The Farm (35 page)

“Don’t expect what?” he prodded.

“What you thought you felt for me—” I shrugged. “I mean, I’m not an
abductura
. I didn’t do that. I mean, I didn’t make you feel that.”

“I know.”

“But that doesn’t mean it was real, either. I guess Mel knew how much I”—I cringed, saying this aloud—“crushed on you and she must have really wanted that for me.” I could feel my cheeks burning and was thankful that the early morning light shining through the window was weak. I was surprised I could feel any embarrassment over my grief. Maybe it was best I was having this conversation now. I doubted I could even say these things aloud if I wasn’t numb with pain. “With Mel gone and not even an
abductura
anymore, I don’t expect—”

“Hey. It’s okay,” he said softly. He placed his hand on my knee and I looked over at him. “You just lost your sister. I don’t expect anything, either.”

“Okay.”

Then a moment later, he added, “But just so you know, I also don’t expect what I’m feeling to change.”

“But Mel—”

“I wasn’t anywhere near Mel for two years and I still wanted you. What I feel for you isn’t going to go away.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yeah, I do.” He gave my knee a squeeze. “Don’t worry. I can wait. I got all the time in the world.”

I knew that tone of voice from him. He wasn’t going to back down. I was too tired to argue with him and too beaten to shove aside that last little bit of hope, so I didn’t say anything.

As the Detroit skyline got closer and closer, I thought about my mother and her no-nonsense view of the world. She hadn’t been the kind of woman who believed monsters were real. Or superheroes, for that matter. She had believed there was a logical, scientific explanation for everything. She’d been wrong about all of that. But she’d also been right about one thing. You fight for what you believe in. You fight for what’s right, even when it’s hard. Even when you want to give up. Fighting for what was right, no matter the odds, was heroic enough. You didn’t need a superpower to do the right thing. You only needed the will to get it done.

I glanced over at Carter. And you needed friends to fight by your side. Whatever else Carter was—whatever else he thought he felt for me—he was a friend. He’d been there for me when I hadn’t even known I needed him. I had no one else, but at least I still had him.

EPILOGUE

Mel

If life was music, this is silence.

I don’t know what it is, but it’s not life.

It’s anguish. Bones regrowing too quickly. The popping of ribs snapping back into place. Fire burning through my chest. The bubbling, caustic heat of acid poured into a fresh wound.

A hunger gnawing through my brain. All my cells stretched, squashed, and realigned. Like a hand has reached inside of me and pulled out my stomach. My heart. My soul.

This is not my choice and it is as silent as a grave without dirt or coffin. It is as still as bones. The world itself must have vanished to make a hole in the music this deep and wide.

It must be death.

But then I open my eyes. The silence presses heavily against my eardrums. The world is not gone. The music is.

And Lily.

As Lily goes, so goes the steady drumbeat of my heart. I will have to learn to live without the beating or learn to hear my own. Without everyone’s music in my ears, maybe I, too, will have a sound.

This place is a quiet as vast as space. Empty but not void. There is a stillness that is almost peace. Almost like black velvet. The beauty’s in what’s not.

Time crawls in the silence. Tick Tock. Tick Tock. Tick Tock. Tock. Tock. Tock.