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The water in the sky falls, plummeting back down to earth with a vengeance. We’re instantly drenched, head to toe.
He lets out a laugh of relief and excitement from behind my head. I’m being twirled around in the wet chaotic air. “You are a HANDFUL!” He booms into more laughter.
I wiggle free and run across the fountain to dodge him between bursts of water, lifting my knees high enough to not get slowed down.
His face, his hair, his clothes are soaking wet and he’s grinning. I made him smile. I spin around, following the rhythm of pulsing water shots like a ballerina. He’s maneuvering around the water pumps, careful not to get blasted.
The happiness softening the tension between us is heavy in the air, stronger than the water pressure, and louder than the music. It’s pounding against my chest and telling me not to stop.
He chases me relentlessly, grinning at my sad attempt to be stealthy. Finally, he catches me, takes my hands in his, and spins us around. Like children playing in the rain, a thunderstorm in the forest, a secret dance of youth and friendship. He swings me around in a swing dance, whirling me through the briny air as I cackle. There’s a strong chance I’ve never laughed so hard in my life. Just like children playing in the rain, a thunderstorm in the forest.
And that elation is quickly replaced with something else entirely. A chain that wraps around my heart, tightening to the point of pain. Until I’m frozen. Until I’m paralyzed.
It’s like the moment I stepped into the thirteenth room. The moment I laid eyes on Dessin. The time he showed me the wooden tokens from the satchel in the asylum basement. A familiar wave of déjà vu swirling in my stomach. Like I’ve been here before or somewhere like it. Like if I tried hard enough, I could fade into a lost memory.
I look at Kane from across the fountain. The water sprinkles over us, slowly, dreadfully slow like the clock of this world has begun to stop working. It falls across our vision of each other. And that’s when I see it. A young boy with his eyes. Happier. Less troubled. I see him twirling a little girl around. I see the raindrops falling to the earth. I see the lightning crack across the sky and the dark-gray clouds bumping into one another. I hear the thunder that makes the girl jump. And I feel it. Like we’ve done this before. Like we’ve danced in the water and sang in the rain.
And this entire time, I hold my eye contact with Kane, who now looks worried. He runs to me, so slowly, as if it takes minutes to hear one foot splashing in the fountain.
“What is it?” That deep, soothing voice is muffled by the sound of the thunderstorm. The rain pattering over the leaves in the forest.
But he’s holding my shoulders now, bringing me back to this world. Back to the fountain. Dragging me far away from the children playing in the rain.
I shake my head. Willing the images to let go of me. Remove me from the frozen state. Release me from imprisonment.
“Tell me,” he says.
“I’ve been here before.”
He pauses. He waits for me. I don’t think he’s breathing.
“Kane, have we ever danced in the rain?”
He stares at me bewildered, like watching an inactive volcano begin to quake.
“Did we play in a thunderstorm in the forest?” I ask again.
I see his Adam’s apple shift. And then, a shift in his expression. A look of emptiness. Then, something dominant. Powerful. Dessin.
“I think you’ve gotten too much water in your ears.” He smirks. “Let’s get you out of here.”
I don’t object because I’m feeling silly. I should have just kept that to myself. He thinks I am insane. I’m seeing things now. Oh man, I’m seeing things now! And poor Kane didn’t know how to handle it. He panicked and Dessin had to take over.
How the tables have turned, huh, Dessin?
We find our way out of the maze of pumps and lights. I sit down and wring out my hair.
He picks up his dry shoes. “Thankfully he was sensible enough to keep these off.”
I’m embarrassed. Like the feeling when you get caught sleep talking, and it was loud enough to wake you up, but illogical enough to let whoever is around you know that you were without a doubt sleep talking. And there’s no explanation or quick way to recover. You can either roll over and go back to sleep, or admit you were sleep talking. But the embarrassment is there just the same.
“Can we just forget I said that?” I’m small. So small.
He chuckles and sits down next to me. “Only if we can forget that Kane kissed you.”
Ouch. Small doesn’t even begin to describe how I’m feeling now. Why would he want me to forget? Was it really that horrible? Or taboo? Am I a bad kisser? How could that passion and unbelievable connection have only been one way?
“Already forgotten.” I clip my words, short and to the point. “It wasn’t great for me either. Better if we pretend it never happened.” But I want it to happen again! Can’t you see that, Dessin? The memory of it is eating me alive and he never wants to speak of it again. Well, I can be just as cold as he is. I can be bitter and nonsentimental.
