Eden (26 page)

I lean closer to Celine, keeping my voice low.  "Is
anyone going to try to kill me tonight?"

"Of course not," she says.  "Why would you
think that?"

I give her a look, and I glance at Jonas.  "Why is he
so uptight?"

Her eyes dart to him, lingering on his back, lips parted. 
She looks at me, closing her mouth, shaking her head.  But her eyes are a touch
wide before she gets hold of whatever she's thinking.  "It's
nothing," she says.  "He just has a lot of stuff to deal with in
Wynwood right now."

She sounds convincing.  So why don't I believe her?

I nod and let it slide for now.  But something is niggling
at me.  There's not long to think about it before we've come through the dark
stretch of water and onto the island.  Freckles of light scatter into the
distance, illuminating people—laughing people, running people, partying
people.  I breathe in the air, and I catch that scent—a scent of freedom and
play and laughter.  My lips part, eyes widen, as I take in the stretch of the
island for the first time.  I feel suddenly alive.

Kobee offers one hand to me and one to Celine, helping us
climb out of the boat and onto the dock.  His eyes lock onto mine.  "Stay
out of trouble, now."

"Sure."  I nod as I move past him, breathing the
warm, sweet night air.  I want to run, to explore.  But I haven't missed his
warning.

Ahead of me, Jonas is trudging up the shore with his hands
in his pockets, head down.  I hurry to keep up with him.  Aren't we supposed to
be together?

He glances at me as I catch up to his side, but he says
nothing.  He keeps walking.

I look behind us.  Everyone has scattered.  "Celine
swears this place is tons of fun," I say lamely, wanting to get him
talking.

He makes a noise—a grunt—but says nothing.

"Aren't you excited?" I ask, walking quickly to
keep up.

"Sure."  He sounds anything but excited.

"What's going on with you?"

He stops and turns to me, his mouth open, like he has a lot
to say.  But he doesn't say any of it.  He looks away, off into the night, and
he looks sad.  He sighs.

I touch his arm gently.  "You can tell me."

"It's nothing," he says, softening.  His voice is
warm, and so are his eyes as he looks at me.  "Unnecessary worry."

"What are you worried about?"

He sighs.  The word is so soft.  "You."

I manage a laugh, looking away.  "There's nothing to
worry about.  Nobody's going to mess with me on Freefall."

He offers a smile, but it doesn't touch his eyes.  It barely
touches his mouth.

We stand there in a long silence.  Finally, I sigh. 
"I'm going to go check something out.  I'll find you after a while."

"OK."  He looks along the shore, and points.
"I'm just going to sit over there."

"OK."  I look behind me, further into the island,
and step away, but he catches my arm.

"Eden."  There's so much in my name—words trying
to get out.

I wait, but he shakes his head, closing his eyes.

"Just..." he says, his voice falling, his eyes
searching.  "Just remember
us
.  OK?"

Why do his words make me feel like crying?  I nod, try to
smile, and slip away.  I'm jogging through the darkness with my eyes closed,
until the uneven ground makes me open them.  I drag in slow, deep breaths and
move into walking mode, keeping a steady pace, suddenly aware of what's around
me.

Dodge Island is a mess of ruins—scattered concrete
foundations, strange dilapidated structures, grown-over parking lots.  It has a
wild, untamed feel, but it's also been kept up, because it's nothing like the
stinking stretches of No Man's.  Even the weeds here are kept at a minimum,
trampled by the monthly romp of the tribes.  And what a romp it is.  As I trek
deeper into the island, I feel I'm a tiny part of a swirling dance.  People are
everywhere.  All kinds of people.  They're loud, and laughing.  Groups are
drinking, partying, roaring  laughter around a man telling wild stories.  In
the distance, drums echo and naked bodies dance around a huge bonfire, the
orange flames reflecting off bare muscle, exposed flesh.  I blush and look
away, but no one's hiding anything tonight.  There's not really any point in
trying to avoid it.  I'm almost bowled over by a river of children rushing by,
squealing, chasing each other with sticks.  As they shriek in wild abandon, I
find myself laughing, wanting to run after them.  And all at once, I feel it. 
Safe.

Whatever weirdness came here with me, it's not staying.  I
was looking at it as an outsider, but I understand it now.  This is not a place
for war.

Five men are stumbling toward me along the same path, with
loud, rowdy voices pitched in a drunken chorus.  "Freefall,
Freefall..." they're singing, all on a different, non-harmonious note.

I take a deep breath, my fingers twitching automatically
toward my knife.  But I left it at home.  They say it's better not to bring
weapons to Freefall—a fact I am now questioning.  I brace myself and move to
the side of the path to go around them, but I feel every part of myself tensing
for battle.  All I can do is hope they don't notice me.

They notice me, alright.  About ten paces off, they break
off their song and move into loud, racy comments and wolf whistles.

Shit
, I think, but I keep walking, not looking at
them, giving them a wide berth.  I'm considering making a run for it as I pass
them and they turn around.

Their commentary turns to disappointment—still loud, still
drunk.  But then it falls away.  I keep moving, and a glance over my shoulder
reveals that they're moving on, too.

I take a deep breath as I walk, and remind myself that this
place is safe.  I try to imagine what it would have been like to Lily.  Or,
observing, what it's like to other women right now.

About a block over, there's a pack of young women all but
drooling over a couple of guys they've surrounded.  The women are the ones
taunting, now, but the guys seem to be egging them on.  There's a little dance
of flirtation and testing, and I'm pretty sure it's about to get physical.  I
don't see the rest of it, but as I move on, I ponder that Apollon's probably
having the time of his life about now.

I laugh at a group of children betting on stones in a
parking lot.  Behind them, there's another pack playing tag.  I wind my way
through the maze of people, meandering across the island.  The problem is, I'm
still not sure where I'm going.

My dream left me with nothing but the stairs themselves.  I
don't know what's around them, or where they are in relation to anything else
on the island.  I pick up my pace, keep walking, keep looking.  I've just
stepped my way around a man and woman sitting on a curb, when I hear the voice
behind me.

"Ahoy there, matey."

I stop in my tracks and turn.  The man is stumbling to his
feet, bottle in hand.  He's piss drunk if I ever saw it.  He has
brownish-reddish hair that's completely mussed, and a scattering of freckles
across his nose.  He blinks at me several times, like he's trying to bring me
into focus.  Still sitting on the curb, the dark-haired girl turns her eyes to
me, her lips pressed together in a straight line.

I stay where I am, but say to the man, "I take it I
know you?"

He laughs as he approaches—the kind of half-bent-over laugh
your whole body does when you're piss drunk.  "Captain Blood," he
says, making a little salute, "at your service."

I squint one eye at him, chewing on my lip. 
"Seriously?  Captain Blood?"

He thinks that's really funny. 

Before he can go on, the girl comes up to his side, moving
silently.  She's pretty in an exotic way, with her hair flowing in dark waves
past her waist.  She considers me with brown eyes, her expression still blank. 
After a moment, she says, "Hello, Lily."

I cross my arms.  "And you are...?"

"Amaya," she offers, touching her chest.  Her hand
goes to the man's arm, though he shrugs away from her.  "And this is
Ben."  She glances around, then whispers, "We're part of your
alliance."

Ah yes, one of the rules of Freefall is
not
talking
about where you're from.  She's broken that to establish the knowledge of our
shared bond.  Before I can wonder why, Ben is reacting.

"And a grand fucking alliance it is!" he blurts
out, stumbling a few paces away, shaking his bottle at the night.

"Ben," she says softly, reaching for him, but
something comes over her face.  She lets her hand drop.

I suddenly realize I've interrupted something.  He's not
just piss-drunk.  He's pissed.  At her.  And she's sad, but stoic.  I really
don't need to get involved in this.

"I gotta go," I say, already backing away. 
"It was nice to... meet you."

She looks at Ben, and at me, obviously torn. 
"Lily," she says, and she jogs to catch up with me before I can
disappear.

I stop and turn back to look at Ben, stumbling away in the
darkness.  "You should go after him."

"I will."  Her hand clamps down on my arm, and her
brown eyes meet mine.  "We're friends," she says.  "You and I
are good friends."

Her eyes insist it's true, and I believe her.  But I'm
worrying about Ben on his own like that.  My eyes chase after him.

"I know," she says.  Her hand is already sliding
off my arm.  She turns and jogs away.

"Hey," I call after her.

She stops.

"Are there any steps around here?"

She points.

"Thanks," I say with a quick nod.  Then we're
running in different directions.  I wonder if I'll ever see her again.

This is it, Lily
, I'm thinking as I run into the
darkness. 
Last, last chance
. 
It ends here.  Tonight.

Chapter 26: Tonight

They materialize out of the darkness in front of me.  A set
of steps.  At their top is nothing but a flat space, the floor of something
that used to be.  They're set a bit apart from everything else, tucked into a
quiet place.  There's no water around them, but I know them at once.

I walk slowly up to them, feeling the strangest of feelings
inside me.  An unexplainable mix of emotion.  A sudden swelling.  An urgency. 
Before I know it, I'm running up to the top, casting around wildly, looking for
the next clue.  There's nothing painted on the surface or on the steps
themselves.  I jump off the short drop to the back and walk round and round the
structure, looking for something.  For anything.

Ten minutes later, I've thoroughly searched the whole
structure—it's not like there's a lot to it.  And there's nothing here.  If
Lily left something here for me, it's gone now.  I sit down near the top of the
steps and hold my head in my hands, feeling tears pressing behind my eyes,
constricting my throat.  But no.  I won't cry.  I breathe and count backwards,
and breathe some more.  I sit and look off into the night.  Nothing.  Another
ten minutes, and I'm still sitting there, brushing my hand over the cool
concrete, obsessing over the way it feels on my hand.

Maybe I should bring Jonas here, I'm thinking.  Maybe if
Jonas was here, everything would be alright.

I sigh and close my eyes, and run my hand across the smooth
surface.  The disappointment of this dead end is stronger than I would have
guessed.  I can't just give up, can I?  Abandon this, after I've come so far?

I think back over the dreams, the clues.  The alligator, and
the card, and the orange.  I see it in my dream again and again.  Standing in
the warehouse with Jonas, the orange rolling off his palm.  Off his fingers. 
It drops onto the concrete.  It shatters as it hits the smooth surface, and the
concrete shatters, too.  Rising from its middle is a trunk, twisting, stretching,
reaching toward the sky.  It unfolds itself, opening up into the most beautiful
of orange trees, spreading its limbs, its blossoms, its fruit over me and him. 
Him and me.  Jonas smiles at me, and points at its base.

The tree's roots are still growing, still stretching.  They
race past us, embracing us like we're in the wedge of its fingers.  I stand up
on the steps as the roots expand, expand, expand over the island.  Searching. 
Looking for nourishment.  I follow the path of one root spinning off into the
distance....

I gasp and open my eyes.  The water.

I fly down the steps and run along the path of the
dream-root toward the shore.

There's a dark alcove along the water, and some huge chunks
of concrete and dumped debris.  A piece of metal sticks out at an angle.  I
avoid it as I carefully step out onto the concrete and kneel.  I have to reach
deep into the water, searching, bending almost too far.  Almost falling in. 
But my hands know what they're doing.  I find a bit of chain, follow along it,
pulling.  Pulling.

It comes slowly, at first.  Then something loosens and I'm
hauling it in.

There's gobs of plastic.  Layer after layer after layer,
protecting something much smaller than the bundle that fills my arms.  I don't
care that I've gotten wet, gotten a little slimy with seaweed.  I wipe it off
on the grass on the shore, and pull my prize from its package.

Lily's book.  Blue cloth, hand-bound with brown lacing,
filled with pages that will answer my questions.  I clasp it against me,
panting happily at the sky.  Then I'm on my feet again, running.  Running
faster than I've ever run before.

***

I see his back from the distance.  The white shirt, floating
behind him on the breeze.  He's sitting on the dock, dangling his feet over the
water.  Quiet and alone.

I skid onto the dock and slide straight from running to
kneeling at his side, ignoring the splinters I gain in the process.  His eyes
widen in alarm, but then he sees the grin on my face.

"...What the hell, Eden?"

"I found it," I pant, feeling the way the smile
has taken over my whole face.  "Lily's book.  I found it."  And I
hold out my prize for him to see.

He pales, staring at it, staring at me.  Shock, maybe even
horror.  No, not horror.  Anxiety, maybe.

Whatever it is, his reaction is enough to sober me.  I lower
my voice, lose my smile, though I'm still breathless.  I still feel my
eyebrows, my cheeks, lifting.  "I want you to read it with me.  Please. 
Please, will you read it with me?"  Of course he will.  He has to.  He
can't not.

And I can hardly contain the joy inside me.

He swallows, then stares at me, begins the slightest of head
shakes.  "Eden," he says, or tries to say, because his voice breaks.

And my face falls.  I feel tears forming, casting a shimmer
over my vision already.  "It will help us," I say, my voice small and
pleading.  "Help us figure things out.  Don't you see?"

He turns away, looking out over the water.  He's shaking his
head now, and he won't look at me.  I cling to the book in my lap.

"Jonas."  His name is little more than a whimper. 
I place my hand on his arm, my fingers curling in, wanting to hold onto him. 
Wanting to somehow bring him back.  "Jonas, please."

He turns on me, his face full of anger, full of
frustration.  "I already
know
how I feel about you!"

We stare at each other in the silence that follows his
outburst.  He's blinking, open-mouthed, like he's surprised at the words that
have come out.  Afraid of them.  Wanting to take them back.  But then suddenly,
he's made peace.  He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and when he opens
them, when he lets the breath out, the words come out soft and strong and slow
and true.  "I already know how I feel about you."

Tears fall onto my cheeks as I blink at him, and they're
cool and soothing in the breeze.

He reaches to touch my face, hesitantly at first, and then
like he's sure.  His hand slips around to my neck, and the other one around my
waist, tugging me closer.  Tugging me right into him.  Against him.  I shiver
as his mouth covers mine, my neck bending back, my back arching to fit against
the curve of him.  He runs his hands, his fingers, under my shirt, along my
waist.  There's the smooth press of his lips and tongue, the firmness of his
chest and stomach against mine.  His shirt, hanging, tickles my arm.  And
there's the longing, the rush of unstoppable passion.  My body is hot, and his
skin is hot, and I never want there to be anything between us again.

My fingers grab at the collar of his shirt from behind,
tugging, pulling, demanding it come away from him.  He wrestles out of it, then
we're a tangle of arms and a tangle of legs, and he's over me, on top of me,
and we're wrestling away my clothes, too.  We're consumed with an urgency to
rid ourselves of these trappings, these things that separate us.  But when
we're skin on skin, we're suddenly soft and slow, hanging on to every
sensation.  The silken smoothness of moving together.  His skin, and my skin,
warm as fire against the cool night breeze.  Our swollen, seeking lips.  Our
finding tongues.  Every burning inch of our bodies.  The pain of pressing our
souls together.  The grief of all the waiting.  And the agony of release.

I'm crying in his arms, because there is more—so much
more—and I can't give him all of it.  There's no way to be as close to him as I
need.  And to stay there.  And to never leave.  But the crying is good.  It's
perfect.  And eventually, I'm quiet.  We're close, and quiet.  We're whispers
and shivers and melted muscles draped in a limp, clinging pile.  My lips and
cheek are against his chest.  His mouth is pressed into my hair.  We breathe
deeply.  We drink in the night.  And at the end of it, we sleep.

***

I wake gradually, stirring through dreams and dreaminess. 
Swimming through comfort and knowledge and a deep satisfaction that something
has been met.  That something incomplete has come to completion.  My waking
mind dwells within a certainty that everything will be OK.

I open my eyes to his face.  To his sleepy, half-parted lids
and green eyes looking at my sleepy face.  I tip my mouth up to greet him with
a kiss which he meets with both gentleness and ferocity.  With eagerness,
leaning forward, rolling forward.  My arm around his neck pulls him to me with
the same lack of restraint.  And the kiss is full of life, waking me to the
entirety of the world around me.

He pulls away at last, breathing hard, hovering over me, and
for a moment we gaze into each other's eyes while the night breeze kisses our
cheeks.  Emotion rolls up and over me like a wave, like a rush of waves, like
the whole endless ocean.  We linger in that noses-almost-touching closeness,
that souls-connected-at-the-eyes closeness.  A smile emerges onto his face—not
tentative, not soft, but bursting out of him, filling him up with light from
behind his mouth and eyes.  He laughs a happy, happy, happy laugh and we relax
onto our shoulders, lying there facing each other, drinking each other up.

His fingers rise to my cheek, fondling a lock of hair.  I
close my eyes, exhale at the raw-nerve ecstasy of his touch.  When I open my
eyes again, my fingers trace his mouth, touch his lips.  There are so many
things to say, but no words for this.  I wish there were words.

Off in the distance, I hear children giggling, and it makes
me smile more, feeling a connection to this place.  Everything about this feels
right and true, and I want so much to share everything with him.

My eyes widen with sudden delight that I don't bother
containing, and I raise off my shoulder a bit, my hand squeezing his arm as I
whisper, "Will you read it with me?"

Something flashes through his eyes—something not
well-hidden.  Disappointment?  Or fear.  Maybe both.  It moves into a
reluctance, a groaning, stomach-falling-out kind of reserve.  But he swallows
and says softly, "I'll do anything you want."  Even now I can see
that he's afraid that what I want will hurt him.

I get my elbow underneath me and give him a quick kiss on
the cheek.  "There's nothing to worry about."  I scramble up and
twist, his eyes following me as I say, "It's not going to turn you into a
crazy person like me, and it's going to make
me
... better."

His fingers find my hand just as I freeze, my eyes scanning
along the dock.

I look twice.  Blink.  I'm struggling to my feet, picking up
stray clothes, hunting everywhere, pacing, spinning.  "Where is it?" 
I can hear the panic in my hushed tone, the edge, the thin bit right before
something breaks.

Jonas is on his feet behind me, and my first thought is to
look where he was laying because the book has to be
somewhere
.  But it's
not.  It's not anywhere as I pick up our clothes piece by piece into a pile in
my arms and there's nothing left to hide anything.  It's not
there
.  My
mouth falls open.  I drop the clothes onto my feet as my eyes go instinctively
to the water.

"Eden," Jonas whispers, sliding his arms around me
from behind.  There's a little thrill in his bare skin against mine, but even
that is not enough to break the shock of what I'm feeling.  My whole body
begins to tremble and I realize that tears are pouring down my face and have been
for some time.

"No," I whisper, crumpling in on myself.  I go
down to a crouch and he goes with me, pulling me closer, rocking me.  That's
too much—too familiar and bringing back too many memories I can't handle right
now.  I push him away, turning to him, wiping at my face.  I didn't
want
to push him away, so I try to explain, but it's just blubbering.

"I know," he says, everything so calm and
together.  He pulls me into his arms again, this time against his chest where
he holds me tightly.  "It's OK," he whispers.  "I'm sorry.  I'm
so sorry."

Part of me takes comfort in him, but there is something
inside me exploding in grief.  I can hardly fathom or understand the sense of
loss coming over me—a tiny part of me marks it as Lily, at least mostly Lily,
but then there's just the horror of it, and it's exactly like losing someone
you love.  It's exactly like having them torn out of your arms forever.

Jonas rocks me, and holds me, and whispers.

"I'm sorry," I blubber.  "It's just a book. 
Just a stupid book."  But I can't seem to stop crying.  I feel sick
inside, deep down.  Sick in my soul.

"Not just a book," Jonas murmurs against my hair. 
"It had answers.  Of course you're upset.  Of course."  He strokes my
head and murmurs to me, and eventually I manage to stop crying.  I relax into
him, my cheek pressing against his chest, and I let out a little whimpering
sigh.  Then there's quiet.  But I'm wondering how he's not affected.  How the
loss is nothing to him.  He doesn't need the answers in the book because he
knows exactly who he is.  He's Jonas, and that book has nothing to do with
him.  It's about Jason.

Jason is gone.

Emotion wells up again, pressing at my throat.  I
disentangle myself from his arms and sit back, turning my face away.  Jonas
reaches for me, but I brush him off.  "It did have answers," I say. 
"I need that book.  I needed that book." Because, no, I don't know
who I am.

His eyes scan out over the water, his expression
unchanging.  Then he scoots closer to me and pulls me against him again. 
"You don't need it," he whispers.  "It's nothing.  We have
everything, right here."

I close my eyes against him and try to believe those words.