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“The date, Brinley. Look at the date on that newspaper.”
She does, leaning in closer to get a better look. “March, twenty-first?” Her eyes peek up over the top of the page, locking tight with mine. “I don’t get it.”
“March, twenty-first, Brinley.” I nod, exhaling deeply. “Three Two One.”
Reed
Brinley stares at me for the longest time, blinking slowly while my words settle somewhere deep down inside her.
“No,” she whispers. Sitting up on her legs, she starts flicking through the newspaper. “No, it can’t –”
I snatch half the newspaper from her, leaving her to paw through the rest. “I know. This doesn’t make sense, but it has to mean something. Right?”
“It can’t be,” she says, flicking madly through the pages, her eyes searching the stories, the columns, the photographs, looking for what exactly, I’m still not sure.
My heart is in my throat and I try and drown out the emotions in my voice. “Careful, you’re going to tear the pages if you keep going at it like that. Take your time.”
“Reed, what if –”
“I know, I know. Just keep looking. I don’t want to miss –”
And then I stop talking altogether.
My mouth has suddenly gone dry. I lick my lips. But it doesn’t help. Because there it is. The article I knew I was going to find. I dreaded its existence with every part of me, but I knew for certain that’s what we were going to find.
Brinley takes a deep breath and moves beside me on the bed, so she can see for herself what’s caught my attention with so much rapture.
The headline reads:New York Crime Escalates.The subtitle:Two people killed in an armed hold-up.
And then the story goes on to explain in very specific detail the events that led to a young woman named Margaret Edge losing her life to her crazed and violent ex-boyfriend, Johnny Caddell, who she had supposedly been on the run from for over a year, and currently had a restraining order out against. He shot her at point-blank range in a convenience store where she worked, and then turned the gun on himself, taking his own life on the day of the assault.
The article says the owner of the store was rushed to hospital with life-threatening gunshot wounds to the leg, while two teenage boys were checked over by paramedics and kept in the hospital overnight for observation. A three-year-old girl, believed to be the daughter of the murder victim, Margaret Edge, was found by detectives hiding in a supply cupboard beneath the front counter, visibly shaken but otherwise unharmed in the ordeal.
“Holy shit,”I whisper.
Slowly I raise my gaze back up to Brinley, but she’s not looking at me anymore. She’s staring at the trees beyond the window with a blank expression on her face.
Her mouth is limp; her eyes heavy with swollen tears that threaten to spill at any moment.
“Tink, look at me –”
“No.”
“Please, baby.”
She slowly turns to look at me and the small movement causes the tears to spill down her flushed cheeks. “I… I don’t understand.”
“I know,” I say, reaching for her.
My mind is reeling, shock dissipating at a disturbingly slow pace. But Brinley pulls away from me, crossing her arms over her chest, holding herself. She’s trembling when I put my hands on her shoulders and turn her so she’s looking at me.
“I know this is hard for you, but you have to tell me why you wrote ‘Destiny.’ Think about it, Brinley, think really hard. You have to tell me what you remember about writing that song. It could be the answer to all these questions.”
“I… I don’t really know.” Her voice is shaking as hard as her body. “It’s just something that’s always been with me. Like a memory, but not really. Maybe more like a dream. I don’t know how to explain it. I never really knew why I wrote that song, but I did. I’ve just always felt the words, and so I wrote the song.”
Brinley climbs off the bed and walks across the room, leaning against her dresser. She hangs her head, more tears falling.
I follow her, cornering her so she can’t hide from me. I know she’s not going to want to hear this, but I have to say it before I lose my nerve.
