“What do you mean? If she was suicidal, she needed help.”
“No.” Mrs. H shakes her head. She closes her eyes, but instead of grief, a look of peace comes over her features. “You’ll come to see it too. Her death was inevitable, and so be it.”
I bite my lip until I taste blood. Of course Kyra’s death wasn’t inevitable. How can they accept that?
Mr. H turns to his wife and places a hand over her folded hands. His broad shoulders sag. And all I can think about is how when Kyra was small, she used to love sitting on his shoulders, seeing the world from up high.
“She’s right, Corey,” he says. “By the time we—I—found her, it was too late. We were too late. But we are comforted by what Kyra would say: that every story must end. It’s death, after all, that gives our lives meaning.”
Phone Call
“How was your flight? How is it to be back home?”
“I’m not sure this is home anymore, Eileen. I feel like a stranger.”
“In what way?”
“Well, people keep telling me that I am. They call me ‘outsider.’”
“Corey? Are you okay?”
“E, did I ever tell you that you’re the only one at St. James who even knows about Kyra?”
“Really? Why?”
“Because it was hard to talk about her. You were the only one who I thought would understand. You never judged. I carried her with me. My best friend. I didn’t want people to judge me like they did in Lost, except now I wish I had talked about her more. We had so many stories to share.”
“Oh, Cor.”
“Out of the two of us, Kyra was the one who believed in better times. I put my faith in science and stars, but she put her faith in stories, which could turn regular people into extraordinary ones. When she had her first manic episodes, they didn’t consume her—they helped her create. We dubbed them ‘hero days.’ They were some of the best times we had in Lost Creek. And now we have no days left at all.”
“At least you’re there to say goodbye.”
“Yeah…”
“Would you rather not have gone?”
“No, I’m glad to be here. I just… They say she was happy. That it was ‘her time.’”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know. It wasn’t her time. It wasn’t. But everyone accepts her death as if it were inevitable.”
“It’s not uncommon for someone with bipolar disorder to be suicidal.”
“In that case, shouldn’t they have tried to help her? She told me that she was lonely. In her last letters, she was upset, but she didn’t say why. But I didn’t think… I didn’t even write back to her. I was too preoccupied with finding my place at St. James. But she promised to wait for me. She was waiting for me. I have to believe that. I need to believe that.”
“Do you think her death could’ve been an accident?”
“White Wolf Lake is frozen solid in winter. There are few holes and even fewer weak spots. We both grew up here. Kyra would have known what to look for. And I…”
“What?”
“Nothing. Never mind.”
“Corey?”
“Even at her darkest, Kyra was so curious about the world. There was so much she wanted to learn and read. She was scared, and lonely, but she lived fiercely.”
“Even people who love life can be depressed, Corey. You don’t know what happened after you left.”
“I have four days to find out.”
“What do you think you’ll find?”
“Her side of the story. She cared so deeply about stories. I owe it to her to find and protect hers.”
Foreseen and Foretold
After dinner, I wander back into town. Calling Eileen helped settle the heartache a little, but I need some fresh air. I cross to the other side of Lost. It takes me less time than it would to cross St. James’s campus. On Main Street, I pause in front of Claja.
This place belongs to the adults in the evenings, but I sneak in anyway. Maybe I’ll find someone who is happy to see me.
The pub is dimly lit, but I spot Piper sitting at the counter. Next to her sits a boy our age with spiky black hair and dark, golden skin. I’ve never seen him before.
After a moment’s hesitation, Piper waves me over. The boy turns and his eyes flash in recognition.
I make my way over, passing the handful of tables. I glance around to see if Sam is anywhere, but there are no other teens here. Only Mr. Lucas, the manager. Jan from the grocery store. Old Mr. Wilde, one of the miners who retired here. Three empty glasses stand in front of him, and he’s working his way through a fourth. No one calls out in greeting, but the buzz of voices grows quieter.
I sidle up next to Piper and the boy. “Hi?”
“You must be Corey. Come, join us.” His voice is tinged with an English accent. “I’m Roshan.”
“Have we met?”
“I feel like I know you. She spoke of you often.” His face is solemn, but he ventures a smile.
I sit on the stool next to him, while Piper orders me a hot chocolate. “You knew Kyra?” I ask.
“We were friends, right at the end. Like you were.”
I muster a broken smile and some weight falls off my shoulders. “You’re the first to acknowledge that I was her friend. Everyone else seems to think I’m an intruder here.”
Piper scoffs, but Roshan ignores it. “That seems to be the way of Lost. It does not take kindly to changes, whether it’s people going”—he gestures to me—“or coming.” He points a thumb at himself. “Give them some time. They will grow used to you once more. They will remember how much Kyra meant to you, and you to Kyra.”
It’s weird to have a stranger tell me about the town where I lived almost all of my life, but I take his words gladly. Still, “I won’t be staying long. I’m only here for a couple of days. To say goodbye—and find out what happened.”
Piper hasn’t said anything so far, but now she finally bites. “Find out what happened? What, like an investigation?”
I shrug. “Kyra and I, we had an agreement. We would always, always wait for each other. No one else looked out for her—and she looked out for me. Nothing would have changed that.” Except my leaving. And every letter I ignored. I wrap my trembling hands around the mug of hot chocolate. “No one was kind to her while she was alive, and now everyone sings her praises.”
“Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?” Piper asks. “Not speak ill of the dead?”
“She deserved the truth, not hypocrisy.”
“What is the truth, then?” she asks, mildly.
“I don’t know,” I admit.
Piper shakes her head. “Walk around Lost tomorrow. Not to investigate, but to listen. Because we changed, and the truth is that Lost is doing better than it has in a long time. We have hope.”
“You can’t have hope with grief,” I say.
Roshan shakes his head, and a shadow passes over his face. A distant memory. Then one corner of his mouth curls up. “You can. They’re not mutually exclusive. You can grieve and still hope. You can mourn as you celebrate.”
“We don’t mourn,” Piper cuts in, serenely. “We just celebrate. That’s what Kyra would have wanted.”
I turn the mug in my hands, so I won’t reach out and shake her. “How can you possibly know what Kyra would’ve wanted? Did she foresee it?”
“She foretold it,” Piper replies. “Come.” She grabs my hand and pulls me off my stool, toward the back wall of the room. A group congregating by the bar steps out of the way to let us pass. When Piper turns up the lights, I’m overwhelmed. The entire wall is covered with Kyra’s drawings, paintings, and sketches. Maps of the mine. The spa, covered in flowers. Sam standing at the edge of town. Mr. Sarin and Mr. Henderson walking down Main.
And in the farthest corner, a colorful rendition of tonight. Three teens, sitting at the counter, drinking hot chocolate. Piper. Roshan. And me.
“With her art, she showed us the future. And once you understand that, you’ll find Kyra’s truth.”
Whispers in the Night
That night, the floorboards on the other side of the wall protest. Kyra’s room is locked and empty. But I recognize her gait.
I sit up.
My heart skips, jolting against my rib cage. The closet door moves in a breeze, and the sound of laughter swirls around me once more. It’s closer now.