Transcendent (28 page)

There were 21,057 unread e-mails.

I had checked the previous week, just before I ran off.
I'd gotten 21,057 new messages in one week.

PLEASE SAVE MY DAUGHTER
said the top subject line, an e-mail that had come in two minutes before. I opened it.

Dearest Iris,

My little girl Brianna Lynn has stage-four leukemia. She is seven years old. We have tried everything and now we need you. I was a little girl when I heard about your mom, and I believed her, I did. And now I believe you. Please prove that I am right. Please save my little Brianna. E-mail me back ASAP and we'll meet you anywhere.

I clicked the arrow at the top of the screen, to the next message.

BURN IN HELL!!!!

Iris, I sent you three e-mails in the last week after my boyfriend got in the car crash and was in a coma. Three e-mails and you ignored me. And guess what? He fucking died. He fucking died this morning. I needed you and you did nothing. I wasn't sure I believed in you anyway, but now I just believe that
you're a damn useless liar and you'll rot in hell. Thank you for nothing. Fuck you and I hope you're happy now because my life is ruined forever.

One more, I clicked over one more time. I couldn't help it.

It was just a subject line, though. A subject line and a glaring white message box.

DO YOU WANT TO BE CRUCIFIED?

I slammed my laptop shut. My entire body shook against the chair, a tremor that started from the deepest, darkest core of me, radiating out until my teeth chattered and my fingers tapped against the wooden desk.

I crawled into my bed and pulled the blankets over my head. Marvin barked once, twice, and then fell silent again. Every tiny sound in our old, creaky brownstone suddenly seemed too loud, too suspicious. A clinking pipe, or the click of the front doorknob? A breeze on the window, or footsteps on the first flight, the second?

The police had been paying special attention to our house over the past week—circling our block throughout the night, their bright lights flashing over our stoop—but surely that wouldn't stop someone. If the person was desperate enough, angry enough? I'd seen their faces today,
heard their excitement, their rage. I couldn't erase any of it: the crowd, the prayer ribbons, the long list of e-mails. It was all too real.

I threw the blankets off and left my room, tiptoeing down the stairs. I knocked once at my parents' door, gently, and then opened it a crack.

“Mom,” I whispered.

The springs squeaked, a silhouette emerging from the bed, black against the moonlight spilling in from behind their curtains.

“What is it?” she asked quietly, shuffling into the hallway, hand on my back as we moved into her office. “Is everything okay?”

I nodded. And then I shook my head, tears pooling on my eyelashes.

“I feel like I made everything worse today, and all I wanted was to make it better. I just checked my e-mail, and I have over twenty thousand new messages, Mom. Twenty
thousand
.”

Her face tightened, all points and angles as she pursed her lips. “I'm sorry, Iris. We should be doing a better job of protecting you from things like that.”

“No. I asked for this,” I said, covering my face with my hands. “I just—I felt like I was doing something good the last few days. Helpful even. But now I see how angry people are, too, and it's so scary. I feel like there are risks
either way—like maybe there is no right decision.”

“Maybe there's not,” my mother said, cradling me like a little girl as we settled onto her love seat. “Maybe there's never really a
right
decision. Maybe I shouldn't have run all those years ago, but I did. Right, wrong, I don't know. But I don't regret it.”

“But it was easier for you. Because you had Iris. The
real
Iris. She was helping you.”

“Sweetie, half of the time I thought I was crazy for even seeing her at all. Trust me, that didn't make anything easier. It wasn't until after that big protest—when I almost lost you, and somehow I ended up with Iris, in our old tree house—that I was entirely sure I hadn't made her up . . . Do you remember that part from my story?”

I nodded. Of course I did. The tree house was in the woods behind my mom's childhood home, a little kingdom where she, Hannah, and Izzy had often played. And later, it was where she'd taken the pregnancy tests. Where she'd first found out it was real.
I
was real. After she'd been knocked down at that final protest, when she was unconscious, in the car on the way to her doctor's office—she was there in the tree house again, too. With Iris. A warm, golden, sunny day, where Iris told her that everything would really be okay.

A dream, but not a dream, because afterward, my mom had a bright green leaf in her hand to prove it. A leaf
that Iris had left with her. A leaf that shouldn't have existed at all, not in the bitter cold of February, when leaves were long dead and crumbled into dust on the ground. A vision, maybe. A visit to another dimension. Magic.

“Where's the leaf now, Mom?” I asked, shocked I hadn't thought to ask before.

“That leaf,” she said as she smiled at me, her eyes clearer than I'd seen in weeks, “is still pressed between the pages of my old copy of
Anne of Green Gables
. Right where I put it all those years ago.” She nodded her head toward the overflowing bookshelves just a few feet in front of us. “Go get it. You can have it, if you want.”

I sprang up from the seat, out of her arms, already knowing exactly where the book was on her shelves. Other books came and went, but never
Anne
. The pages fanned apart in my hands, the spine cracking open to the exact page.

The leaf. The leaf was still green, a fresh summer green. I blinked, looked again. Brown now, crinkled around the deep veins spreading out from the blackened, shriveled stem.

Of course it wasn't green. It was an old leaf, about to fall to pieces.

“It's not mine.” I shut the book, the fear and the doubt creeping back in. “Iris gave it to you. Not me. She seems to be ignoring me.” I sounded petty, but it was true, wasn't it?
She'd been there for my mom, not once but a handful of times. Why not me?

“She gave you something very special,” my mom said quietly, standing from the sofa and reaching out to brush her warm palm against my cheek. “More special than a leaf. Those green eyes, Iris . . . those are
her
green eyes. I've never seen anything else like them—the intensity of that color, the ring of gold that shimmers along the edges. Like sparkling emeralds. They're amazing, sweetie. Those eyes were her gift to you. They mark you. Those eyes are how you see the world. How you see all the people in it, every single person you meet.”

My green eyes
. They were more distinctive than most, I supposed. But I'd seen this color on other people. Mikki—Mikki's eyes were just as pure green, gold accents framing the irises and making her already catlike eyes seem deeper, wiser.

Mikki.

The world seemed to topple from beneath me, as if the floors of our house had crumbled under my feet and I was somehow just floating now, surrounded by nothing but leaves and light and air. I squeezed my eyes shut and fought off the dizzy sensation, my up and down melding together.

All I could see was Mikki's face seared across the backs of my eyelids, those green eyes staring back at me.

Mikki
.

Mikki, who had only just appeared at the park at the end of the summer, so soon after Disney had been bombed. Mikki, who had always seemed to be there, right by that very same bench, whenever I came, whenever I hoped that I would find her. Mikki, who had listened to me that first day I'd heard about Virgin Mina, who had shown up just before the storm, gone with me to the shelter, and then suddenly, with no warning, disappeared, leaving me alone with Zane and Zoey. I had barely thought of her since, with everything else going on.

But now these facts settled in one at a time, like drops of water all running together into the same clear, glittering pool.

I opened my eyes, my feet landing back onto the sturdy planks of wood beneath me.

“Mom,” I said, a smile breaking out across my face, “I was wrong—the truth was staring me right in the face, but I missed it until now. She's been with me all along. I just didn't know how to recognize her.”

My mom cocked her head, her eyebrows raised in confusion. “What do you . . . ?”

“Iris,” I said. “I've met
Iris
.”

I
SLEPT UNTIL
almost noon the next day. The sky had been brightening with the first smudges of oranges and pinks when my mom and I finally went to bed. I'd told her about Mikki, her green eyes and our conversations, about Abby and all the other kids, about my idea. My wild, beyond ambitious plan.

My mom hadn't told me I was crazy, though. Not even close.

“If you want to do it, then I support you. I believe in you, Iris,” she'd said, sighing into my messy, tangled hair. “I believe in you more than I've ever believed in anything.”

I'd fallen asleep easily after that. There were still those 21,057 e-mails. Or thousands more, now that another twelve hours had passed. There were still the signs outside, the ribbons.

But I believed in my plan. I believed in music. And my mom—my mom believed, too.

I pulled out my yoga mat for the first time in weeks, it felt like, and stretched and flowed for almost an hour. I was sweating at the end, my arms shaking as I kicked down from the final headstand. My head spun, dizzy with the rush of blood, and I bowed down on the mat until I regained my center.

Iris
, I remembered again, the idea still so new.
I met Iris.
I smiled, soaking up the sun that spilled in through my curtains.

After a long shower, I braided my wet hair, a thin band that ran across the top of my head like a crown, and pulled on a vintage checkered green dress that I loved. I was ready.

Zane was at the table when I walked into the kitchen, fiddling with his phone and plowing through a shockingly massive stack of toast smeared thick with chunky peanut butter.

I wanted to ask Zane about Mikki—what he remembered, what he had thought of her at the time. Because I hadn't made her up. It wasn't possible. Benjamin had known her, after all. She must have been there, as real and as visible to everyone else. That didn't mean that she wasn't
Iris
—my aunt Gracie had seen Iris, and so had my dad, back when it all started.

But I didn't ask, because I also wanted her to be my own for a little while longer. I needed to go to the park
again, to see if she would still be there.

“You
better
not have gone through the entire jar,” I said, hands on my hips as I glared from the doorway. “I can't start my day properly without peanut butter.”

“Whose fault is it that you're starting the day at one in the afternoon?” he asked, not looking up from his phone as he dangled a piece of toast in my direction.

I lunged and grabbed it from his hand before he could take back the offer.

“Jesus, you're like a wild dog,” he said, dropping his phone to the table as he finally stared up at me, wide-eyed with surprise. “You really are serious about that peanut butter.”

“Mm-hm.” I grinned as I took a huge first bite. “Peanut butter, yoga, the violin. And I guess my family and friends, they make the list, too. It doesn't take much to keep me happy.”

“I think my list is even simpler,” he said, pausing as he shoveled half a slice in his mouth at once. “Peanut butter. Zoey. Enough money for a bed somewhere and more peanut butter. Maybe some pizza, too. Not with the peanut butter, though. Never with.” He smiled at me, the first easy smile I'd seen from him since that night up on the roof.

We still hadn't talked about it, not a word.

But he was here, wasn't he, staying at my house? Skipping school, going with me on every visit? He had
been out again the last two evenings, though, doing some “business”—and I still hadn't asked where, why, not after my first failed attempt. But I'd overheard him on the phone as he'd left the night before—I was halfway down the stairs, but he was too angry, in too much of a rush to see me. I heard “cops” and “stash” and “don't do anything until I get there.” I held my breath, waiting for the door to slam behind him.

I knew he had to be making some money, of course, one way or another. He had a cell phone to pay for, if nothing else. It was easier not to ask for details, though, just like it was easier not to talk about what was going on or
not
going on between the two of us.

Him just being there seemed like enough. More than enough, at least until everything else became more settled.

And then . . .

I blushed, realizing how intently I was staring into Zane's eyes. He broke contact first, suddenly focused on ripping the last piece of toast into a handful of tiny squares.

“I've been thinking a lot,” I started, sitting down across from Zane, forcing my brain back to the important things to be discussed. The here and now. “About what we talked about yesterday. About those lyrics . . .”

“Don't worry about me,” Zane said, shaking his head. “I can handle seeing them again. I already called my aunt this morning. Apparently during her manic
binge-cleaning fit, the song notebook was the only thing she couldn't bring herself to throw away. Lucky for us. When Zoey mentioned it last night, I hadn't even considered that the notebook might have been trashed. But they feel sorry for how everything went down. I knew they would. I just didn't want to give them the satisfaction of ever being able to apologize. But getting these songs—getting these songs is worth it. I can suck up my pride. I'm going to head over there now, okay?”

I nodded, faint almost, as the reality set in. With Brinley's songs nearly in Zane's grasp, we were that much closer to bringing Zoey's vision to life. I hadn't told Angelica or anyone else at Disney's Children yet, but I knew without question that she'd be ecstatic. She'd be ecstatic about anything that involved me being even more active with the Disney's Children community.

“Should I come with—” I started, but the words were cut off by the buzz of the front doorbell. Marvin started barking, loud, threatening growls.

I reached up for the buzzer on the wall. “Hello?” Static. “Anyone?”

We waited, watching each other. After a minute without a second alarm, I sat back. Marvin was still barking, but it had slowed to a more level snarl. Had one of the fanatics finally gotten bolder? The gate—the warning sign and the security cameras—had been enough to keep them
at a distance, but that was yesterday. Things had changed since I'd announced myself out there on the stoop for the entire world to see.

Zane moved toward the foyer, disappearing from my sight. I held my breath. But after a few seconds he was back, shaking his head. “Whoever it was is gone. Marvin is back to chewing on some nasty old bone. There are some people on the sidewalk still—a few of them near the gate doing that weird thing with the ribbons. So I guess it could have been any of them. But maybe it was just some poor delivery guy who landed at the wrong door.”

I don't think either of us believed that.

“Maybe I shouldn't head over there now . . .” Zane hesitated.

“No, you go. My dad's been working half days, so he'll be home soon. And my mom's upstairs in her office if I need her. She's just oblivious to the buzzing and the barking, which isn't surprising. Or . . . or I'm happy to come with. If you want.”

“No,” Zane said, shaking his head as he grabbed both of our plates from the table and headed toward the sink. He was quiet as he poured the soap and scrubbed. It struck me now how entirely bizarre and surreal this moment would have seemed a few weeks back. Zane Davis, in my kitchen, washing dishes. The most bizarre part, though, was how normal it felt.

“I need to do this on my own. I don't expect them to be crazy again, but . . . just in case.”

“Sure. I get it. My friends are coming over soon anyway, after school. I wanted to tell them about the new idea. Make them, you know, feel more a part of everything. They all play instruments, too, so it's perfect.”

“Yeah,” he said, not quite meeting my eye. “So I'll catch you later, then. Don't worry about me, okay? And call me if you need anything.”

I nodded, clumsily kicking the chair back as I stood to face him.

He waited a beat, then stepped toward me, closing the gap between us. He pulled me into his arms, leaning down to lightly peck my forehead.

I tilted my head up, closed my eyes, waiting. My stomach leapt, spun.

Zane pulled away. He was through the living room, into the foyer, without a single glance back.

The door closed loudly and I collapsed back in the chair.

But then, the door opened again.

“Zane?” I called out, an uneasiness prickling along my skin.

He stepped into the living room, a single sheet of paper in his hand.

“This was on the doorstep. I think whoever buzzed . . . they must have left it.”

“Wh-what is it?”

“It's a funeral announcement, Iris. A funeral announcement for Ella Bennett.”

•   •   •

Zane left, but only after my mom had come down from her office and assured him that she'd stay there with me. She'd called my dad, too, who said he'd be personally stopping by the police station on his way home. But what could they do? It was only a funeral notice, after all. We didn't even know if it was Kyle Bennett himself who had been there.

And really, it didn't matter if it was Kyle, or a friend of his, a stranger. The message was the same. If someone was determined enough to get to me, they would. Waving a banner, watching for me, leaving a prayer ribbon—it might not be enough for everyone. The gate and the security cameras, Marvin, police circling the block . . . none of it was foolproof. This was the first real breach, but would it be the last?

I couldn't stop staring at the announcement. Ella's face at the top, all wide hazel eyes and smooth ivory skin. She was like a pretty little doll, with her shiny brown curls and rosy red cheeks, grinning mischievously up at the camera.
She was eight years old when she died. The funeral had been held the previous day, in Green Hill.

What if I had gone, weeks back?

What if I'd answered Kyle's desperate plea and seen Ella before she passed away?

It wouldn't have changed a damn thing.

I knew that. Deep down, I did. But the question was still there, a thick knot tugging deep inside my stomach.

“You're sure, Iris?” my mom asked for the third or fourth time since she'd seen the announcement. I was lying in my bed, Ella staring down at me from the nightstand. “You're sure you want to go through with this idea? Because if you do—if you keep doing this—Kyle won't be the last devastated parent.”

“I know,” I whispered. I cleared my throat and tried again, more confidently this time. “I know. But I did nothing, Mom, and he was just as angry. I'd rather do something than nothing.”

Before I could take it back, I called Angelica and told her the plan. And she loved it; of course she did. She said we couldn't start working on it soon enough, and that she'd start making calls today to get the ball rolling.
Today
.

I hung up just as Ari's name lit up my cell.

“We're here, waiting on your back deck. I didn't want to start banging on the glass doors and give you a heart attack.”

“Good thinking. That probably would have pissed Marvin off, too.”

“Marvin?”

“Oh, right. I'll introduce you.”

My mom gave my hand one last squeeze before we headed downstairs to greet them. I let Marvin sniff around them for a few minutes so he'd remember that they were the good guys, and then we settled in the living room. As soon as we'd all curled up together on the sofa, I held the funeral announcement out for them to see, my own eyes still transfixed by that dazzling little girl, her heartbreaking smile. “That guy from Green Hill who started all of this? It was his daughter. She was the reason he came looking for me at all.”

Ari grabbed the paper from my hand and studied it. Her eyes drifted to me, back to the picture, to me again. “
Shit
. I'm sorry, Iris. You know you can't feel guilty about this, right? Tell me you know that.”

“I don't know what I feel. Except it makes me even more sure that I need to do something.”

“You already are doing something,” Ethan said. “You've visited so many kids already.”

“It's not enough, though,” I said, fighting to keep my voice steady. “It would take too much time to see everyone who wants to meet me.”

“So what
do
you want to do, then?” Delia asked.

“Right, well, I had this idea last night with Zane and Zoey . . .” I started, not sure where to look, with all three of them scrutinizing me so closely. I chose Ari first. Winning Ari over was the test. If she approved, you knew she meant it—that was one of the things I loved about her most.

“I talked to the Disney's Children founder about a big fund-raiser I thought the group could do. I was thinking maybe in a month or two, but she wants to strike now while the story's on everyone's mind, so she's thinking as soon as next week. For the first fund-raiser, at least, since it might end up moving around to different venues. I had the idea that all these kids could get together and sing or make music in some way—which I guess sounds a little trivial, but it was something that I thought all of them could actually do. Even the kids with the most serious injuries, as long as they aren't stuck in hospital beds still.”