The Alchemy of Forever (8 page)

Google Maps tells me it’s only two miles from the Morgans’ house to the downtown Berkeley BART station, and then a straight shot to downtown Oakland. Studying the map, I realize that Berkeley High School is right next to the BART station.

Kailey’s backpack is slouched on her desk, next to her purse. I take a rapid inventory of their contents, keeping her wallet and cell phone, but disabling the GPS. I add a change of clothes and, on impulse, a slouchy hat and oversize sunglasses.

A knock at the door startles me—I barely have time to dart to the bed before Kailey’s father comes in, carrying a tray. He still looks tired, but he doesn’t have the same anxious expression that he did in the hospital. He doesn’t know his daughter is dead; he thinks everything will be okay.

“Your mom wanted me to bring you dinner. Tortilla soup, your favorite.”

“Oh . . . thank you,” I say cautiously, wondering what the real Kailey’s response would have been.

“Listen, kiddo.” He sits down next to me on the bed. “Don’t worry about explaining where you were last night. I told your mom to leave it alone. If you’ve got a boyfriend or something . . . well . . . you can tell us later.” He gives me a hug, his voice cracking with emotion. “We’re just glad you’re okay.”

My heart twists painfully in my chest. Of everything I’ve done over the years, this is the worst. Kailey’s death would have destroyed this family, but at least they would have the finality of knowing she was dead. And when I disappear tonight, will they think their daughter ran away? That Kailey killed herself? Either of those options feels so much worse than a tragic car accident.

I ask myself, for what feels like the millionth time since I woke up in the hospital, what was I thinking? I knew CPR would be fruitless. Why did I try, when the risk was so great? I should have let nature take its course. Did I interfere because, as an Incarnate, I have learned that nature’s course can be altered? Or was there some small, unconscious part of myself that still wanted to live?

I turn away from Mr. Morgan to hide the tears in my eyes. “I am so, so sorry for making you guys worry. I feel terrible.”

“Hey, I’m a dad. Worrying is my job. See you in the morning, kiddo.” Mr. Morgan gives me a small smile before closing the door with a soft click, leaving me alone with my guilt and sadness.

I wait several hours until the house is swathed in silence and the darkness outside is thick. Slinging Kailey’s backpack over my shoulder, I open the window and hop out onto the brick path below in one smooth motion. I can’t deny that it feels invigorating to be in a new body after months of painfully inhabiting a dying one. But that realization is followed by a wave of crushing remorse that hurts more than my old body ever did.

I creep softly by the side of the house and head to the street. At the edge of the driveway, I turn back and look at the house once more.
I’m sorry. I really am.

A deep growl startles me out of my silent farewell. I whip my head around and peer through the darkness, eyes flashing, prepared to run. Or fight.

“You look pretty active for a girl who just got out of the hospital.”

I freeze. The voice belongs to a tall, dark-haired boy standing in the shadow of one of the redwood trees. He holds the leash of an enormous dog. The dog growls, straining against its chain.

“I mean,” the boy continues, “did you really need to go out the window? Or was that for added drama?”

“You were watching me?” Fear makes my voice tremble slightly. “Who are you?”

“Very funny, Kailey.” Then a worried look crosses his face. “Wait, do you really not remember?”

I exhale. So this is one of Kailey’s friends. For a moment I had been certain that it was Jared in a new body. Or, even worse, Cyrus.

“Just a little concussion humor,” I reply, forcing myself to smile. “Who told you about the accident?” I ask, keeping my tone light even as panic rises in my gut. Had I missed something in the news after all?

“Bryan. I ran into him earlier.”

I nod with relief, regarding the boy again. His hair is dark and long enough to fall into his face. He rakes it off his forehead with strong-looking, well-shaped hands. His eyes are a surprising color of turquoise, staring at me from under thick brows. A camera dangles from his neck. There’s some-thing about him that feels familiar, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.

“It was no big deal. I’m actually pretty embarrassed about it, so if you can keep it on the down low, that would be great.” If word of my accident isn’t out there yet, I have to do my part to keep it quiet. Cyrus has unraveled mysteries with far less information.

The boy’s dog snarls again, baring its teeth at me. Animals are tougher to fool than people. I’ve always wondered how they know something isn’t quite right about me. He jerks on the leash. “Harker! Stop it!” Harker whimpers and stops growling, though he continues to regard me with a baleful glare. The boy’s eyes lock on mine, and I see him noticing my backpack. “That’s cool. I can keep a secret.”

I exhale and take a step back. There’s an awkward pause. “So what are you doing out?”

An anxious look flashes across his face, but quickly disappears. He’s hiding something. We have that in common. “I love being out at night,” he says, tipping his face to the sky. “It’s quiet. You can see the stars, if the fog will let you. You know. Obvious reasons. What about you? Going AWOL?” He nods toward my bag.

“I just . . . needed some air. I guess I should go back inside.” There is no way I can escape now. I’ll have to wait another hour, until the boy is home and asleep.

“Sleep is probably a good idea.” He bends to scratch Harker’s ear as the dog lets out another low growl. “Hey, if you need a ride to school tomorrow, I can give you one. I hear your ‘no big deal’ totaled Bryan’s car.”

School. Of course Kailey would have to go to school. How would her friends handle her disappearance? “Um, sure. Thanks. G’night . . .
Harker . . .
and . . . g’night . . .” I finish weakly.

“Take care, Kailey,” the boy says, briefly putting his hand on my shoulder in a friendly gesture. I can feel the heat from his palm through my sweatshirt. I turn and make my way back through Kailey’s window.

Back in Kailey’s room, I lie on the green silk coverlet and stare at the ceiling. It’s covered in tiny glow-in-the-dark stars. If I squint my eyes, I can imagine they’re real, except they aren’t arranged in actual constellations. This is a sky of Kailey’s own creation, the pretend universe she slept in, the safety and stillness she sought in her small world.

My eyes are heavy, and I close them—just for a second, I promise myself—hoping that wherever Kailey is now, she’s at peace. In my mind I still see the stars, rearranging themselves in brand-new patterns, their gentle light flickering down to Earth, shining on the neighbor boy’s crow-black hair.

I’m awoken by the clatter of dishes and the scent of coffee and food. Ruby-tinged light floods through the lace curtains. I jolt upright, my heart racing, sure that Cyrus has found me. Then I see the green bedspread and realize where I am. I groan, berating myself for having missed my opportunity to sneak out. It’s far past dawn and the Morgan family is most definitely up.

I hear the sound of approaching footsteps, and moments later Mrs. Morgan’s face appears in the open door. “Morning, sweetie. How do you feel today?”

“Um, okay,” I stammer. Truthfully, I feel like hell. I tossed and turned all night, my mind churning with nightmares. In them I was chasing my mother through a dense forest, her dark hair streaming out behind her. I couldn’t see Cyrus, but I knew he was near. Little piles of powder kept erupting into colorful flames around me, dizzying violet and red, pale starlit yellow and lime green, and Cyrus’s voice rang out through the trees:
Sera, I told you death was only an illusion.
Just as I finally caught up to my mother, her hair turned a shocking blond and Cyrus’s voice boomed from her mouth.
I’m coming for you,
he said with a snarl.

Mrs. Morgan sits on the bed and looks at me with concern. I realize I’d fallen asleep in jeans and a sweatshirt. “I think,” she says firmly, “that you need to stay home from school today. I’ll stay with you.”

I’m not sure how to respond. I imagine Kailey would be psyched to stay home from school, but the thought of spending the day with the mother of the girl I killed makes me feel physically ill. I need to get to the docks, and it will probably be easier able to slip away between classes than to escape from Mrs. Morgan’s watchful eye.

I manage a weak smile. “I think I should go to school. Honestly, I feel fine.”

Bryan sticks his head in the door, a piece of toast in his hand. “Are you
seriously
asking to go to school? Kiss ass.”

“I’d really rather go,” I tell him.

“I know.” He grins. “Just giving you a hard time.”

Mrs. Morgan looks between the two of us, hesitating. “Okay. You can go. But you need to eat first. I’ll go make you something.” She heads back to the kitchen, and Bryan turns to follow her.

“Hey, Bryan?” I push myself into a sitting position.

“Yes, O spoiled one?”

“Could you . . . not say anything to anyone at school about the car accident? I don’t want this getting around.”

Bryan looks shocked. “I thought your life goal was being in the limelight.”

I feel my cheeks growing hot. “I just don’t want to make a big deal about it.”

He stares at me. “You’re blushing.”

I turn away from him. I’ve always been a blusher, no matter what body I’m in.

“Bryan, please.”

“Okay. Whatever you want, weirdo.” He pops the rest of his toast in his mouth.

After he’s gone I look through Kailey’s vintage armoire for something to wear. It smells of oiled cherry wood and laundry detergent, and the neatly hung clothes are organized by color, like an artist’s palette.

I wonder what she would pick to wear, running my hand along a purple cashmere sweater and a deep fuchsia dress covered with a blue geometric pattern. I ultimately settle on a pair of cropped, rust-colored jeans and a burgundy, lace-trimmed tunic. The scent of jasmine has entwined itself in the fabric, reminding me with each inhale just whose clothes I am wearing.

I race through breakfast—eggs over easy with chicken sausage—as Bryan enters the kitchen.

“We’ve gotta go. I think I hear Noah’s car out front.”

Noah. I wonder if that’s the neighbor boy’s name. I grab Kailey’s backpack and stare at Mrs. Morgan. Her hair is combed neatly back into a ponytail and the dark circles that had been so prominent under eyes yesterday have vanished. After a moment’s hesitation I pull her into a hug. “I love you,” I say softly, wishing I could ease the pain she’ll feel when her daughter doesn’t return home tonight.

“Love you, too, Kailes,” Mrs. Morgan says in a slightly surprised voice. She kisses my cheek, then shoos me out the door.

Bryan is waiting next to Noah’s ancient VW Bug, tapping his foot. “Finally,” he says, pointing toward the backseat. “Invalids have to ride in the back,” he explains with a grin.

I feel Noah’s eyes on me as I climb into the car. In the sunlight they are a warm turquoise, the same color as Cyrus’s had been two bodies ago. I pull the seat belt across my lap. The boys thankfully fill the silence and ignore me, though I catch Noah glancing back at me in the rearview mirror now and then. I place my forehead against the cool window, letting Noah and Bryan’s conversation wash over me as I pray over and over again that my bag is still on the crane.

We pass a line of small houses—Craftsman, A-frame, and a squat shingled one that would have been more at home in Cape Cod. Wildflowers grow chaotically all around it, Queen Anne’s lace mixing with bright yellow goldenrod and purple sage. My mother would have loved it. My father allowed her a small patch of garden that the servants weren’t allowed to touch. She spent hours out there, teaching me the Latin names of each seed:
lilium
,
rosa
,
cosmos
, and
orchis
. She would weave me halos of daisies and belladonna, always warning me how dangerous flowers could be. “Never put these in your mouth, my little angel. But atop your pretty hair they do no harm.”

Soon we pull into the parking lot, joining a stream of beat-up cars jockeying for spots close to the front entrance. The school looms large, all glass and curved walls. I wonder if Kailey liked it here, if she looked forward to gossiping with her friends between classes or if she spent her time staring out of windows, counting the hours until she was free again. I have never been to school. My parents had hired tutors for me when I was young; everything else I know I’d learned from Cyrus.

Noah comes to a stop next to a green Volvo with a BERKELEY HIGH WOMEN’S SWIM TEAM bumper sticker and turns off the sputtering engine. Bryan pushes his seat down to let me out, and I stand up in the dim sunlight.

“See you in bio,” Noah says, and departs, holding a book over his head as he dashes toward the school.

Bryan looks at me expectantly, and I follow him across the parking lot. “See ya,” he says when we reach a covered walkway.

I watch as he walks away, nodding and high-fiving friends as he passes. He has the same easy smile as Kailey, the same buoyancy and happiness I saw in her pictures. No doubt his sister’s death will change that.

This is it. I swear my hammering heart must be audible to those milling around me.

“Good-bye, Bryan,” I whisper, then, making sure no one’s looking at me, I dart back across the parking lot against the wave of arriving students. I try to appear casual yet purposeful, and avoid eye contact with everyone I pass. When I turn the corner and am out of sight of the school, I break into a flat-out sprint for the BART train that will take me close to Jack London Square, where I will have to decide what—if anything—comes next.