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But my room is empty and I’m empty and I want nothing more than for him to come back and sleep on my floor where I can wake up in the night and make sure he’s safe.
I curl onto my side in my cold sheets, and again, I press my fingers to my lips where his glorious mouth had been just hours ago.
I’d give anything for him to be back. In my room, in this world. Just here.
I fall asleep and my slumber is restless and dark.
The dreams
The dreams
The dreams.
The boy is back, in his hood, and he stands in the middle of the road.
“You weren’t supposed to give the ring to him,” he tells me. “You were supposed to give it to me. I could’ve saved them, Calla.”
“Saved who?” I demand, but then I know.
“You know who,” he nods. “You must change it. You must change it. You must change it so I can have the ring.”
Because if I don’t, there is water and burning rubber and fire. There is screaming and it’s my mother, I think. There’s sand, there’s a white sheet, there’s sobbing, wailing, dying.
My mother’s eyes are lifeless
And Finn
Finn
Finn.
A voice is whispering, chanting.
St. Michael the archangel, defend us in battle.
Be our defense against the wickedness and snares of the devil.
May God rebuke him, we humbly pray, and do thou O prince of heavenly hosts,
By the power of God,
Thrust into hell Satan,
And all the evil spirits prowling the world
Seeking the ruin of souls.
Amen.
The wordsthewordsthewords.
Protect me St Michael, Protect me St Michael, Protect me St Michael.
Over and over and over, and I wake, sitting straight up in bed, a sense of loss so profound that I can’t stand it. I feel crushed under the weight of it and there’s nothing I can do, nothing I can do,
But run t
o Dare.
