Until the End of the World (Book 1) (32 page)

“Fine,” I’d say. “How was yours?”

“Cassie,” he sighed one day, “I know you’re not fine. What happened to that art show? You’ve never mentioned it again.”

I’d been contacted by a gallery owner in the northeast who was interested in my paintings. It was a well-known gallery, and in another lifetime it would have been a dream come true. But I hadn’t picked up a brush in a year; I had no urge to. The calls finally petered out.

“I’ve been busy,” I lied.

“No, you haven’t. Adrian says you hardly talk to him anymore and that you don’t call him unless he calls you. You don’t even care whether you see him or not. Believe me, I understand what you’re going through, and I know it’s hard, but you’re closing everyone out. I think maybe you need to talk to someone.”

I was annoyed that he and Adrian were discussing me like I was some kind of problem child.

“I don’t need to talk to someone, Eric. Maybe what I need is for people to stop talking about me. I’m doing fine. Maybe I’m just different now. Did you ever think of that?”

Another sigh came down the line. “Fine, Cass. You are different. All the life has gone out of you, and I hate to see it. Please think about it. You know I love you, right?”

“Yeah, I know. Love you too. Adrian’s here, I have to go.”

Adrian walked in and dropped his bag on the living room floor with a smile. He opened his arms and I went to him, but I felt like I was suffocating. I’d always felt safe and loved in his embrace, but now I just wanted to escape. I broke free after a second.

“Are you hungry?” I asked, not looking at him. “Do you want to order in?”

His arms were still raised. He let them fall as I tried to ignore the hurt look on his face. “I thought we could go out. Maybe call Nel?”

I didn’t want to go anywhere or talk to anyone. “Um, I think Nelly’s busy.”

His eyes were bright green, challenging. “He’s not. I called him on the way down.”

“Let’s just stay in.”

“Maybe I want to go out and see him.”

“Go ahead,” I offered. “I don’t mind.”

“I’m sure you don’t,” he muttered, so low I almost couldn’t hear.

If he wanted a fight he was going to get one. I was still fuming that he and Eric had been trading calls about me.

I stood on the area rug, hands on my hips. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that you never seem to want to see me, to talk to me. You won’t even discuss getting married. I know that this year has been awful. I’m not saying you don’t have a right to be sad or depressed—”

“I’m not depressed!” I yelled. “Eric told me that you and he are busy discussing my depression. I’m fine!”

“That’s right, we’ve talked. Because we both love you and want you to be the old Cassie again.”

His voice was gentle, even as mine rose. His face was full of pity. I couldn’t stand it.

“Well,” I spread my arms, “maybe this is the new Cassie. Maybe if you don’t like it, then…” I trailed off.

He squared his shoulders and his eyes got glassy. “Then what? What do you want me to do? It feels like you don’t want me around anymore.”

It was true. I didn’t want him around, and for months I’d tried to figure out why. I could remember how much I’d loved him, how much I’d liked being with him, but they had become faint memories. I could almost feel it sometimes. It was like after a toothache is gone and you prod the area with your tongue, not quite sure if you can still feel a twinge. I stared at him, unwilling to say the words I’d been thinking.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked again. He sank onto the couch and looked at me helplessly. “I need to know. I need to know if you still want me around. If you still love me.”

That’s where I should have said,
Of course I do. Just please bear with me a little while longer
. Because somewhere deep down I thought maybe it wasn’t really gone. But saying that meant I had to try to find it, which meant unlocking all the other feelings that were locked away with it.

“I—” His face was expectant. “I don’t think I love you anymore.”

He looked like I had just sucker-punched him. I
had
just sucker punched him. Out of all the things I could have said, he never thought I would say that. His jaw clenched and he looked away with a nod.

“I’m sorry,” I said. I wanted to comfort him, but I didn’t imagine I would be much comfort.

He splayed his hands and turned to me. Tears welled up in his eyes. “Why? Can you just tell me that?”

“I don’t…” I didn’t know what to say. “It’s gone. There’s just…nothing.”

His voice was bleak. “Nothing.”

I looked at the little diamond on my hand. It was perfect. He’d combed antique stores all over until he’d found a ring he thought would suit me. I hadn’t wanted him to spend any hard-earned money on a ring, but he swore up and down it was a bargain. “And it fits,” he’d said. “It was meant to be, just like us.”

I twisted it until I finally pulled it off. I felt sorry for causing Adrian so much pain, but, mainly, I felt relief. At the time I thought it meant I was making the right decision. Eventually, I realized that I’d been relieved I could continue hiding and not have to join the ranks of the living. Relieved that I wouldn’t have to admit that somewhere in the past year I had forgotten how to be me. I held out the ring.

Adrian looked stunned. “Can’t we talk? I can’t believe…”

“We can talk,” I said reluctantly, not wanting the relief to fade. “But I’ve felt this way for a long time now. I don’t know what there is to talk about.”

I don’t know how I could have been that cruel. I ended all those years with a few sentences, unwilling to even discuss it. By the end of those ten minutes he looked battered and beaten down. I hated myself for doing it, but I told myself it had to be done. I just didn’t love him anymore. I continued holding out the ring.

“Keep it,” he said. He looked at me like I was a stranger. “It was for you. Maybe you’ll want it again someday.”

I gripped the ring in my palm, and we stared at each other for a few seconds. His open, honest face was closed. He shook his head as if in a dream and rose from the couch.

“I guess I’ll go.”

I wanted this over. “Okay.”

He picked up his bag and stood there as though waiting for me to say it had all been a joke.

“I’m sorry,” I said again. “I really am.”

He shrugged like he didn’t believe me and threw his bag over his shoulder. He started down the hallway, but then he turned back. I’d never seen such sadness on his face, and I wanted to take it all back. But I didn’t.

“I still love you,” he said. “Until the end of the world.”

Then he walked out.

Neil’s hand comes out from under the porch steps and grips my ankle, followed by what’s left of his grinning face. I scream, but it comes out as a wispy little breath. Adrian looks into the trees, deaf to my pleas for help. I wake with Beth sitting above me in the dark.

“Cassie!” she yells.

I’ve scared her. In my dream it was a whisper, but I could hear the tail end of a real scream right as I woke.

“I’m okay.” I try to shake it off. “Sorry, I just had a bad dream, honey. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

I hold her warm hand and pat the pillow so she’ll lie back down. In a few minutes she’s out again, her arms flung up with abandon. I head to the living room and tell James to get some rest. It appears I’m done sleeping for the night, so I might as well do watch.

My heart continues to pound. Now I wish I’d kept James up for some inane conversation to calm my nerves. Because even though I know Neil is really, truly dead, I can still feel his cold hand on my ankle. If Laddie were here he’d know just what to say.

The strawberries are in full swing, and I mash a bowl for another batch of jam. We’ve been gorging ourselves on them. Between John’s patch and ours, we’ve canned pint after pint. Beth cheers every time a jar lid pings when we take them out of the canner. She and Peter place silly wagers on which jar will pop next.

Peter asks what he can do and helps John with everything and anything. Everyone’s warmed to him. I guess they can forgive him because it wasn’t personal. But I know what he thinks of me, and I can’t forgive him for that or for what he’s said and done.

Ana begs for target practice, and when she’s not getting it or doing chores, she practices with John’s new weapon. We’ve named it The Cleaver. It has a two-foot shaft and ends in a cleaver blade meant to instantly decapitate. It slices through almost anything you put it to, including, we hope, the neck of a Lexer. The other end has a spike, perfect for plunging into the base of the neck or an eye socket. When John explained this, Penny blanched but tried to take it in stride.

I mix the strawberries with pectin and set it on the burner. I measure out sugar and start the oatmeal. At least my nightmares give me ample time to get things done. Once everyone’s awake we sit at the breakfast table and spoon up oatmeal. With strawberry jam, of course.

Beth looks at me. “Cassie, would it be okay if I slept in one of the beds in Peter’s room? Because, well…”

My face is hot. “Sure, honey. If it’s okay with him. I’m sorry I keep waking you up.”

“S’ok. I have bad dreams every night, too,” she says with a solemn look. “Can I, Peter?”

Peter grins. “Of course, Bits.”

We’ve been calling her Bits. Peter pretended that he thought she was saying “Little Bits” instead of “Elizabeth,” and it’s become her nickname. She’s taken a shine to him, and while I still can’t stand him, I can see why. He dotes on her and teases her and insists on naming all her freckles.

He holds his hand up for a high five. “A slumber party every night! But you’ll have to ask Nel, it’s his bed.”

Bits laughs and slaps his hand. He’s possibly the last human being I could ever imagine instigating a high five. I don’t know what to make of him.

Nelly smiles and moves his stuff down the hall. “I’m ba-ack,” he sings.

I know I can’t expect Bits to put up with me every night, but I feel like a freak. Nelly might want to start sleeping on the couch.

“Prepare to be tortured. Obviously, no sane person would choose to be in a room with me at night.”

“Well, they’ve never said I’m sane,” he says, and tweaks my nose.

“Walk the fence line with me?” John asks.

I stand from my mother’s flowers and brush my hands on my jeans. “Sure.”

First stop is the Message Tree. John steps on a gnarled root and reaches into the hollow. He opens the old coffee can and removes a folded paper.

“I wrote a letter to the kids and Eric, telling them Neil was coming. I told them where we might go, if we had to leave. But we have to agree on where we’d go, so they know where to find us.”

I marvel at his foresight. Whenever I think I might be getting the hang of things, he’s already three steps ahead.

“I want to put a letter in there for Eric, too.”

It’s been over two months now. I can’t help but think he ran into something he couldn’t escape. Eric climbs mountains, he’s thru-hiked the Appalachian Trail; he’s not easily stopped. He’s got to be okay.

I know there was an ulterior motive for John’s walk, and I wait for him to formulate the words. “So, Cassie, if we have to bug out should we go to Kingdom Come or Whitefield? We’re equidistant from them, so it doesn’t matter to me, but I’m thinking it might to you.”

He does me a favor by busying himself with the can. When I speak my voice is strangled. “I’d like to go to Vermont.”

He nods once. “Well, that’s settled, then. Let’s walk the line.”

We move through the woods, making sure the line is still strung and nothing’s caught in it or the trench. John points out deer droppings and a new nest, but I’m thinking of the last time I ran through these woods. As we near the spot my mouth goes dry, and I’m certain I’ll see the Neil from my dreams stuck in the wire. But it’s the same old woods. Only patches of dirt showing through the leaves give any indication something happened here.

John rests a hand on the barbed wire and looks me in the eye. “You did what you had to do.”

He’s thinking I’m plagued by uncertainty, but that’s not exactly right. I try to explain. “I know, and I don’t regret it. I’d do it a hundred more times. But that doesn’t stop him from showing up in my dreams, from thinking about it over and over.”

“Cassie, I’ve killed men before. Bad men, who deserved what they got. And, in Vietnam, men who probably didn’t. You carry them with you forever. They haunt you. You wish you hadn’t had to do it in the first place, but you did, so you find a way to live with it.”

“But I wanted to do it. Not like I knew it had to be done, I really wanted to kill him. I took pleasure in it, John. Just a little.”

I’ve been looking at the spot, and now I look up, expecting to see shock, but his eyes are sympathetic.

“You weren’t taking pleasure in killing, honey. You were glad to see someone so threatening cease to be a threat. Not everyone could do that. You know what your dad used to say about you?”

My heart leaps as I shake my head. Sometimes the hardest part is that all I have are memories.

“Your dad said that if he needed someone to have his back in a fight in a dark alley he’d choose Eric. But he said that if he ever needed someone to pull the trigger, it’d be you. He knew you’d do whatever needed to be done. He was the same way. Why do you think I wanted you in the barn with me?”

I’m silent. I never had a doubt my dad would do anything to protect us, but I never realized that I’d inherited that trait. Suddenly, I don’t feel like a mass murderer, just someone who protected what was hers. It’s not a bad feeling.

John, Peter and Ana return with a new vehicle after a day in town siphoning gas and getting more supplies. John jumps out of the black van and knocks on its hood.

“Our new wheels,” he says. “We all fit in it. Plus supplies. That way, we’ll be ready to leave at a moment’s notice.”

“Nice,” Nelly says. He makes his way to the van with barely a limp. “It’s like the van we left the city in.”

“Peter spotted the used car dealership and had the idea to get something bigger. This fit the bill and it’s got a full tank,” John says.