I don’t know if it’s the bright sunlight or the tears filling my eyes that blinds me, but a scream pours out of my open mouth, and then a man’s yell pierces through the air. Someone grabs me roughly by the waist, pulling me out of the way of the swinging ball, just in time.
“What the fuck are you doing over here?” he screams, his voice harsh and angry as he moves us both away from the lighthouse as the wrecking ball pivots at the last minute, barely missing us both.
“He’s in there! He’s in there! You have to go back for him!” I’m screaming at him like a lunatic, tears running down my face, my whole body shaking from adrenaline. “Dylan is in there! Please stop!”
“Miss, I don’t know what you’re on, but there’s no one in there. We searched the place this morning. I have no idea where you just came from, but there’s no one else in there. Now, get out of here! This is a construction zone—it’s dangerous.” He leads me down the path away from the crew and the vehicles, my feet dragging on the ground, forcing him to push me in order to move me.
I’m crying and trying to fight back, but he’s stronger than me, and when I finally make it to my car, I turn around once more to try to stop him. Before any words can leave my mouth, I watch in horror as the wrecking ball makes contact with the place I’ve called home for the last two months, taking chunks of concrete out with each hit, cracks running up the sides of the structure. I scream, my heart shattering into tiny pieces like the lighthouse in front of me. Falling down on my knees, I cry into my hands as the sounds of it being demolished ring in my ears. When I finally look up, it’s becoming a pile of white and red rubble, completelyknocked in half with loose bits of concrete all around. Destroyed like my future. Like my hopes and dreams.
In a daze, I somehow manage to pick myself up off the ground and unlock my car, thankful that last night I had parked here instead of in town. Then I get in and buckle my seat belt. I look once more at the rubble and pound my hands against the steering wheel in anger.
Iris was right.
You can’t change the past, my dear.
We did everything we could, we fought like hell, but in the end, Dylan chose to stay behind to save those boys, knowing it meant he was going to die doing so. As mad as I am at what he did, there was never any other choice he would make. Of that, I’m certain. He would always choose to save someone else. Even if it meant risking his own life. And pushing me through that door was a kindness he afforded me, knowing that I would have stayed behind and had to live in 1993 without him.
I start the car and drive away as the yellow truck with a crane attached to the back begins to lift the bottom half of the lighthouse. It lay flat on the ground after the wrecking ball practically cut it in half. I look away as I see a flash of red from the faded door I’ve become so accustomed to coming in and out of. The door Dylan and I were supposed to leave from.
I blink back tears, trying to bring my vision back from blurred so I can drive home safely, determined to keep the promise to Dylan I never hoped to have to uphold.
Chapter Forty-Four
Idon’t remember the drive back to Pleasant Cove.
I must have dissociated, my body trying to protect itself from the pain I’m reeling from.
I have shed every tear in my body, and by the time I make it home and park my car, my cheeks are dry and cracked, and my eyes are bloodshot. I pull down the visor to see how bad I look, and my once bright hazel eyes, a medley of blues and greens, are dimmed. My mind flits back to Iris and her dull blue eyes. I bet before Grant, they were a beautiful sky blue, full of life. Losing him stole her colour, like it’s done for me.
I make my way back into my building, climbing up the creaking stairs until I get to my doorstep. My head hangs low as I think about what could have been. Dylan and I, both here, unlocking the door and stepping into our new life. The key turns in the lock, and I step inside, into the darkness of the late afternoon.
My purse drops on the floor beside me, phone turned off—I don’t have the strength or ability yet to update Priya or talk to anyone. That can be tomorrow’s problem.
I strip out of my clothes, wishing that Dylan’s sweater was still on me, and put on my softest, comfiest pyjamas. Climbing into bed, I hold my pillow tight against my chest, and the tears begin to pour again. I don’t know what I’m going to do. Do I stay here?CanI stay here? A part of me wants to throw in the towel and go back home. Back to the life I knew before Dylan. The easy life where I didn’t have to work for anything and could have whatever I wanted. The life where I didn’t feel anything. Ever.
Being numb sounds nice.
As quickly as that thought crosses my mind, I know it’s not right. I can’t go back, no matter how tempting it might be. I have worked hard to build my life out here. I’ve come so far, and to go back would prove Marcus right. It would erase everything Dylan and I have built and done.
No, I have to stay. I have to find a way to keep going. To keep my spark. My promise.
I close my eyes, squeezing them shut, and try to picture Dylan. The way his emerald-green eyes would light up every time he saw me. The scar on his jaw. His long, constantly messy brown hair. The colour of coffee with a hint of creamer. I won’t ever forget him. He’ll live in my mind and in my heart for as long as I’m alive.
I fall into a restless sleep, stirring all through the night, visions of a crumbling lighthouse taking over my dreams.
Morning comes and goes, and I stay in bed, unable to move. My eyes refuse to open. If I open them, then everything that happened yesterday is real. It’s real and Dylan is gone and the lighthouse is gone and I’m here allalone.
When I finally sit up, the sun is shining throughthe windows, and when I check the clock on the microwave, it shows it’s just past one o’clock. I make myself an instant coffee, not having the strength or desire to stand and brew something. When I open the fridge to grab the milk, I wince looking at the pumpkin and maple creamers I made in anticipation of Dylan being here. I open them up and pour them into the sink, leaving the mason jars empty on the counter. Washing them is a problem for later.
I sit on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, as I sip my mediocre coffee. Staring at the wall in front of me, I hold the warm mug in my hands, letting it soothe my chilled body. This apartment doesn’t hold heat well, I’ve discovered, so it gets colder here when the temperature is lower. Who knows what I’ll do come winter. I wish I had a wood stove like Killick Point did. That was always nice to wake up in the middle of the night and feel the heat of the flames make its way to me in bed. Like a warm hug.
I guess I’ll have to find a space heater.
I grab my laptop from its hiding spot under my throw pillow and pull it onto my lap. My fingers flit over the keys, typing in my password to unlock it. I hesitantly open my browser and prepare to click onto a page I bookmarked two months ago. The page I’ve revisited countless times in the night when sleep wouldn’t find me.
TheChronicle Heraldarticle about Dylan’s death.
I know it’s not going to make a difference, but I want to see if anything has changed.
