The Darkest Part (8 page)

Sam

Holden’s the crazy one if he thinks I’m really letting him go on this trip. I almost laughed in his face back there. He’s the last person I want to be around for any amount of time. But I do need him to break into the Marks’ family mausoleum (really, they have one of those). The idea had just hit me; I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of it before.

Holden got busted for breaking and entering when he was in middle school. If anyone can get me on the inside, he can. But after that, I’m finding a way to ditch him.

A small sense of justified revenge swells in my chest. I’d love to see the look on his face when he realizes he’s been cast off—seems like poetic justice.

Shaking my head, I refocus on my laptop screen. Honestly, I’m not so jaded over what happened between us anymore. If it hadn’t have been for Holden and his douchebaggery, then Tyler and I may have never gotten together. Well, we would have, eventually. I believe that. Holden just sped up the process.

After I log in my route, I click “purchase” on the Amtrak website. I had to dip into my savings to buy the train ticket, which isn’t cheap. But my savings are for emergencies. This can definitely be classified as one.

I have a car, a cute little silver Scion coupe. And it would probably be cheaper and more comfortable to travel that way. Only I haven’t driven since the night Tyler died. I’ve tried, but every time I get behind the wheel, my heart-rate increases, my palms get clammy, and the world looks off. Like a dream. It’s like I lose all touch with reality, and all I can think about is what if I hit someone? What if someone hits me?

Dr. Hartman offered to prescribe me Xanax, but really, with all the pills she has me on, or at least
thinks
she has me on, I’m not sure adding one more prescription is ideal. The thought of becoming a personal pharmacy gives me even worse anxiety. And if you’re fearful of being too zoned out to drive, then how is doping yourself up going to make it any better? Wouldn’t that make it worse?

Whatever. It doesn’t matter anyway. The train will go from point A to point B and so on. I won’t have to worry about anything other than fulfilling Tyler’s unfinished business. I’ll leave a letter for my parents so they won’t flip out and report me as a missing person, then I’ll deal with the aftermath of my actions when I get back.

I won’t think about it until then.

I won’t think about what will happen when I
do
fulfill Tyler’s unfinished business, either.

Glancing at the framed photo of Tyler and me, his arms circling my waist, his cheek resting on top of my head, my smile bright and beaming, I feel the loss of him so deeply my breastbone aches.

If this works, and Tyler’s able to cross over, then the end of this trip will be my last goodbye to him. I look down at the map, Santa Rosa Beach circled in red. The last destination of our trip. We were going to stay there for a few days after traveling the country—our wind down stop. The knowledge of it steals the air from my lungs, and I can’t catch my breath.

Tyler hasn’t returned yet, and I’m starting to freak. What if he can’t find his way out of the darkness this time? What if he’s already lost, already forgotten me?

“We gotta go, Sam!”

The panic gripping me heightens with the shrill ring of my mother’s voice. Like hitting a wall, I remember my session. Crap. I was hoping to get out of it, but I forgot to tell her I wasn’t feeling well. But really, this will be my last meeting with my psychiatrists until I get back. And then I’m sure they’ll just have me committed. I can pull it together for one afternoon.

With one last look around my room, hoping Tyler will appear, I kiss my hand and touch the photo of Tyler, then close the door behind me.

Sun-glinting cars rush by us on the highway, the hot June sun reflecting off their shiny surfaces and glaring in my eyes. I plunder through my bag and dig out my sunglasses. Trying to stay focused on my meeting, I mentally recite what I’m going to say to Dr. Hartman—what she needs to hear to believe I’m improving. My thoughts keep returning to Tyler, though. Wondering where he is. And Holden. Stressing if he’ll really go through with my plan.

My mom reaches for the stereo knob to turn up the volume.
Gold Dust Woman
blares out of the rattily speakers. I roll my eyes, but can’t complain, even if listening to Stevie Knicks every time we’re in the car makes me want to crack my head against the window. She’s not only driven me to every one of my sessions, but everywhere else for the past five months.

I lean forward and lower the volume. “Have you heard from Dad lately?”

Her large sunglasses obscure her eyes, preventing me from reading her expression. But she can’t hide the slight dip of her mouth, her hands gripping the wheel tighter.

“Sorry, baby,” she says. “He has a real important client to take care of this week.”

I nod, averting my gaze out the window. “Just wondering.” It’s pretty shitty of him, the way he abandoned her, making her deal with all this on her own. I’d like my dad to be around to comfort her when I leave, so she’s not worrying alone. I feel sick to my stomach thinking about her pacing the house, calling my shrink, trying to get an armed force to hunt me down.

But I know his job
is
important (where would the world be without marketing managers?) I keep telling myself that he’s not really running from me.
Bullshit
. I glance back at my mom, the guilt eating at me. Maybe while I’m gone he’ll come back, and then she’ll have her husband again.

Any way I look at it, it’s for the best. Everyone will get something out of this trip.

As we walk into the wellness center, I’m told I can go straight in. My mom takes a seat and picks up an outdated magazine. I’m flying solo for this one.

I claim my usual spot, the fluffy blue chair that swallows me as soon as I sit down.

Dr. Hartman is changing it up today, sporting a red dress suit and black heels. Her dark hair falls over her shoulders in loose waves instead of the tightly cinched bun she usually wears. I raise my eyebrows, and she laughs.

“I have a date after my five o’clock.”

Go her. “That’s nice.”

Her light mood doesn’t last, and soon she whips out her all business persona. “So, Sam, you started your medications yesterday?”

“I did.”

“It’s too early to tell, I’m sure, but has there been any change?”

Flipping through my mental notes of side effects from my medication pamphlets and the websites I Googled, I say, “I’ve been more tired.” Not tired.
More
tired. I’m always tired. “A bit antsy. And I haven’t seen Tyler since noon.” Which is the truth. But it’s not due to the meds (obviously they’ve disintegrated and are now floating around the sewer system), but I don’t think she wants to hear my latest theory about how Tyler’s energy is fading and a black hole is trying to steal him from me.

Our first ten minutes are the usual: diet, exercise, family, outings. Then she comes out of left field. “I want you to make a list of things you’d like to accomplish.”

Seems like a simple enough request. I shrug. “Okay. I can have one for you the next time I come in.”
In about two and half weeks
.

She smiles. “This probably won’t be as easy as you think, Sam. I want a list of things you’d like to experience, goals you want to achieve, that has nothing to do with your life with Tyler.”

I feel my brow furrow. Anger bites my chest.

“You’ve been stunted emotionally,” she continues, “in more ways than one. Being engaged at such a young age, especially during college, when most are experimenting has inhibited your emotional growth.”

“I think I’m pretty mature for my age,” I say, my irritation rising at her condescending tone.

“Oh, you are. I couldn’t agree more. But since Tyler’s death, all progress has shut down. Tyler was such a vital part of who you were . . .
are
, that losing him has been like losing a huge part of
you
.”

It’s like she opened up my brain during our last session and jotted down notes for this one. I can feel my heart-rate speeding, shoulders tensing. “I think that’s an obvious observation.”

“Indeed.” She nods. “You’ve been with Tyler your entire life. You’ve always identified yourself with him. But now, you need to discover who Sam is away from Tyler. College is all about self-discovery. I’d like you to take full advantage of it. Get you back on a course to finding out who you are, what interests you have, and thinking about your future. Experiment and discover your independence.”

“You want me to go back to college so that I can have sexual escapades and experiment with drinking and drugs.” I sit forward, cock my head. “Okay. First on my list, kiss a girl.”

“Funny, Sam.” Her frown line deepens between her eyes. “It’s not for me. Stop thinking that doing anything in this treatment is for me. You have to be willing to take the steps for you. I’m just offering suggestions to help along the way.”

My mouth opens, ready to unleash, ready to tell her that I already know exactly who I am and what my future will be. But I stop. Something in my mind clicks, like puzzle pieces fitting together.

Dr. Hartman doesn’t know it yet, but she’s just given me the perfect out.

“I think you’re right.” I smile, and it’s not fake. “Finding my independence is just what I need to do right now.”

My eyelids slip closed, heavy with sleep, and I snap them open. The
Clockwork Orange
poster pinned to my wall blurs as I fight to stay awake.

All the books have one thing in common, claiming spirits mostly appear at night. I haven’t prayed in a long time, but I find myself whispering in the dark, asking whoever might be hanging out in the clouds to give Tyler the strength to fight the darkness.

I was so angry earlier today when I went to meet his father. I sent Tyler away with harsh words and evil glares. It’s been so hard, seeing him and having my world shift, but he’s had it much worse. I should’ve listened to him. Should’ve stayed with him.

I whisper “I love you” to the gloom, and before my eyes shut a final time, I feel his presence. Warmth spreads through my body as a dim white light begins to glow beside me. I hold my breath, watching as Tyler’s features come into focus.

My breath whooshes out in relief. “I was afraid you were gone,” I say, feeling a hot tear roll down my cheek. My pillow catches it, and the next one.

I open my hand between us, my palm turned up, and Tyler rests his translucent hand over mine.

“I’m still here. I won’t leave until you’re ready.”

Later, I’ll question his words. But right now, I lie beside him, our hands phantom linked as one, and accept the comfort his spirit brings.

Holden

Sam’s late. I look around the cemetery, tapping the crowbar against my leg, feeling like I’m being punked. Maybe she changed her mind. Shit, I hope so.

I battled with what I’m about to do all night, tossing and turning, the stupid motel bedsprings digging into my spine. I can’t believe I agreed to steal my brother’s ashes for her. But looking into her sad eyes, desperation and heartache written all over her face—I couldn’t deny her anything.

My father should’ve been more reasonable. If he cared at all about what Tyler probably wanted, he’d have given them to her himself. Hell, he should’ve offered to fly her around the country so she could spread his ashes.

But the family mausoleum is all he cares about. He spent a fortune on it so we could have this grave site that makes us look more important than we are. I sure as shit won’t be buried in it. I almost laugh. As if he’d extend an invitation now.

Birds chirp, tree branches rustle, and the muscles between my shoulder blades tense. Besides the sounds of nature, it’s quiet here. Too quiet. No one visiting this early. Even so, we probably should’ve planned this for night. Keep it real, like the grave robbers we are.

I mentally go down the list of my criminal record, wondering how this will impact me. Most of my offenses are sealed in my juvenile file, but I
had
one misdemeanor on my adult: vehicular negligence, reduced from vehicular manslaughter. And from there, my lawyer got the charges dropped completely.