Transcendent (31 page)

He paused, his eyes glinting as he studied me.

“What?” I asked, a whisper. “What is it?”

“Why not my daughter? Your fancy show here, your fancy trip coming up—you're just helping people left and right. People can't stop thanking you for all the good you do their kids. But why not mine? Why not my Ella? I already lost Parker . . .”

I took a few wobbly steps back, desperate for any distance I could get until I figured a way out of this—a way to talk him down somehow. “Kyle . . . I'm sorry we ignored you. I was scared when I first found out. And it was too late by the time I'd started . . . started doing anything. But I couldn't have saved her. I couldn't have done what doctors couldn't even do.”

“Then what good is it that you came from some kind of pregnant virgin? Was your mom just a whore after all? Huh? Tell me that. If you can't fucking make a miracle happen, then why are you going around pretending to be some kind of god here on earth with all us lowly nobodies? You're just a big lie, Iris Spero. You're just a big nothing like the rest of us. And I'm sick of hearing people say that you're anything but what you really are. It's about
time someone taught you a lesson for all these lies you're telling.” He reached into his pocket, pulling out his hand to wave a bottle in the air, a clear, empty whiskey bottle glowing under the moonlight.

“No, please, no—” I had tried to run backward, afraid to turn away from him, but my ankle caught and twisted behind me. I crashed to the ground, pain throbbing up my calf.

He hovered just above, his face covered in shadows, bottle raised over his head.

I kicked my legs out in frantic circles, hoping I could knock him back just enough that I could push myself up and run. My foot landed hard against his shin, making my ankle burn even hotter. He was unfazed, though, leaning in closer.

“Help me!” I screamed. “Somebody help me!”

The glass shattered against my forehead. The moonlight above flickered, my vision bursting with bright shooting stars. The glass hit again, harder. I tensed my entire body, my nerves, my muscles crying out in pain, waiting for another blow.

But it didn't come.

“What the hell, kid?” Kyle yelled, his voice sounding anxious, much less sure of himself. “What are you doing here?”

“Get away from my sister!”

Cal.

I fought to push myself up with my elbows, but my head was throbbing and swirling, a thousand times too heavy to lift. I gave up. I could feel tears now and blood, warm and heavy, streaming down the sides of my face.

“Cal, run away!” I screamed. “Get away from him!”

“Fuck,” Kyle muttered, pacing around me in circles, close enough that I could see him along the edges of my limited vision. “This isn't how it was supposed to happen. This isn't . . .”

Cal jumped between us, his back to me as he faced Kyle.

“I already called the police,” he said. “They're going to be here any minute.” He sounded so strong and brave, so old. My tears spilled out even faster, blurring my eyes. It hurt too much to wipe them away.

Kyle didn't respond. But I heard his footsteps, messy and frenetic, as he ran away from us, out of the meadow and onto the path that would lead him to the city streets.

“Iris!” Cal cried, finally turning to face me. He flopped himself onto the ground, his hands desperately swiping at the blood pooling around my face. “Can I call the police from your phone? I lied—they aren't coming, not yet. I saw you leaving the house and I followed. I'm sorry, I just got so scared about you being alone. But I didn't have time to grab my phone.”

“My pocket,” I said, wincing as I tilted my head to the left side of my pants.

I gritted my teeth as Cal made the call, determined to stay awake. It would be so easy to drift away, though, to just close my eyes for a few minutes and . . .

Cal shook me. “Don't leave me! I'm so scared, Iris, I'm so scared and I need you to stay with me, okay?” I could hear the operator, still on the line, as the phone fell to the grass.

“Okay,” I said, latching on tight as his warm, sweaty hand slipped into mine. “I'm not going anywhere, buddy. And thank you. For following me. For saving me.”

“You can't always be the one saving people,” he said, kneeling in closer to rest his head on my chest.

Sirens wailed in the distance. Louder. Closer.

“Sometimes
you
need to be saved, too.”

•   •   •

I was alone in the hospital room when I opened my eyes, though I could hear my parents' voices spilling in from the hallway, just beyond. A TV monitor was hanging from the ceiling in front of my bed, the news playing and a reporter—a reporter standing in front of our house. I squinted to see the screen more clearly, but the bright sterile lights sliced through my vision. I shut my eyes again, my head throbbing. I focused in on the reporter's
voice, tuning out the passing murmurs from the hallway.

“We're still waiting for more details, but a source has revealed that after her little brother appeared at the scene, Iris Spero's attacker fled Prospect Park. He reportedly turned himself in to the NYPD just one hour later. It's unclear at this time how serious Spero's injuries are, but many are wondering—now that such a serious threat has been made against her life—will this change Spero's travel plans? She was set to fly out to Florida today in fact, for the next fund-raiser event with the Doves, the newly renamed Disney's Children organization, now the largest Disney survivors network in the country. Spero proved herself . . .”

The reporter continued on, but my head ached too much to take in any more details.

“Mom?” I croaked, straining to make my voice loud enough to be heard in the hallway. “Dad? Caleb?”

My dad appeared first, his face like one of those masks with two expressions at once—grinning with relief on one side, grim with terror on the other.

“Sweetie, thank God!” he exclaimed, rushing over to my bed. “You're awake. Your mom just went to grab us some coffees, but she'll be back in a few minutes. That was a nasty hit you got.” He reached out, his hand stopping just short of touching my forehead, which I now realized was covered in a thick swaddling of bandages.

“Kyle Bennett, he . . . he turned himself in?” I asked, needing to be certain that the reporter had gotten that part of the story correct.

“Yes. Showed up bawling at the police station almost straight after he left the park. A drunken mess. He said he was sorry, that he hadn't meant to take it so far, but . . . but he did. He took it way too goddamn far. We're lucky you just have a concussion and some cuts. When I think about it, you at the park, him showing up like that . . .” He broke into a sob, pressing a fist tight against his mouth. We stared at each other in silence for a moment, a prickling cloud of unease seeping into the air around us. “If Caleb hadn't been following you, scaring him out of his rage . . . Jesus, Iris. I can't even think about it.”

“I'm sorry,” I whispered.

“You shouldn't have gone out alone. It's not safe for you right now. Too many zealots out there—on both ends of the spectrum—who would be all too happy to follow you around at night. All of this, it's making me think . . . I hate to say this, knowing how excited you are, but maybe you going out on this tour right now, maybe it's not the best idea for anyone. I know that you have people counting on you, but your safety is most important. People are bound to get angry, Iris. And it's not your fault. It's just the nature of this whole thing. People are happy when they feel like you're helping them, but as soon as it doesn't go their way . . .”

“So you think I should just cancel? Back out on all of this?” My voice sounded high-pitched and tinny, unrecognizable to my own ears.

“The kids . . . the Doves, they could go without you, no? People could still come to see them perform. It wouldn't be the same, maybe . . . but what good will you be to anyone if you get hurt? I hate to say it, but it's the truth, sweetie. All I care about right now is keeping you safe.”

“I could go.” I turned to see Caleb standing in the doorway, a sad, thoughtful frown on his washed-out face. “I can keep watching out for her.”

“That's sweet of you, buddy, but you need to stay here with us. I'm keeping you out of this as much as possible, okay?”

“I have Mom. And Zane.” I kept my lips in a careful line as I clenched my teeth, trying my hardest not to show just how much pain I was in. My head was thudding with tension, as if it was right in the middle of a heavy metal vise, some old-fashioned torture device that was proving just how much I could or couldn't take. But I couldn't let my dad know that—I couldn't add any more fuel to his argument.

“I'm glad your mom is going, but that doesn't feel like enough. And we barely even know Zane, sweetie.”

“I know him, Dad. I
know
him.”

“Jesse.”

All three of us turned to the door. My mom stood framed in the center, her cool blue eyes narrowing sharply on my father.

My dad rose from the seat, walking toward her in a straight, perfect line, as if her eyes were somehow reeling him in from across the room.

She reached out, placing her palms on his chest as she stared up at him. “This is Iris's decision to make. I love you, but I need you to understand that. We both want to keep her safe. We will both
always
want to keep her safe. But she's not meant to be hidden away. She isn't just ours anymore.”

She lifted one hand, brushed it along his cheek, words and emotions and sensations I couldn't begin to touch passing between them. Their gaze burned, a heat that seemed to radiate, ignite the whole room around them.
Mina and Jesse
. I thought of them, as they'd been in my mom's pages, the powerful, natural bond that had seemed to exist from the very first moment at Frankie's—even if it had taken my mom some time to fully recognize what she'd found. Watching them now, I realized how much I wanted that someday.

My mom broke away and turned toward me.

“There will always be risks, Iris. But there will be good, too, I'm sure. It's only up to you how much you can take on. Not your father, not me. You.”

Was she telling me to go? To go on with the trip, regardless of the other Kyle Bennetts I might have to face—all the many people I would inevitably disappoint along the way? And was I ready to walk back out there? The horror of the night before was still so fresh. Stumbling, crashing to the ground, Kyle leaning over me, that bottle glistening in the moonlight . . .

What if Caleb hadn't come? What if I really
had
been entirely alone?

I shuddered, closing my eyes as I rocked back and forth to the pounding inside my head.

My mom spoke again, this time her voice sounding closer, hovering near my bed.

“This is your life, Iris. It's up to you how best to live it.”

I
GLANCED BACK
at the car as I stepped up to the old wraparound front porch. My mom blew me a kiss, her face leaning in close against the window.

There were two cars parked in the driveway. They were home, then, probably. I took a deep breath and crossed over the faded floral welcome mat. There were flowerpots on either side, though whatever plants had grown in them had long before died. Now there was just dry, cracked soil, decayed leaves that had blown in from the yard. The pots had been forgotten.

I lifted my hand, paused for a beat, a last flash of hesitation. I'd come this far. I'd come all the way to Green Hill, where my parents had grown up. The town was exactly as my mom had described it in her book: one bustling Main Street at its center, with houses becoming sparser as we drove farther along winding green roads that cut through fields and woods. We'd made a detour first,
stopping on the street outside my grandparents' old farmhouse—the white plaster walls and red shutters and two matching stone chimneys, the scene that looked almost exactly as it had in the opening footage of my dad's video. We had stepped out of the car for a moment, watching the sunlight sparkle along the windows, breathing in the cool breeze that washed over us, the scents of grass and pine and dirt, a hint of wood smoke. I had closed my eyes and tried to imagine how my mom would have felt at seventeen, with the idea of me, the reality, still so fresh and raw. I hugged her, and then we had climbed back into the car.

As glad as I was to see her old home, it wasn't the reason we'd come.

I steadied my breath and knocked hard against the heavy wooden door, three times.

A minute passed, and I knocked again. I could feel the steam leaking out of me. All the anxiety, the painstaking planning about what I would say—it had all been for nothing.

Just as I started to turn back toward the car, the door cracked open.

Kyle Bennett stepped out, dressed in a stained white T-shirt and too-baggy sweatpants. He looked much smaller than he had nearly two weeks before, that night at the park. Ten days, ten nights of dreaming about that moment, over and over again. My parents had sentenced
me to bed rest to fully recover—it had left far too much time for my imagination to run wild.

Kyle's eyes widened when he realized who was on his porch, his mouth gaping open.

“What are you . . . ?”

“I came to say that I've decided I won't be pressing charges.” The words were clear and firm. I was proud of myself for that.

He blinked a few times, his eyes looking dazed, as if he wasn't sure any of this was actually happening. “You're . . . you're not?”

I fought my instinct to look away, kept my gaze firmly locked on his. “No. Maybe I'm crazy for letting you go. I mean, you
did
smash a bottle over my head. I can never forget that. But . . . I also can't even begin to imagine what it must be like—what you've been going through in the past few months. It doesn't excuse what you did, but I understand why you're so angry. No one deserves what happened to you and your family.”

“I still don't get it,” he said, shaking his head. “Why are you really doing this?”

“Because sometimes . . . sometimes forgiving is just easier. I need to move on. My forgiveness might not mean anything to you, but that's okay. It means something to
me
.”

I'd certainly thought about sending him to jail, about
punishing him for the pain—physical and emotional—he'd caused me. But I already felt sorry enough about Ella; I couldn't have saved her, but maybe I could have made things just a little easier for her, for Kyle and his wife, if I'd visited. Or maybe not. I would never know now. But either way, I wasn't sure I could live with myself if I made him suffer even more than he already had. Two kids, gone. His family broken. And I still had everything. Forgiving him was just as much for my benefit as it was for his. Maybe more so. It was time to go forward, not back. Clear conscience.

“Thank you,” he said, the words hitching as his whole face collapsed. “Thank you.”

His eyes looked past me, noticing the car waiting out front. Noticing my mom.

He lifted his hand slowly, waving at her. I turned to the car as she waved back.

I started down the path, walking away from Kyle Bennett for good.

“Okay,” I said, pulling the car door shut as I settled into the passenger seat. “That's done. Now that I can breathe again, I'm actually kind of hungry. I was thinking . . . maybe we could go see if Frankie's still exists?”

My mom beamed at me as she turned the key in the ignition. “You got it, sweetie.”

•   •   •

My trip with the Doves had been delayed, of course, thanks to Kyle. I'd told Angelica they could do the Orlando show without me, but she'd insisted on waiting. As soon as I had the doctor's okay—it was back on. All pieces moving ahead as planned.

We said our good-byes at the airport. They were all there, with hugs and tears and notes for me to read later, after I was up in the air. My dad and Caleb, my grandparents and Aunt Hannah, Ari, Delia, Ethan. And Zoey.

Zoey was the hardest to say good-bye to—we'd been the Musketeers, she and Zane and I, for those first few days. Those strange, terrible, magnificent days. Days that had changed everything.

“You're coming to the L.A. show next week with my dad and Cal,” I reminded her, crouched down to her height, my arms hugging her skinny shoulders. “It'll go by so fast, I promise. And then it'll be Christmas soon enough.” I pulled back and kissed her on the cheek, my eyes drawn toward those tiny music notes along her jaw.
Thank you, Brinley
.

I gave everybody one last hug, watching as Zane followed behind me. I couldn't help but smile when it came time for him and Ari to say good-bye. She gave him that trademark knifelike purple stare, a look that undoubtedly said,
You mess with her and I'll mess with you
. Not even the
toughest boy in school was immune to Ari's wrath. She pulled him in for a hug then, gripping him as hard as she'd gripped me. He'd passed her test.

When I got to Delia, she pulled out another small painting—it was the night at Carnegie Hall, the most abstract work I'd ever seen her do. Bright, wild splashes of every color spiraled out from a sea of hazy, indistinct faces. Sprinkles of rainbow glitter and glossy black music notes overlaid the whole image, making everything pop and shine and sing. I tossed out all the magazines from my carry-on bag to make space.

My dad was last in line, and my mom and I descended on him at the same time, our arms tangling up together in a beautiful knot.

“Thank you,” I said, the words muted against my dad's thick black wool sweater. He'd dug up an old green newsy cap today—a cap that, according to my mom's book, he'd insisted on wearing every day back in high school. It suited him even now, faded and slightly misshapen from years of being buried in his closet. “Thank you for believing in me. For trusting. For raising me exactly the way you did. I have a feeling that Iris—the other Iris—she'd be proud. Of both of you.” I felt my dad's hand clamp even more tightly around my back.

The words stung a bit on my tongue. I meant what I'd
said, though I still couldn't help but resent the fact that Mikki had never come back. Not even at the park, with Kyle. Cal, not Mikki, had saved me.

With just one backward glance and a final wave, Mom and Zane and I started toward our gate. I was in a daze for most of the wait, the boarding, the final moments before takeoff. I thought about the life I was leaving, the life ahead—so many things that I couldn't predict or foresee. I'd known, though, from the moment my mom had given me her blessing at the hospital, I couldn't back down. This was my path. This was where I was supposed to be. On this plane, right here, right now.

It wouldn't be an easy life, but it was
my
life.

I wouldn't run again. I wouldn't hide.

“Are you okay, Iris?” Zane asked, nudging me over the armrest.

“I'm fine,” I said, peeling my eyes away from the window, the view of the plane lot, and turning to face him. “It's just been a long day. I don't like good-byes.”

He nodded, letting that be enough. “I've never been on a plane before,” he said, smiling shyly as if he was a little ashamed to admit it. I'd guessed as much—and it was probably why my mom had insisted on Zane and me taking the two seats together, winking as she handed over the tickets. She was a few rows in front of us on the
opposite side of the plane, already tapping away intently on her keyboard. “So if I get scared, I might need to . . . you know . . . hold your hand.”

I grinned at that, wrapping my fingers around his. That touch, palm to palm, made me shiver. “Don't worry. I have your back.”

“You know, Iris,” he said quietly, leaning in so that only I could hear, “I should say a few things now, before the plane takes off. Not that I'm superstitious or anything, but still . . . better to put everything out there now, right? So, uh, firstly, when I go off during the day, doing
work
 . . . I'm not out dealing or scamming or anything like that, whatever you might have thought. I . . . I work at the place I got sent after everything went down with Tony. Juvie. I'm a janitor part-time for the cash, but my main job is training to be a counselor. I talk to kids like me, little punks who are so damn angry about everything. I let them talk. I listen. It's what I want to do, after school, anyway. Work with kids like me. Help them figure out a different way. If I hadn't had Zoey to keep me straight . . .” He shook his head, wincing. “Scares the hell out of me to think about.”

“Why didn't you tell me sooner?” I asked, squeezing his hand tighter.

“It's lame that I didn't just say it, I know. But I'm so used to people always expecting the worst of me . . . sometimes
it's just easier to let them assume, you know? It's too much effort to always be trying to prove I'm the nice guy. Let people think what they want.”

I smiled, relief swelling through me, warm and giddy and wonderful. “Don't worry, I already kind of suspected you were much sweeter and more innocent than you let on. And I think it's awesome, for the record, what you're doing. So . . . that's one confession down. What's next?”

Zane looked away, his eyes shifting to our hands clasped on the armrest. “That day . . . the day you said . . .
you
know . . . that I deserve love and all that.” He coughed, and I felt the sudden heat of his palm searing through mine. “I freaked out because I knew you were wrong. I'm not sure I deserve anyone's love, besides Zoey's anyway, and only because she's my sister. She's blood. And I sure as hell don't think I deserve yours. You're way too good for me, Iris Spero. You deserve someone better . . . but even still. I want to try. I really want to try. For
you
.”

“You don't have to try anymore,” I said, my voice steady even as every other part of me was screaming with happiness. “You've already more than proved it. I don't care what mistakes you've made in the past. You have your scars, and I have mine.” I reached up instinctively, pressing my fingers against the bandage on my forehead, the still healing cut that would probably leave a permanent mark. Zoey had drawn music notes with a Sharpie there that
morning, dark black swirls that mirrored hers. “You need to forgive yourself, Zane. Because, trust me, you deserve so much good. You've earned it.”

A grin broke out on his face, and I grinned back. We may have still been firmly on the ground, but I was already in the clouds, the brilliant sun shining through, beaming down on us, just us.

I leaned in closer, closer, my lips grazing his. Just as I felt him move forward, his hand brushing against the side of my face—

“Excuse me, do you both have your seat belts fastened?”

I jerked away from Zane, my eyes fluttering up to the flight attendant in the aisle next to us. She was a tired-looking gray-haired woman, snapping her gum loudly as she pointed at the seat belt light on the overhead dashboard.

I looked down, grabbing for both ends of the belt.

“Got it,” I said, smiling obediently up at her.

But the gray-haired woman was gone.

Instead, there
she
was—her coppery braids pulled back in a neat bun, those bright green eyes laughing at me.

Mikki winked.

“Almost time for takeoff.”