“Don’t drive, Nick,” I plead. “Please . . . don’t drive.”
But again, I’m useless. I’m not here. All I can do are party tricks like breaking a porcelain dog. I can’t stop Nick from doing something incredibly stupid.
In spite of what he said, in spite of everything, I still care about him. Maybe I’m in denial, can’t truly face it, but I don’t want him hurt.
He gets into his car, and I hurry to join him, passing through the door as if it’s the thing that isn’t here, instead of me. As I hover in the passenger seat, he guns the engine and peels off the McCanns’ lawn.
Nick drives dangerously fast, ignoring the stop sign at the end of the street and blasting his horn at a car up ahead of him. I have to get him to calm down, to pull over.
I look out the windshield at the dark highway speeding by us, and I can’t help but flash back to the truck that came out of nowhere on the night I died.
“Nick, please,” I say, knowing that he can’t hear me but hoping that somehow he can, just like I think Carson heard me, deep down, during the séance. “Please slow down. Nick, I still love you. Please, please slow down.”
I’m repeating it over and over, like a whispered prayer.
Nick is driving like he’s possessed. We turn out onto the old rural route, and the speedometer goes up to ninety as his jaw hardens. It’s almost like he wants to punish himself.
How can this be happening? After all of the connecting, the haunting, the real moments between us . . . he’s still so unhinged. This entire time guilt has been gnawing at him, a deeper guilt than I realized. He wanted to talk the night he came to my room, but I wanted him to hold me. And he did what I wanted.
Now he feels responsible for my death, for not being honest with me, for harboring a secret. His unwillingness to hurt me, in the end, hurt me beyond his wildest expectations.
Why was he going to break up with me? What did I do wrong? I push back the pain, the anger, the betrayal. I have to help him, to save him.
As the car pushes past ninety-five miles per hour, I see the blind recklessness in Nick’s profile, the intensity on his face. His foot is still pressed on the gas pedal. I know this moment—I used to live in it myself.
I got into his thoughts once tonight. I have to try again. I close my eyes and feel the speed of the car, but I try to block it out. I fill myself with internal emotions, not the fear and desperation that surround me in the car, but the peace and pure happiness I felt with him when we were alive. I dig deep into myself, into my soul. And then I call out to him.
“Nick,” I say.
He turns around and smiles at me. “Callie, what are you doing outside?”
And it’s like we’ve spun on a rotating stage set . . . the scene changes and we’re outside in a lush, green garden. I’m with him—I must be inside a daydream, or a memory he’s having. I have to remember that this isn’t real—that we’re in a car, and he’s in danger. I need to save his life. But I’m so thrilled that he sees me! He hears me! I rush into his arms, hugging his body close to mine.
And though I half expect my arms to pass right through, I am suddenly enveloped by him. His soft T-shirt, his strong arms, his smell. He’s kissing the top of my head and laughing at my ardor.
“Whoa,” he says softly. “Why so intense?”
His smile is easy, like the smiles we shared . . . before.
“I love you,” I say. “I will always, always love you.”
“Callie, I know,” he says.
The air is soft and inviting, like Charleston on the very best days of spring. Not hot yet, but past winter’s chill. It’s when the flowers bloom and everything feels new. It’s perfect daydream weather, and of course it would be what Nick’s subconscious chooses. His warm brown eyes are so alert, so aware of me that I want to cry with joy.
I didn’t realize what not being seen by your loved ones can do to a person—it’s heartbreaking, feeling like you don’t exist. Like you never existed. But here I am, and here Nick is, and in this moment we can be together.
But it’s not real. None of it is real.
“Callie,” Nick whispers. “I care about you so much—I do.”
“I know,” I say, but I have to say good-bye. And I can’t resist—I lean in to kiss him. It’s the kind of kiss that’s soft and hard all at once, the kind that makes my breath ragged with desire as I lift up onto my toes for more. My head swirls with the thought of staying with him, of keeping this moment locked in my heart so I can live within it.
But there’s a nagging at the back of my mind, and my lips fall still for a moment.
He pulls away from me. “There’s something I need to tell you,” he says. “This isn’t right. It doesn’t feel—”
“Oh, Nick,” I say, pressing my head into his chest again as I put a finger up to his lips. I don’t want him to say that this doesn’t feel real. I know it isn’t. But I want it to be.
And I especially don’t want him to say that he’s breaking up with me, but even as I think it, I realize the selfishness of it. I have to let him go.
“It’s okay, Nick,” I say softly. “I know what you wanted. I don’t know why, but it doesn’t matter now. The accident wasn’t your fault. You can let me go. It’s okay.”
“Callie—”
“It’s okay. You need to be happy, Nick. All I want is for you to be happy. Because I’m okay where I am. I’m finding my own happiness here.” Or at least now I have confidence that I will. The reality I was clutching never really existed.
I hear a blaring horn that doesn’t fit with this dreamscape, and Nick hears it, too. He looks around, breaking our embrace, and I feel a rush of force as I open my eyes to see two blinding headlights barreling toward Nick’s car. We are going to crash.
Twenty-Two
NICK IS IN THE REAL PRESENT NOW, fully aware of the danger he’s in. He grabs the wheel and veers away from the oncoming car, back into his lane. But as he turns, the speed is too much, and the car swerves dangerously—he’s losing control. No matter what I do to reach his mind, I can’t save him.
But someone can. Reena, Leo—they’re so strong, so sure. They can move things with their energy; they aren’t afraid to do that. Suddenly I realize why Reena told me that I didn’t call her that day in my prism—that I didn’t have that power. Because she didn’t want me to know that I truly could call for someone who would help.
And then I lift up my head to shout into the darkness.
Downcast eyes, sharp chin, a sigh that holds volumes of sadness, a hint of stubble, a shock of blond hair that falls into his face, eyes with their own storm system, electric fingers. My unconscious mind takes over, and the question of who I trust the most is answered in a single, instinctual scream.
“Thatcher!”
“Is that an open field?”
A voice shouts from the backseat, and I twist around to find Thatcher pointing up ahead and to the left.
“It’s Dodsons’ Farm,” I say, stunned. “Mostly corn.”
“But no trees or fences along the highway?” He’s squinting to better identify any obstacles before us.
“It’s open land,” I say.
And then Thatcher’s gone. I call out for him as the car shifts to the left. Nick releases his hold on the steering wheel completely, fear etched all over his face.
Looking out my window, I see Thatcher holding on to the front wheel well and slowly but surely turning the tires in the direction of the field. His face is pure concentration, but he looks calm, in control. I feel a surge of affection for Thatcher: He’s saving Nick.