Page 31

Two hours. That’s all the time we have left to figure this mess out. I can’t walk through the door without Atticus, and no amount of chanting to myself that I’m dead is working.

“Accept the situation, Lyric. Stop telling me that you are when you’re not. You know how I know this? Because you can’t pass through the damn door without me!”

I flinch as he raises his voice. I know he’s just frustrated, but I can’t help it.

“No, don’t do that. Please.” He reaches for me, and I step back.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” He replies regretfully.

My past will always haunt me, no matter what I do. That’s the thing that’s become clear to me—something I do accept—there is and never will be peace for me. Dying never scared me. I welcomed it. But I didn’t get to carry it out myself, and not only is it hindering me, but I’m still pissed about it.

Jake took everything, including my peace. I feel like coming to terms with my murder just solidifies that fact, and I’m not willing to set that in stone just yet. There has to be another way.

I try the door again. I use all the anger I can muster, and when that doesn’t work, I whip the door open and stomp away through the parking lot. Atticus runs a few feet ahead of me and waits for me to reach him. Without saying a word, he takes me by the hand and escorts me to a nearby wooden bench that sits outside the main office window of the motel.

For just a second, I contemplate questioning him, and then I remind myself it’ll do no good. “Let’s take a break and discuss what we’re gonna do once Jake leaves.” He says.

I knew I wouldn’t be able to avoid this for much longer, and I’m still not ready to talk about it.

“Can we just not? I don’t wanna talk about this right now.”

I never do. I know this. I just can’t bring myself to discuss it.

“You can’t keep running, Lyr. Either we dispose of your body or we let Dumb and Dumber do it. Is that what you want?”

I’ve had enough of their hands on me in every lifetime. The thought of those two idiots being the last to touch me and dump my body somewhere brings bile to my throat.

“Of course not.”

Things aren’t going my way, and it makes me agitated. Having always intended to be cremated and sprinkled into a nearby body of water, I feel like I’m going to explode with each new thought of what was taken from me and instead I’ll be buried in the ground with bugs and other decaying things. You need to practice grounding, they say. Be one with the earth, they say. I didn’t know they meant literally.

“Okay, then you need to continue working on your abilities past the Veil. It’s the only way to do this safely and undetected. Plus, if we get separated for whatever reason, I need to know that you’ll be okay and that you’ll be able to handle yourself until I can get back to you.”

“I hear you,” I quietly mumble.

We show up to Jake’s room just as he’s leaving, and I sigh a heavy breath.

Showtime.

I latch onto Attie’s hand, and we shuffle quickly through the door. The dizzying feeling becomes less noticeable the more we practice this, and I take a minute to be grateful for that.

Attie rushes to the bed and snatches the sheet off in one swoop. I join him, and the two of us lay the blanket on the ground just outside the outskirts of the frame. The stench somehow seems less pungent, and I wonder how much longer until my scent disappears completely.

The two of us work to extract my remains from under the bed and place as much of what’s left of me into the middle of the sheet. We drag the sheet into the bathroom and haul me into the tub. I recall there being a lighter in the bedside table, and I go back to retrieve it.

Atticus holds out a couple of sheets of toilet paper, and I flick the lighter haphazardly until the flames catch. He goes to throw the paper into the bathtub with my marinated leftovers and then stops. Turning back to me, he gives me a questioning look, and I reach for the fire.

“Are you sure?”

His gaze isn’t the only uncertain thing I’m facing, so I lie to myself to make me feel more self-assured than I actually am.

“Yes. I’m positive.” I say as confidently as possible.

Igniting the only thing that’s left of me—the only proof that I ever existed feels illegal—minus the fact that it, quite literally, is. I don’t have time to think about it any longer; I just need to act. Before I can talk myself out of it, I throw the paper into the tub and watch as it sparks more abruptly than I had foreseen.

Attie steps back as the flames crawl upward toward the ceiling. Melted splatters of acrylic plop off the wall as the flames begin to scorch the tub. The shower curtain flickers toward us, and Attie makes the mistake of grabbing onto it to move it away from the wall. The curtain wraps around his spirit, and he spins, causing it to blanket him in melting plastic and flames. He lets out a girlish scream.

“Hey, genius!” I yell over his frantic movements and the sound of the growing flames.