“I made you come up here, probably the last place where you want to be, and I can’t fucking make this work!”
Costa turns to me. “It’s not your fault, Stella. And being in Willow isn’t as bad as I thought. I’m closer to Toby here, and that’s a good thing.”
We sit together silently until there is just a sliver of sun left.
What am I missing?
Sam steps onto the patio and seats himself on my other side. I’m relieved to see that he doesn’t look particularly hungover from his trip or surge.
“Costa?” For some reason, I’m hesitant to ask him what I’m about to.
“Yeah?”
I take another drink from my glass, stalling. “I think that you’re not telling me something.”
“What do you mean?”
“Please tell me.” There is a truth that I need to reach. I can feel it. “I want the whole story. I know you have it. I just do. Tell me.”
He doesn’t say anything for a long time. Then, finally, when the tension becomes nearly unbearable, he speaks, “This is going to hurt. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Ice runs through me at his words.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Sam is less relaxed now.
I glance at Sam, confirming that he has no idea what we’re about to hear.
I say what I know to be true, “Costa has our missing piece.”
“If you’re fucking with her—” Sam starts.
“I’m not. I swear. I didn’t want to ever talk about any of this.”
“Talk about what?” Sam’s edginess concerns me.
“The story about who first tripped me—the guy by the cliffs.” Costa rubs his lips together and then takes a breath. “I made that up.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Because I don’t like how I became a death tripper. The story I told is better. It’s how I wish it had happened, so it’s what I told you both. It should have been my choice. It should have been beautiful. Instead, it wasn’t. It was a nightmare that I’ve been in. I don’t love death tripping. I never have. But I’m trying to make the best of this. Maybe I’m trying to fall in love with it. Maybe I’m just an addict. I don’t know anymore. Anyway, I didn’t understand the importance of how I’d first tripped until recently, the connections that link us all together.”
“Get to the point, Costa,” Sam snaps impatiently from his chair.
I am less impatient and more terrified. I can feel the build that Costa is leading up to something that I will not care for one bit. Something damaging is coming.
“The day that I was hit by a car in Chicago, when I was with you, Sam—”
“Wait, you were the friend? Sam, when I met you in the hospital, you were there to see Costa?”
Sam nods. “Yes. You didn’t know that?”
“No. Why didn’t you tell me?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. We’ve hardly talked about that day. It just really hasn’t come up. I don’t know what that has to do—”
Costa cuts him off in an explosive confession. “That’s the day I was tripped.” He looks at me. “I was hit by a car when I was crossing a side street. I’d met a girl, and I’d left in the dark during an ice storm to go see her. I hadn’t been paying attention, and I’d stepped out in front of a car. It’d hit me, skidded, spun out, and hit a tree. And I died.”
“Okay, so…what?” I ask.
