?

The priest examines me for a moment. “Twins are such an interesting thing,” he tells me. “Did you know that some believe that Cain and Abel were twins?”

I shake my head.

“There are scholars who believe that,” the priest nods. “They feel like they were the first example of the darkness and light capable in people.”

“Cain killed his own brother,” I manage to say. “That’s pretty dark.”

“And Finn died thinking he was saving you,” Father Thomas says. “
That
is light.”

I don’t ask him how he knows that. I just thank him and stand up and he blesses me.

“Come back to see me,” he instructs. “I’ve enjoyed our chat. If you’re not Catholic, I can’t hear your confession, but I am a good listener.”

He is. I have to agree.

I make my way out of the church, out of the pristine glistening silence, and when I step into the sun, I know I’m being watched.

Every hair on my head feels it, and prickles.

I turn, and a boy is standing on the edge of the yard, just outside of the fence. He’s watching me, his hands in his pockets, but I can’t see his face. His hood is pulled up yet again.

With my breath in my throat, I hurry down the sidewalk to the car, practically diving inside and slamming the door behind me.

“Has that guy been standing there long?” I ask Jones breathlessly.

“What guy, miss?” he asks in confusion, hurrying to look out the window.

I look too, only to find that he’s gone.

F
inn’s bedroom
is still and quiet. Since Castor and Pollux are dead, not even the dogs keep me company. Yet somehow, I still feel Finn in here, as though if I spoke to him, he’d answer.

“Finn?”

I feel ridiculous, but God, I miss my brother. It’s only been a few days without him, but it feels like eternity.

There’s no answer, of course, and I press my forehead to the glass, watching the cars come and go. Finn is laid out in a room downstairs, for visitation. His funeral will be tomorrow and I can’t bear it.

I lay with my face on his pillow and I close my eyes and I rest.

“You don’t belong here, do you?”

The voice is quiet, yet cool.

Startled, I open my eyes and stare up at the boy in the hoodie. With a gasp, I sit straight up in bed, because the voice was feminine.

His head is tilted just enough that I can’t see his face.

I peer toward him and his face is dark.

“Who are you?” I ask, and my words sound hollow. He cocks his head but doesn’t answer, although there’s a low growl in his throat.

“What do you want?”

He’s calm, his head is down. But his arm comes up,

And he points at me.

He wants me.

“Me?”

“Of course.” I know him I know him I know him.

But I can’t place from where.

“I can help you, you know.”

“You can?”

He nods.

“Let’s get out of here. I’ll show you where horrid things hide.”

His smile is one of camaraderie, and any port in a storm.

When we’re in the driveway, he turns to me.

“Maybe you should’ve brought a wrap. You might get cold.”

But he puts the top down on his car anyway, and we speed through the night, away from Whitley.

“Where are we going?” I finally ask, relieved to be so far away.

He glances at me.

“Someplace you should see. If you think you want to be with Dare, you should know all about him.”

“Do you know Dare?”

“Of course,” he says. “He’s my brother.”

I’m surprised, but not, because I knew that I knew that I knew that. I just don’t remember how. There’s something in his voice now, something rigid, and I startle, because maybe I shouldn’t have chosen this port.

He turns down a dark road, a quiet lane, and then we pull to a stop in front of an old, crumbling building.

“Come on,” he calls over his shoulder, traipsing up the steps. The sign by the door says Oakdale Sanitarium and I freeze.

“What is this place?” I whisper as he opens the door.

“You’ll have to see it to believe it,” he murmurs.

In front of us, a long hallway yawns farther than I can see, the walls crumbling with age, the lights dim when he flips a switch.

There’s no one here, but I can hear moans, screams, whimpers.

“I don’t understand,” I feel like whimpering myself. He rolls his eyes.

“Do you really think someone like Dare is without baggage? Grow up, little girl.”

He pushes open the doors as we pass, and they’re all empty, every single one.

But I feel presences here,

Ugliness.

When we’re almost at the end of the hall, he turns to me, his gaze ugly now and I should’ve known.

In my head, I see Dare and he’s so small.

He sits on a bed in this place, and his arms and his legs are bound.

The screams around us are deafening.

Dare’s eyes are wide and dark,

Haunted,

Haunted,

Haunted.

“Mum?” he asks, his eyes searching the wall behind us, and his tiny voice is hopeful.

A nurse hustles past us, and gives him a shot in the arm. “Hush, boy,” she tells him. “You know your mum is dead. She chose you instead of your brother, and then she went crazy. It’s your fault.”

Dare’s eyes cloud over before he closes them. “I know she’s dead because of me.”

“And you’re here because of that,” the nurse agrees. “You’re a little monster. If it weren’t for you, your mum would be alive.”

The hooded boy turns to me and his eyes are pained and he has Dare’s eyes.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t breathe.

“The nurse is wrong,” he tells me in a strange tone. “If it weren’t for
you,
I’d be alive and Dare would never have been here. You can change it, Calla. You can change it. Do it. Do it.”

He reaches out his hand to me,

And I reach to take it,

Then I open my eyes.

And
we never left Finn’s bedroom.

We. Never. Left.

And I’m alone.

What is happening to me?

I do need help.

I need Dare.

Because he was so hurt, and I don’t know why, but I know I’m hurting him now, more and more each day as I keep pushing him away.

He didn’t deserve that.

He doesn’t deserve
this.

I’m reeling,

I’m reeling.

The room presses down on me, swirling and bending and stifling. I lunge for the door, and find Dare on the veranda, a drink in his hand as he stares absently into the night.

“Dare… I…”

Tears streak my cheeks and he grabs me.

“You’re not a monster,” I whisper. “You’re not. It’s not your fault your mother chose you.”

Without looking back, he leads me away,

Away from the veranda,

Into the gardens.

“I saw the sanatorium,” I whisper, and I turn into his tuxedo jacket, hiding my face. “I know you were there when you were small. I know they tied you to your bed and called you a monster. Am I crazy?”

“You’re not crazy,” his words are gentle, and it’s a soft tone I haven’t heard from him in awhile. My walls come crumbling down, and I cry.

The next few minutes are a blur.

I reach for him,

he pulls me close.

His breath is sweet,

his shirt is starchy and smells of rain,

musk,

and man.

His hands are everywhere,

Firm,

Strong,

And perfect.

His lips are full,

Yet

Soft.

His tongue finds mine,

Moist,

Minty.

His heart beats hard,

The sound harsh in the dark,

And I cling to his chest,

Whispering his name.

“Dare, I…”

“Let’s leave,” he suggests. “Let’s leave it all behind. Let’s spin the wheel and the chips will fall. Things will change but they can’t get worse. Let’s go, Calla. Come with me.”

So I do.

He takes my hand and I follow him,

Because I’d follow him to the ends of the earth.

I know that now, and I tell him.

He turns to me, his eyes so stormy and dark.

He scoops me up, and he’s striding through the hallways of Whitley.

His room is dark and masculine, the bed looming against the wall. We tumble into it, and his hand is behind my head as I fall into the pillow.

Our clothing is stripped away and our skin is hot and flushed and alive.

I’m alive.

Dare lives free.

We breathe that freedom in, and he strokes his fingers against me, into me, deep inside and I gasp and sigh and quiver.

“I… yes.” I murmur into his ear.

Consequences can be damned.

I don’t care who he is.

I don’t care what he’s done.

He’s here.

He makes me feel.

I want him.

He wants me.

So he takes me.

There is no pain.

He’s inside and fills me, and his hands…

work magic.

His lips…

breathe life into me,

Filling me,

Creating me.

I call his name.

He calls mine.

I’m intoxicated by the sound, by the cadence, by the beat.

His heart matches, in firm rhythm.

We’re so very alive,

And together.

Our arms and legs tangle.

Our eyes meet and hold.

His stare into mine as he slides inside,

Then out.

I clutch his shoulders,

To hold him close.

He shudders,

The moonlight spills from the window,

Onto my skin,

And his.

His eyes, framed by thick black lashes, close.

He sleeps.

But he wakes in the night and we’re together again, and again and again.

Each time it’s new,

Each time is reverent and raw and amazing.

In the morning, as he is bathed in sunlight, Dare finally looks away. Shame in his eyes, guilt in his heart.

“Sometimes, I wish I could just go away, and everyone would be better for it, and we’d never have to go through this again.”

“Don’t say that,” I breathe. “You’re the only thing keeping me sane.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he tells me, and his voice is rather hard. “I’m the one keeping you insane. We’re in a loop, you and I. And it’s never going to get better because neither of us will give in.”

“What loop?” I ask, confused, but Dare looks away.

“It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that I don’t deserve you. Can you see why?”

His voice is almost fragile.

You’re better than I deserve.

He’s said it before, over and over, and I never knew what he meant.

I’m not better than he deserves, not by a long shot, not ever.

He sits straight up in bed.

“Go check Finn’s room,” he tells me and his voice is tired. I look at him because Finn is dead and he knows it.

“He’s not,” Dare tells me, as if he can read my thoughts. “He’s not dead. You have to trust me. Go.”

He limply watches me leave the room, and I race to Finn’s, and when I do, Finn is there.

He’s sleeping peacefully in his bed and Pollux is at his feet.

And he’s breathing.

I can’t. I can’t.

The room swirls again and again, and I hold my hands out.

I’m falling,

Falling,

Falling, and I don’t know where I’ll land.

The world is a stage and we all act falsely upon it.

The die has been cast,

Has been cast,

Has been cast.

I feel it,

The truth.

It’s coming,

And it’s dark,

And I won’t like it.

I feel it.

I feel it.

We all have our parts to play, and I’ll play mine well.

But what is it?

I concentrate,

And think,

And more will come.

We’re all a bit mad, aren’t we?

Yes.