Hereafter (16 page)

Chapter
Eighteen

T
he first step into his bedroom transformed me into a mass of giddy, spastic fidgeting. Although Joshua left the door slightly ajar, the whole room was a heavy black except for my creepy glow. So while Joshua fumbled around, I forced my hands together behind my back and prayed that my nervous squirming wasn’t visible in the dark.

I heard a click, and the dim glow of lamplight bathed the room. Joshua stood across the bedroom from me, his hand on a small glass lamp that looked like an old miner’s lantern. He looked up at me with an expectant smile, but his expression quickly turned amused when he saw my stance. I stood with my hands nearly glued together behind me, rocking ever so slightly on the balls of my feet.

I flashed him a tense smile. Likely, an unconvincing one.

“You all right?” he asked.

“Yeah.” For some reason my answer came out as a high-pitched yip. I instinctively started coughing to cover the sound, and Joshua burst into laughter.

“You know, Amelia, I don’t think I believe you.”

“It’s just . . . it’s, well, my first time in a boy’s room.” Then I shrugged in a little gesture of qualification. “I think.”

He laughed again; and, in just a few short steps, he crossed the room and wrapped his arms around me. He laid his hands upon mine, which were still clutched behind my back, and pulled me to him until we were pressed against each other.

We were now as close as we had been when we’d kissed. Maybe even closer. My whole body felt as if it might explode, gloriously and uncontrollably ignited. My breath quickened into a near pant; and when it did so, something entirely unexpected occurred.

I breathed in heavily and felt my head swim from the suddenness of an actual, physical sensation.

Scent. A fantastic scent—sweet and musky—rushed at me. Not delicate, but appealing nonetheless. And vaguely familiar.

It took me a moment to realize the scent was the same one I’d encountered earlier today when I’d nearly collided with Joshua in the cafeteria.

I stared up at him in delight. His answering smile was surprisingly shy. Gently, he unclasped his hands from mine and released me.

Immediately, the scent disappeared. I dragged in another heavy breath. Nothing. Empty. Void. I exhaled slowly, trying to retain the memory of the scent while also trying not to let my breath sound like the disappointed sigh it threatened to become.

Luckily, Joshua didn’t notice. He leaned back against one of the posts of his bed and crossed his arms against his chest. Once again he looked expectant, perhaps waiting on my assessment of his room.

I clutched my hands, this time less tightly, and began to look around me.

As one might expect in so old a house, Joshua’s bedroom was small, but cozy. The room was mostly dominated by his dark, four-poster bed. Across from me, a large window faced south, looking out onto the night sky. Beneath the glass, a broad window seat, covered in inviting blue cushions, beckoned.

Then there was the most striking feature of the room: the columns of black, wooden bookshelves that lined the walls. The bookshelves filled the room so completely that I couldn’t see an inch of wall space except for a bit above the bed and a narrow border around the window.

Despite the amount of furniture in it, the room felt strangely uncluttered. Its only real disorder came from within the bookshelves. The shelves were literally overflowing. They were lined with rows upon rows of books, then books stacked on top of the rows, then more books in front of the rows. Leather-bound leaned against paperback. Creased and much-loved covers sat next to fresh, ready-to-read ones. A lifetime’s worth of books crammed into the room of a teenage boy.

I walked over to the closest shelf and looked back at Joshua with raised eyebrows. He continued to watch me without speaking, but a slight smile twitched at his lips. The expression was as close to permission as I would get and so I let my fingers trace lightly across some of the spines.

“You have way more books than I did, Joshua.”

He shrugged modestly. “Just a few.”

“I
know
these titles,” I muttered in amazement. “Lots of them.”

“I had a feeling you might.”

Something in his tone made me turn to look at him again. His expression had softened even further, especially his eyes. The way he now stared at me . . . it made me uncomfortable and happy at the same time. I couldn’t think of a word to describe how I felt. Jubilant, maybe, came closest.

Before I could ask him what he was thinking, he cleared his throat and shifted his weight against the bedpost. He uncrossed his arms and tucked one hand into his jeans pocket while running the other through his hair: his classic, awkward pose. It was utterly endearing, as was the blush that suddenly flooded his cheeks.

“So, what do you think?” He gestured with one hand to the room. In turn, I gave him my brightest smile. I had just enough courage to make a confession of my own.

“Before I give you my opinion on the room, I really should tell you—the scenery doesn’t really compare.”

“Compare to what?” he asked, frowning. I ducked my head and sighed. Then I looked right into his lovely eyes as I spoke.

“You,” I said, my voice surprisingly bold, even to my ears.

Joshua’s face set again into that intent stare. Several moments passed, each one almost palpable in the charged atmosphere. Then, ever so slowly, he raised one arm and held out his hand. I reached out, too, and placed my hand into his.

The feel of his touch flared across my skin. This time the warmth spread faster, as if each renewed touch intensified the effect. And this time the fiery tingles now reached strange places on my skin, places that made my breath quicken until it was audible. Joshua must have experienced a similar sensation, because he closed his eyes and let out a low moan.

That sound was enough for me. I grasped his hand tightly, almost fiercely, willing the tingles to fade. Within only seconds I could feel his actual skin, rough and warm against mine.

I closed my eyes, too. Still holding on to him, I moved my hand across his and up his arm, to his shoulder. I began to draw closer to him until I stood only inches away from his body. Finally, I rested my hands upon his chest. Once I lost contact with his skin, everything went numb. But for once the numbness was worth it, to be this close to him again. I kept my eyes shut, even when he pressed himself closer to me.

“Amelia?” he whispered, moving his lips right next to my ear. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yes,” I nearly gasped.

Ask me to do anything. Anything!
I practically screamed the words in my head.
I’ll kiss you again; I don’t care about the risk.

Joshua paused for a beat and then—

“Do you want to listen to some music?”

That wasn’t exactly the question I’d expected. My head darted back, and I stared at him. He wore a mischievous smile, as if he’d read my mind and intentionally avoided the questions I wanted him to ask. I scowled a little.

“Tease,” I muttered under my breath. Joshua simply grinned wider. I was more than ready to give him a soft smack on his chest for being so infuriating, but then I noticed his breath was just as uneven as mine. I sighed. As long as he seemed at least mildly ruffled by our contact, I could forgive him.

I carefully lowered my arms from his chest and backed away. Once there were more than a few inches between us, I made a show of stretching and yawning. The picture of utter boredom, totally blasé. Joshua obviously wasn’t fooled, because he chuckled softly at my performance.

“So, you’re finally going to entertain me? With music, I guess?”

Joshua sat down on his bed and patted a spot next to him on the dark blue comforter. I thrilled a little at the image of us sitting . . . on his bed . . . together, and then tried to accomplish the act as calmly as possible. I couldn’t imagine how badly the mood would be ruined if I accidentally slid off the comforter and onto the floor.

“Actually,” Joshua said, “the music is part of my devious plan.”

I raised one eyebrow. “Your ‘devious plan’?”

He nodded, and his face lit up with excitement. He tucked one leg beneath him on the bed and spun around to face me more fully.

“We need to figure out more about your personality, right?”

When I nodded, he went on.

“Well, what tells us more about your personality than your musical tastes?”

I twisted the corner of my mouth in disbelief. “Isn’t that a little too simple?”

Joshua shook his head, still smiling. “Not really. Short of finding a time machine and going back to 1999, we aren’t going to figure out who you
were
. So why don’t we figure out who you are now? Isn’t that more important anyway?”

I blinked in surprise. “That . . . well, that actually might be brilliant, Joshua.”

He shrugged again. “Just because I can’t do differential equations, it doesn’t mean I’m totally useless.”

I laughed, and then mirrored his position by crossing both of my legs under me.

“So, how do we do this?”

“I play DJ, and you tell me what you like.”

“Got it,” I said with a firm nod, fighting little jitters of excitement.

“And who knows? Maybe something will be familiar. As long as it’s not death metal, I think we can rule you out as a potential Satan worshiper.”

“Well, don’t judge me if it is.” I laughed.

He chuckled and then reached back to his nightstand to fiddle with something on it. I craned my head to get a better look at the object. It appeared to be a tiny, plastic box with a glowing screen sitting atop a small stereo.

“What is that thing?”

Joshua stopped what he was doing without letting go of the little box and threw me a quizzical look over his shoulder.

“You’ve never seen an MP3 player before?”

“A what?” A defensive note crept into my voice. “Died in 1999, remember?”

“Not a big deal.” Joshua gave me a warm smile and went back to working on the machine. “I don’t remember whether these things were big back then.”

“Probably not for a poor girl from Oklahoma,” I grumbled. Joshua simply nodded, too distracted by his efforts to answer aloud.

The machine made some soft clicking noises under Joshua’s hands and then a few strains of perfectly clear music flooded the room. I assumed it came from the speakers, and the MP-whatever thing.

“Tell me what you think,” Joshua murmured as he leaned back against his pillow.

The song started with a soft guitar, strumming out a sad little melody. Then a young man’s voice joined in, southern and a little slurry. As he sang, drums and a more insistent guitar merged with his voice. The song grew until it transformed into something soaring and plaintive: a sort of lament that managed to sound heartbroken and angry at the same time. Finally, the song began to fade, and I sighed a little

“Don’t recognize it?” Joshua asked.

“No, I don’t. But I like it.”

“It’s one of my favorites.” Joshua wore a strange expression as he watched me listen to the last few chords of the song. He almost looked proud that we seemed to have the same taste. I smiled a little at the thought.

“What else have you got?” I asked.

“Let’s see . . .” He adjusted the machine again and eventually found something appropriate. “This is from the early 2000s. Jillian likes to listen to it when we’re in my car. She calls it ‘old school,’ which is kind of ironic, if you think about it.”

Bass pumped from the speakers. After a few thumping drumbeats, a girl’s voice warbled out, barely audible over the accompaniment. She wasn’t the best singer in the world, but she sang in a throaty manner I guess one could classify as sexy. I wrinkled my nose each time she went off-key.

“Nope,” I said after only a few repetitions of the chorus. “Don’t know it, don’t like it.”

“Thank God,” Joshua breathed, putting the song to a merciful, early end.

“Akin to death metal?” I asked with a sly grin.

“Close.” He laughed. “If you’d liked that one, I might have had to get behind Ruth’s ‘pitchforks and torches’ campaign.”

“Har har,” I said as Joshua tried to find something else on the MP3 player for us to analyze.

“Here we go. Late 1990s. This is a rock song from when I was a little kid. I actually really like it, but I was too young back then to remember whether it was popular.” Joshua made one more click and then looked up again to watch me listen.

This song began much like the first, with a few repeated guitar chords. Then drums and a man’s voice—older than the one in the first song but just as slurry—entered the song. When the man growled louder, so did the guitar. The sounds became raw and joyous. It made me recall the way I’d felt in Joshua’s car while we drove to school. Free and flying.

And then it made me recall something else.

About halfway through the song, just at the point of its crescendo, my surroundings shimmered and changed.

When the image steadied, I was no longer in Joshua’s bedroom. I was in some other room, standing at an open window and looking out over a sunlit yard. My hands gripped a wooden windowsill, its surface rough from the chips in its white paint. A warm breeze hit me from outside. There was just a hint of cool in it, promising fall but still tugging at the end of summer. Somewhere behind me, a radio played the same song I’d just been listening to in Joshua’s room. As the man’s voice wailed happily, I smiled and swayed to the beat. Free and flying.

Suddenly, the flash vanished.

The residue of light from the flash still ghosted across my eyes in weird black splotches, as though I’d been looking directly at the sun. It took a few seconds before I could see clearly—could see Joshua staring at me expectantly. When I finally could, a smile began to spread across my face.

“I know it!” I crowed. “I know the song! I listened to it once, inside some house . . . mine, I think.”

“Excellent!” Joshua cried out, clapping his hands to his knees. Then he leaned closer and whispered, “You know, I don’t think anyone who likes so much of the same music as I do can be evil.”