Pieces of Hope (48 page)

Yes, it
was a castle, alright. Damn that Cinderella.
  

The
bed was tall and wide, with heavy burgundy drapes that hung from a canopy, the
kind that let you shut out the world. Daniel turned down the bedding and tucked
me inside, but I continued to shiver. My bones felt cold as a Popsicle. Daniel
sat on the edge of the bed, stroking my forehead. It took an enormous amount of
coaxing to get me to eat a cookie—my throat refused to swallow—but Daniel
insisted that the sugar would do me good. It was the same thing
Creesie
had told me at the hospital. A short while later,
it turned out he was right.

           
I could almost hold up my head when he said, “That wasn’t
the smartest thing in the world to do.” I had known him long enough and watched
him closely enough to know when he was hiding something and—oatmeal insides and
floating eyeballs aside—he definitely was. “But when it comes to doing the
smartest thing, I don’t have much room to talk.”

He
looked into my eyes. I had no idea what he was talking about.

“Just
promise you won’t do that again,” he pleaded.

I nodded
awkwardly. I meant to bob, but my head just sort of tilted sideways.

“I’ll
take that as a yes.”

I
blinked once. He gave me a weak smile.

“Hope, I
need to tell you something.” The color had drained from Daniel’s lovely face,
giving him a slightly sickly pallor. And his hair looked wilder than usual, as
though he’d just stepped out of the wind—or possibly out of a four-hundred
pound Bengal tiger in a great rush. It was the
first moment I’d noticed how panicked he was.

“What is
it?” I asked shakily. I attempted to sit up, but couldn’t do it, and fell back
against the fluffy pillows.

“It’s something
I should have told you sooner, but this is . . . well, it’s not easy to say.”
His eyes were grayer today, less blue than I’d ever seen them. Shaking his
head, he closed his eyes and inhaled a deep breath. When he opened them, he
seemed a little more worried than the instant before. “This is the sort of
thing that alters a person’s life, well, as they know it . . . forever.” His
last word came out in a whisper.

My
stomach twisted into a sickening knot. Was he worried for me, because of me, or
about me?
 

“I don’t
know how to tell you this, Hope. I should’ve told you sooner. I should’ve told
you the minute it happened. You could say I’ve been a coward, but sometimes
there are good reasons to delay. I’ve started the same sentence a hundred
times, and a hundred times I couldn’t spit it out.” A sort of misery came over
him. I had a sudden and horrific revelation. It was instantly clear. Too clear.

The
words dropped out of my mouth one at a time, like pills too bitter to swallow,
“Oh, God . . . I’m dead?” At first, he looked taken aback, possibly because I’d
guessed it so quickly. Then he nodded slowly, his eyes unable to meet mine. I
went into shock. Disbelief, maybe. It took me a moment to speak again. “Why
don’t I feel dead?”

A spark
of hope flared. I paused, listening hard.

“Daniel,
I can hear my heart!” My voice sounded strange in my ears. It seemed as if
someone else was speaking out of my mouth. Daniel started to say something, but
he wasn’t able to look at me. “I can!” I shouted over him, relief flooding my
tone.
“I can hear it!”

“I’m
sorry, Hope.” Daniel sounded tired. He touched the side of my face.

“But—”

“Vampire
load,” he interrupted. It seemed to come to him suddenly, like a switch had
flipped in his head. “Like when your computer’s plugged in, and even if you
aren’t using it, it keeps drawing electricity. It’s called a vampire load.”

“What?”
Either my brain wasn’t fully functional or he wasn’t making sense.

“Or a
phantom limb.” Now the sickly pallor had left his face and a flush returned to
his cheeks. Daniel usually had rosy cheeks, as if he’d just exited a ski lift,
and now that hue was back. “When someone loses an arm or a leg, they often get
these sensations that they still have that limb. It’s normal. Sometimes it’s even
painful. I’m guessing you’ll feel your heart for a while yet.”

He
dropped his head, then only his eyes looked up at me.

“Just as
I will,” he murmured.

“What?”
His confession was quick to register. He had stayed with me too long. It was my
fault, once again. I seemed to be killing people left and right. It was
unthinkable. “That can’t be! You’re dead, too?”

He
smiled a full-on smile, pulling me out of bed, and hugging me hard. “Don’t be
sad about it. I’m not.” I straightened, found I could sit up on my own, and
tried to hear the thoughts inside his head. But he was blocking them. “Don’t
try to look in there.” He smirked. “It’s full of cobwebs and skeletons.”

“How did
you know I was doing that?” I was slightly amazed.

“It
feels like a tugging sensation, like someone’s pulling on a finger.”

“I don’t
ever feel that.” I felt defective, shortchanged.

“You
just aren’t paying attention. Your thoughts are a little scattered.” He had no
intention of offending me, but he had, nonetheless. I scowled. “You could never
be ditzy. I didn’t mean it like that.”

He had
hurt my pride more than anything else. “You’re right. I do feel scattered.”

“Am I
forgiven?” he begged, dropping to his knees. I nodded with a little smile. It
was odd that I wasn’t distraught, but wasn’t denial the first stage of grief?
Had I slid right into acceptance? How long before the sobbing began? “We should
do something,” Daniel said brightly. “Dwelling isn’t good for either of us.” I
sensed a distraction coming, a way to keep our thoughts off our phantom beating
hearts.

“Like
what?” The false thumping in my chest sped up.

“Why,
travel . . . of course. I have the best surprise in mind. I can hardly wait to
show it to you. You’ll be stunned.”

“Stunned?”
I gulped. “I think I’ve had enough to last me several lifetimes.”

With a
smile, he took my hand and helped me to my feet. I thought he was going to kiss
me on my lips, but he merely pecked my forehead. I was relieved. Even in death,
Ethan was still on my mind.

“Ready?”
Somehow Daniel avoided looking disappointed. Feeling an insistent tug on my
fingertips, I knew he had read my mind.
 

I
hesitated, then wrapped my arms around Daniel. I could feel how warm his arms
were, but that didn’t stem the chill in my bones. At least, there was a logical
reason for it. I only let a couple of tears escape. After all, I had done this
to myself. No one else was to blame. What was the use of crying? Everyone had
warned me. Even heavenly beings had stopped by to give me a celestial thump on
my forehead—but I refused to listen. I had to do things my way! I had to see my
mother on my terms!

And
Ethan . . . hadn’t he told me as well? He had said I was in terrible shape
there at the end. I should have gone back while I still had time. Now his
nightmare made sense. In his mind, I was killing myself. In his mind, I might
as well have leapt from Heaven’s Peak with an evil Mona Lisa smile. It was a
little something extra to torture him with the rest of his days. Now, I was
dead. Dead. And going back wouldn’t ever be an option.

“Ready?”
Daniel asked again, smiling as if his every wish had recently came true. And
possibly, I realized with dread, it had.

I choked
back a lump of tears, recalling the one thing that had gotten me through every
difficulty in life. “Step aside,” I muttered dryly. “Dead girl walking.”

With a
chuckle, Daniel peeled back the lamp, exposing a quiet, country town with
orange-tiled rooftops. There was a foreign feel to it. Daniel took a deep bow
and quipped, “After you, my love . . . death before beauty.”

23
Tiny Orange Angels

A pair
of burros saddled with brightly-colored blankets waited for us on the dirt
road, their reins tied to a nearby tree. They looked as tired as I felt. I
wasn’t aware that Daniel and I had the ability to conjure up things in the
living realm as easily as we could at the Station. Then again, maybe we could
do it now only because we were dead.

I
straddled the burro and clicked my tongue behind my teeth. Like magic, the
tired little fellow trotted into gear. Daniel came up quickly beside me, dust
flying, as I bounced past several small but well-kept houses.

“What’s
the rush, Goo?” He looked happier than I’d seen him in a long time. That made
one of us, I thought. Though I was trying hard not to think about it, I
couldn’t help but wonder if I’d missed my own funeral. It was morbid and more
than a little silly, but I hoped it was nice. Not too flashy. I didn’t care
much for flashy.
   

“Goo?” I
asked. The trotting was getting on my nerves; I slowed my little burro to an annoying
crawl. Apparently he had two speeds: nearly-stopped and a teeth-rattling trot.

“It’s my
new nickname for you . . . short for gooey.” Daniel turned his face to the
afternoon sun, an amused smirk gracing his lips. “Ever since our clandestine
encounter, I have a newfound respect for the expanse of your emotions. They’re a
lot like a nuclear tidal wave on acid.” He turned to face me, his ruddy cheeks
glistening in the sun.

Despite
my efforts to stop it, a phantom heat wave burned my cheeks. I pretended not to
notice. The burro continued in an uphill climb, unbothered by the steepness of
the hill we travelled. Now I understood the use of burros, rather than horses.
It reminded me of a trip to Yellowstone, one
in which Daniel had come along with my family. I gathered that trip was his
inspiration. As we made our way up the mountain, the trees stepped closer and
closer together. The lazy swaying of my little burro grew on me. I named him
Bob.

“Where
are we?” I asked, only mildly interested. More important things troubled my
thoughts—my CD’s, for instance. I had acquired an impressive collection, one
which Brody coveted. I probably wasn’t even in the ground yet and he’d already
confiscated them.
 

“We’re near
the place where the Monarch butterflies make their annual migration from Canada to Mexico. A town called Valle De Bravo.
The name means

“Hmmm.”
I was now officially, slightly interested. Dream Place had potential.

“Nobody
knows why they take this grueling trip. Seems only the butterflies know for
sure, and apparently”—he flashed a perfect smile—“they
ain’t
talkin
.”

A smile
itched at the corners of my mouth.

“Imagine
it, Hope. These tiny creatures fly thousands of miles across treacherous
terrain.” In a low tone, as if someone might be listening, he asked, “Have you
seen a butterfly fly? They’re like drunken suicide bombers. And yet, somehow,
they make it all the way to this postage stamp of a place in the mountains of
Mexico—over three thousand miles away!”

I was
awed. “How do they find it? And why here?”

“It’s .
. . instinctual. It’s their utopia. It protects them, sustains them. And it’s
their only destination.” Our burros were now so close together that my right
leg butted against Daniel’s left. I immediately reined my burro left, but
Daniel took my hands, stopping me.

“Daniel,
your crazy burro’s about to crush my—”

“I’m
your destination, Hope,” Daniel said earnestly. “And you’re my butterfly.”

It was
the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to me.

I could
see his solemn expression, hear the sincerity of his tone, and yet—despite the
honesty of it, the sweet, unassuming nature of it—laughter sputtered from my
closed lips. I sort of thought I had it under control, but then it came
again—catching in my nose like a stifled sneeze. Within seconds, I was howling
with laughter. And so was Daniel.

Later,
when I was wiping tears of laughter from my eyes (my third or fourth time) I
managed to choke, “Who’s the Goo now?” It was the pressure, I decided. I had
been a balloon fit to burst for some time, and it had to go somewhere. Laughing
beat crying any day of the week.

“Seriously,
though. Don’t go assuming you’re the first guy to tell me, ‘You’re my
butterfly’ . . . Why if I had a nickel for every time I heard—”

He eyed
me humorously, then his eyes stopped smiling. “I was trying to say that you
make me want to be a better person. With you, I think it might be possible . .
.” And with those words, he reached in and touched the bottom of my phantom
heart. “At least,” he admitted, “I’d like to think it’s possible.”

“Daniel,
you’re already a good person. You don’t need me or anyone—”

“Yes, I
do,” he bit back. “There’s a lot that you don’t know about me—a lot that’s
happened since we last saw each other.” Daniel didn’t explain further. With a
click of his tongue, his little burro started up again, and Bob swayed along
beside him.

I
thought about what
Creesie
had told me long ago at
the hospital—maybe it just seemed long ago—about something Daniel needed to
tell me, a secret that might alter the way I felt about him. Not possible, I
thought. Not now. We were in this together. For eternity.

“3 back
3,” I said, smiling like I meant it. “You and me through eternity.”

“I’d
like that,” he replied, dropping his head. “I’m sure it’s more than I deserve.”
I watched his mood shift to a darker place. Even his eyes looked duller,
blacker. I did want to ask why. I wanted him to tell me everything that had
happened. But wasn’t there plenty of time? All the time in the world, in fact?

Thoughts
that seemed to come from thousands of miles away crept into my mind.
 
I could hear Deputy
Washpun
bellowing . . . “And I was tailing
that
joker for his possible involvement in a string of burglaries!” Then I
remembered the boy on the stretcher—the beautiful boy I had loved my freshman
year. What had caused him so much despair?