Page 25 of Rules for Vanishing


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ANTHONY: So everyone... hold hands, I guess?

The group shuffles as people move to stand next to their partners. Vanessa and Nick clasp each other’s hands readily. Trina sticks her hand out, palm up, and gives the camera, and her brother behind it, an encouraging grin. He grabs hold, palm slapping against hers, still holding the phone in his opposite hand. It swings away from the group for a moment, then back, as he shifts his grip. Sara and Anthony are together at the head of the group, but Jeremy stands with his hand in Mel’s. Both of them look vaguely startled, like they can’t figure out how they ended up that way. Mel glances at Miranda, who holds her other hand, as if checking to see if she objects.

MIRANDA: It’s fine. Let’s get moving.

Anthony shrugs. He and Sara turn. Their shoulders bump against each other, and then their hands stray together, seeming to link one finger at a time, like the teeth of a key fitting against the pins of a lock.

Together, they step forward. One step. Then two. Then they are at the darkness. They look at each other, and each instinctively draws a breath, as if they are about to plunge into water.

They step forward. And vanish.

7

I’M SURE YOUwant to know what it feels like, stepping into pure darkness. Have you ever stepped off a dock or a pier—not jumped off—stepped, one foot out and then the rest belonging to gravity? Even that isn’t right, because there’s a border between the air and the water, a surface to sink through, and it isn’t like that with the darkness. You are simply on one side of it, and then the other. And there is no sensation of cold and wet to warn you not to take a breath. Gasp. Drag it into your lungs. It fills you. You don’t choke, and somehow that makes it worse. You can keep breathing, keep pulling more and more of it inside of you.

That’s the first step. There are thirteen. Each one is harder than the last.

We stop after the first. Hands clasped, breath ragged, not yet realizing that with every breath we take, we’re making it harder to map where we end and the dark begins.

I look back, but all I can see is black. “Can you hear us?” I call.

“Yeah,” Mel says. “But you’re all echoey. Like you’re in a tunnel.”

“Maybe we are,” Anthony says. How could we tell? I spread my fingers out on the opposite side from him, and I can feel himdoing the same, through the way his grip shifts. My hand touches only air.

“Thirteen steps,” Vanessa reminds us. “That’s the g-game. Thirteen steps.”

“And don’t leave the road,” Trina adds.

“I can’t see the road, how are we supposed to stay on it?” Anthony asks.

“The stones,” I say. “It’s a stone road. You can feel them when you step on them.”

Silence. Then, “Yeah. Sorry, I just nodded, but obviously you can’t see that.”

“It’s okay. Twelve steps to go, right? Or have we taken the first one yet?”

“I guess there’s only one way to find out,” he says. “Count them?”

“Sure. So this is two,” I say, and we step together, lurching. He’s taking big steps, like he’s trying to cover as much ground as possible, and I’m inching along, feeling for the stones beneath us. Our hands jerk against each other, and my grip spasms around his, frantic.

“Sorry. Sorry,” Anthony says. “Just walk normally?”

“Okay. Three,” I say, and we take another step, this time more or less in sync. But still there’s a tug, his hand against mine. Not because of the step, but becausewe’retugging at each other, pulling, twitching. Like we’re trying to let go. “Hold on,” I say.

“I know,” he says. “It’s just—”

It’s just that I want to let go. The faint niggle of a desire, like a fingernail pressed against the nape of my neck, twisting back and forth.

“Four,” I say. We take a step. My skin crawls. I don’t want him touching me. Don’t want anyone touching me. “Five,” I say. Another step, and I want to fling his hand away. I swallow.

“Hold on. Hold on,” he says.

“I’m trying,” I say.

“The others—”

I nod, remember he can’t see. “Hey!” I yell back. “It’s hard to hold on. It makes you want to let go.” My voice echoes back at me. There’s no answer. Five steps, but I have the disorienting feeling we’ve gone farther. Much farther.

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