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But my eyes fell on something else dead and unwanted in the sea of safety glass.
Something small and spiky.
Something peach and cream.
Something that belonged in the ocean or Aslan’s pocket.
Not here. Not in a city. Not on a dirty street.
The shell.
The spiny frog shell I’d given Aslan when he’d saved my life.
All the ice, all the fog and frost, all the guilt and numbness shattered.
I collapsed to my knees.
A wail exploded from my mouth.
And I saw clearly without any film of disbelief or haze of bargaining.
I saw the truth.
And I broke.
No.
No.
NO!
Crawling on my hands and knees, not feeling anything other than the pain searing in my chest, I grabbed Aslan’s shell and threw myself over him.
I drove my fist over his heart, over and over again, losing myself to sobs. “Wake up. Please, please wake up. You have to wake up. Please, Aslan. Please, please don’t do this. I can’t lose you. I can’t. I won’t. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t mean to put you in danger. I—”
Ambulance sirens sounded.
Coming so fast, so quick.
“Wake up!” I rocked over him, clutching his shell, begging it to grant a wish and bring him back to me. “Please!”
Give us one more chance. One more moment where we’re unseen and safe.
“Please, Aslan—”
“I’m sorry. So sorry,” the driver cried, giant tears rolling down his cheeks as red and blue flashing lights cast over him. A large decal-covered van zoomed up the street: a gallant box on wheels to save the day.
No.
They can’t.
I won’t let them.
The sirens cut off as the ambulance jerked to a stop behind the ruined car before rolling slowly around to park in front of us.
Headlights from the Mazda and taillights from the ambulance drowned us in illumination.
White light.
