Ba-bump.
Ba-bump.
No.
This can’t be.
“It is,” he nods again, and I realize that I’d spoken aloud.
Be our defense against the wickedness and snares of the Devil.
“Am I insane?” I ask limply, and all feelings have fled my body. I’m numb. I’m a piece of wood. I’m a sponge, and I have no feelings, and I’ve absorbed all of this insanity for so long that now I’m insane myself. That’s the only possible answer.
Finn’s slender arm stretches behind me, curling around my shoulder, and I’m limp against his chest, my ear pressed to his heart to make absolute sure.
Ba-bump.
Ba-bump.
Ba-bump.
“This is impossible.”
My words are whispers. Three of them. Six syllables of impossibility.
“You can’t trust your own mind right now, Cal,” he tells me solemnly, his pale blue eyes so light and clean and familiar. “So you’re going to have to trust me instead.”
I do. He’s the only one.
He knows that.
But…
Reality isn’t this. Reality is a red smashed car and a white tombstone. Good night, sweet Finn.
There were dragonflies and sunlight that day. There was a cemetery and tears.
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.
“How can this be?” I ask tremulously, afraid to trust it, afraid to hope.
Finn looks away, his hands still wrapped around mine.
And all the evil spirits, who prowl about the world seeking the ruin of souls. Amen.
“Because it just is,” he says firmly. “I can’t tell you. You have to come to it. But you will, Cal. You will.”
Oh God, we’re back to that. We’re back to the “I can’t tell you because it will annihilate you” thing.
My chest deflates.
My breath rushes out.
I can’t do this again.
Not this.
It’s too much.
Finn sees my expression and catches me when I fall against him, limp and discouraged. He always catches me.
“Your mind is an amazing thing,” he assures me. “It’s a gift, not a curse.”
He knows me so well. He knew what I’d been thinking.
“Are you real?” I ask in a whisper, as my eyes shutter closed.
He smiles.
That’s the last thing I see.
Then it’s blissfully, blessedly black.
Thank you, St. Michael.
When I wake, it’s dark. The room is shadowy, but I realize very quickly that I’m no longer in Finn’s room. I’m in a different bed, in my pajamas, with clean sheets wrapped around my hand.
I stare at the ceiling, at the walls, at the shadows, and then I stare at the figure sitting beside my bed, hidden in the dark.
“Finn?” I ask quietly, expecting it to be my brother.
I don’t expect the voice that answers.
“Calla-Lily.”
Dare.
Of course. Finn can’t be here, because Finn is dead.
I swallow as Dare leans forward, as the square of his jaw falls into the moonlight, as his eyes glint.
“Are you real?”
I whisper.
He smiles his Dare Me grin.
“I’m here, aren’t I?” he answers quietly.
“That doesn’t mean anything these days.” My voice is small. “I can’t take much more, Dare. I don’t understand anything.”
“I’ve failed you,” Dare gets up from his seat and kneels next to me, his face earnest and dark and tortured. “I’ve failed you. But I’ll fix it.”
“How?” I whisper, and I don’t even ask what he was supposed to do to me. I don’t think I want to know. “How have you failed me? What have you done?”
I can’t.
I can’t know.
I can’t know or it might kill me.
My mind is a hollow reed and the breeze is blowing through it, blowing all of the pieces away. I want to chase them, but I can’t.
My hand is anchored by Dare’s.
His fingers shake, and I suddenly know what I have to do.
I have to step away from the man I love.
I have to
I have to
I have to.
Because I can’t take it otherwise.