Secret of Fate, Page 2

  The isolation, the space stretching out from horizon to horizon is what I need right now. I never thought I’d find Elysium claustrophobic…

  The sun is beginning to set on the horizon, a shimmering ball of fire throwing out arms of gold over the sand. Above, the sky is finding night, and, below, the dunes are alive with the last rays of daylight.

  I stop on the top of a rise, sitting down on the soft sand. Sinking my fingers into the countless grains found in just this one spot, I watch as they sift through my fingers.

  Mom’s right.

  I was so naïve. There’s no way I could go back and not influence outcomes, and not only Kadence’s. You move one grain of sand, others move, too. They’re all interlinked.

  I’m lucky, really. At some stage, moving just one grain of sand, that final granule, will be a tipping point for an avalanche.

  I’m not meant to be one of these grains of sand. Just like this desert I never knew existed, I don’t belong.

  I shake my head. Even after everything that’s happened, a flicker of hope, the smallest of embers had been alive in my heart. Maybe something was possible.

  Maybe I could go back and make this all right.

  Maybe I wouldn’t be the one to make Kadence lose hope.

  Now I know why the desert was the right place to come to. There’s nowhere else that could’ve contained the pain of accepting this decision. I’m not even sure the forever distance between horizons is going to do it.

  My head sinks between my knees. A single drop of saltwater bleeds down my cheek and hits the sand.

  I can’t create any more hurt.

  I can’t be responsible for death.

  I can’t go back.

  Micah

  For a long time, watching the Loom had been enough.

  Watching the fabric of life weave and lengthen, marveling at the play of light on dark, would keep me fascinated for hours.

  Then, I discovered you could zoom in.

  Without even touching it, a wave of my hand would expand the area where I was looking. Suddenly, rather than staring at the enormity of every life on Earth, I could discover continents, countries, cities.

  On a large scale, it’s easy to forget each thread is a single life. The fabric is so large, so complicated, so much bigger than any one thread. It’s like watching an ant colony, forgetting that each ant is a life in itself. But when you zoom in on the fibers, faces appear. Lives begin to play out.

  That’s how I followed my father.

  That’s how I found Kadence.

  Damien Black had been to Detroit, as I found out later, to buy the apartment block he demolished. The one I’m supposed to have died in.

  But I saw another thread, woven a little looser than the others. I’d looked closer, seeing it was barely hanging on. For some reason I was curious. I zoomed in a little more.

  Her face had filled the Loom. Kadence, not that I knew her name back then. Sitting up on the ledge, the wind streaking through her shiny, blonde hair, her shoulders hunched and defensive. Her cherry-pink mouth looking like it had forgotten how to smile.

  It was her eyes that had drawn me in like a magnet. Shifting shades of gray, the light slowly dying in them.

  “This one is sad.”

  My mother had entered the room just as I said it. I’d waved my hand, the image disappearing back into the complexity of the fabric, not sure why. Keeping tabs on Dad was obviously necessary to hide but seeing a girl on a rooftop wasn’t.

  “Many of them are,” Mom had said with her usual acceptance. “Just like many have found joy.”

  With a swallow, I’d nodded. “I hope she sees the light.”

  Mom had patted my arm. “You’ve seen it with the souls here at Elysium, Micah. Darkness is where light comes from.”

  I’d nodded and turned away, mumbling something about going to find Blake. But that’s when it had started. When I was alone at home, with Mom doing the rounds either at Elysium or Tartarus, I’d checked in.

  Usually, Kadence was on the rooftop. Slowly, inevitably, unweaving herself from the fabric of life…disentangling herself from the blotches of sadness and anger and hate surrounding her.

  All I wanted was for her to see the veins of light that were wound just as tightly.

  It’s early morning as I head through the gardens. I’d fallen asleep in the desert of Elysium, curled up in the sand, along with my tears. Once I’d woken, I knew I needed to go back.

  But as I shuffle down the path, I wonder where I’m going.

  Going home involves seeing my mother and feeling the weight of her disappointment, only adding to the heaviness in my chest.

  Staying in the gardens will mean running into someone at some stage and having to bear witness to their peaceful joy. That’s so far removed from how I’m feeling, the contrast will only amplify it.

  And I can’t leave.

  As I look around the shades of green sparkling softly in the morning light, I realize there’s nowhere else to go. Going home is my only option.

  Entering the cottage, I find Mom waiting in the lounge room, her hand tightly gripping a chair. “You didn’t come home last night.”

  There have been other nights I haven’t been home, but she obviously hasn’t checked before. Nights I fell asleep on the rooftop, happy just being near Kadence.

  Then there was the night we both fell asleep. Kadence showing me patterns in the stars far above, warm and soft in my arms…

  I shake my head, trying to banish the images. They’re just too painful. “I found a desert.”

  Mom nods. “Ah, the outer reaches of the gardens. I haven’t visited them in a long time.”

  “I must’ve fallen asleep there.”

  Mom takes a step forward, then stops. “Micah…”

  I turn toward the kitchen. “This is going to take some time, Mom.”

  Her sigh is soft, but I hear it nonetheless. “Breakfast is in the fridge. Maybe try and get some sleep.”

  This will be the rhythm I return to. Sleeping, eating, spending time with the souls in the gardens. Never before has the prospect felt so hollow.

  “Thanks.” I try to smile, I really do. She needs reassurance.

  But the muscles in my face don’t comply. They’ve atrophied, worn down by pain. “You’d better get going. I’ve made you late enough as it is.”

  Another consequence of my actions.

  Mom steps toward the door. “I do need to go.”

  I nod. That’s what I was hoping. “I know. You’ve got responsibilities.”

  Unlike me.

  She hesitates. “Stay away from the Loom. It’ll only cause more pain.”

  My eyes shut at the sound of the door closing.

  Maybe she’s right. Maybe I should try to sleep. I move away from the kitchen, knowing I won’t be eating anytime soon.

  Except, as I move through, the closed door on the other side of the room catches my attention. The rectangle of brown timber seems to grow, filling my vision.

  The reasons I should walk away count out the steps till I reach it.

  Doing this is what started it in the first place.

  Step.

  I was never supposed to be part of any of it.

  Step.

  It will do nothing but hurt.

  Step.

  I need to let go.

  And I’m there. Pushing it open, I’m enveloped by the golden glow and tick, tick, ticking.

  My heart is beating like a drum as I take in the Loom. So complicated and intricate. One second, one click forward.

  Destinies being woven by choices.

  Since I’ve been visiting Pontiac Point, I haven’t looked closely. I didn’t want to know.

  I pause, hand hovering. What am I doing? Why am I here?

  I lean closer, frowning. The darkness has grown.

  I intuitively know where Detroit is. I’ve explored it too often. It means I see the difference instantly. I zoom in a little closer, and it’s unmistakable. Like a cancer
, the raven-colored clouds are spreading.

  I’m not sure what that means. Surely, Mom is aware this isn’t right. It seems to be moving too fast…

  Instinctively, my muscles having played this routine too many times before, I wave my hand above it again. It zooms in closer, Pontiac Point in all its gray glory filling up the fabric.

  A sharp breath stabs my lungs. There’s my thread, appearing and disappearing, each time weaving tighter and tighter with Kadence’s.

  It constricts my chest until it feels like my heart is being strangled. There’s such beauty in two souls becoming so close, sometimes they almost become one thread.

  But then my thread is gone. Severed.

  And Kadence’s continues.

  After that, there’s no more. The threads disappear, yet to be woven. Destinies waiting to be chosen.

  This is what Mom was talking about. Kadence now has a future ahead of her, one where I don’t exist.

  Which is the way it should’ve been all along.

  There’s another thread beside Kadence’s. Just like mine, it ends suddenly. That must be the soul who died in the building.

  I look away, struggling to catch my breath in my choked chest.

  I was wrong. Coming here was wrong.

  Stumbling out, I close the door behind me, wondering where in the world I’m supposed to go while I’m carrying these feelings that don’t belong in Elysium.

  I head to the massive tree I’ve always been drawn to, hoping to be alone. The trunks of the ficus, gnarled and interwoven, are a testament to how old it is. Like pillars that have been molded and twisted, they writhe around each other before spearing into the soil. It’s why I’ve always loved this tree. It’s so…grounded.

  Being early morning, there’s no one around, which is a relief. I press my forehead against the rough bark, welcoming the sting.

  Surely, time will take care of this pain. Downgrade it. Dull it. Surely, it can’t keep feeling like this forever…

  “Ah, hello.”

  I spin around, knowing time alone was unlikely, already formulating a goodbye so I can leave. But it’s no one I know.

  It’s a new face, a young face. A girl, probably about my age, dark-blonde hair wisping around her face. She’s looking around with the same wonder all the recently arrived residents always do.

  I step away from the tree, stretching out my hand. This is about the only purpose I have in Elysium. Greeting the newcomers and helping with their transition. “Welcome to Elysium.”

  Her gaze is still scanning the too-blue sky, the abundant vegetation, the carpet-like thick grass. “Right. So, I’m dead?”

  I nod, watching her closely. People take that news in a variety of ways. “Yes. Your soul has come here, the final resting place of the good and honorable.”

  Her wide eyes settle on me. “I’m good and honorable?”

  Her voice is so full of disbelief and wonder, that I come the closest to smiling since the building dropped out from beneath my feet. “You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t.”

  She plants her hands on her hips as she does a slow turn. “So this is some sort of heaven, huh?” She slants a glance at me. “You’ve died, too?”

  I sidestep the question. She’ll find out soon enough I’m not the usual person you find here. “You’ve had the tour?”

  She nods. “Yeah, some guy in a robe.”

  Probably Victor. He likes to look the part. Which also means Mom was too busy to do this transition, which isn’t unusual, but for some reason, causes unease to trickle down my spine.

  “Great. Now, you settle in and enjoy this next stage. You deserve it.”

  It’s nice to see another young person here. This girl must’ve been someone special to gain entry despite her age.

  She does another slow spin, muttering under her breath, “Good and honorable. If only Dad could see this…” She strokes her hands down her blue dress, runs her fingers through her hair. “This is what shampooed hair feels like.” She throws me a wry glance. “I usually washed my hair with soap…when we had it.”

  Another voice reaches us from down the path. “Micah, we need to talk. Or are you gonna run again?”

  Gritting my teeth, I turn around. The guy in the wheelchair barreling toward me isn’t what I need right now. I was going to make sure this girl was coming to terms with her transition—which she seems to be doing quite well—then maybe head out to the desert again. Coming to the ficus was a mistake.

  The girl beside me gasps. “Thomas?”

  Thomas stops, his wheelchair gliding a few more inches before it comes to a standstill. “Tanisha?”

  My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “You two know each other?”

  Thomas is looking as gobsmacked as I feel. “We grew up in the same neighborhood.”

  Tanisha nods. “He’s the older brother of one of my friends.”

  I collect myself. This isn’t terribly unusual. Sometimes, entire families end up in Elysium.

  Thomas swallows as he moves forward another inch. “How is he?”

  Tanisha opens her mouth before slamming it shut. She turns to me, eyes narrowed. “I thought you said this place was for good people only.”

  Something in me feels like frowning. “It is.”

  “Then what’s he doing here?” She points her finger at Thomas accusingly.

  I glance down at Thomas. Is it because of the wheelchair? “Ah, Thomas arrived here a while ago.”

  Tanisha closes in on Thomas, her face suddenly full of fury. “You stole your mother’s car so you could skip town.”

  Thomas opens his mouth, but Tanisha hasn’t finished. He wheels back as her anger continues to batter him. “Then you sold it and nobody saw a cent! While Tyler was stealing whatever he could so he and his mom—your mom—could eat, you were off living the good life.”

  Thomas’ gaze slides away. “I was coming back.”

  “Not freaking good enough, Thomas, because you didn’t come back. You left Tyler to deal with all that crap. Alone!”

  Thomas’ face snaps to the side, shame staining his cheeks.

  I’m just as rooted to the ground as the ficus behind me. Arguments don’t happen in Elysium. There’s nothing to argue about.

  Thomas angles his wheelchair toward me, eyes dark and hot as he glares at me. “It’s all true. I’ve been trying to tell him.”

  I almost respond. Almost.

  But if I did, it would prove I’ve learned nothing.

  I step back, bringing my hands up like there’s a loaded gun pointed at me. “Sorry, guys, I can’t get involved in this stuff.”

  “More like, he won’t,” Thomas mutters.

  I’ve already spun around and headed down the path. I tell myself their words don’t touch me.

  That they don’t add an extra layer to the suffocating pain.

  But as I stride through the acres of garden, unconsciously breaking into a run, I realize I can’t escape it.

  I’ve never been very good at lying.

  Kadence

  I wasn’t there when my father restarted time. As I walked away, I knew all I was creating was a brief reprieve. All the gods took their responsibilities seriously—Kronos would make sure the Wheels of Time would start moving again.

  At least I didn’t have to see the remaining building crumble, crushing everything from the outside in. I heard it from my room. The mighty sound of gravity honoring the laws of physics and taking everything with it. I even smelled the dust, creeping through the cracks around my bedroom door.

  Crushing everyone.

  Hope.

  My heart.

  Micah.

  I’d crawled into bed, pulled the covers over my head, and wished I was so much further away. I hadn’t cried. I hadn’t felt anything. My chest was nothing but a hollow cavern.

  Aunt Jo had asked questions, brought food, invited me to watch the Nakey News. But I’d turned away from all of it. I didn’t have any answers about what was going on. I wasn’t hungry. An
d I couldn’t see myself ever watching that show again.

  I think Aunt Jo had gotten some sort of idea when she came in to tell me they found a body in the rubble—one they hadn’t been able to identify. It would’ve been too broken to be recognizable. Not to mention, no one had ever really seen Micah.

  But the following morning, I find I’m drawn to the rubble. It’s like the physical manifestation of what remains of me—broken, jagged pieces no one will be able to put back together.

  What was once seven stories, is now a tangled mess of metal and concrete. Heavy machinery has been brought in for the cleanup. Another day or two, and it’ll be like none of this ever existed.

  Like Micah never existed.

  The hollow sensation grows, and I shy away from the thought. It feels like if I feed it too much, it’ll engulf me.

  The metal barricades are still there, dotted with “Do Not Enter” signs, which I ignore. Climbing through, I pause when my sneakers crunch on the gravel.

  Rounded pieces of gravel litter the outer edge of the pile like lace. Fractured and fragile, the crunching sound as I step on them has me wincing. Circling the rubble, I survey it. Where would they have found Micah’s body? Was it beneath one of the monstrous slabs in the center, or wrapped around one of the twisted shafts of steel?

  Slamming my eyes shut, I try to curb the wave of nothingness as it crashes through me. I told myself I wouldn’t go there…

  Except I keep going.

  On the other side is the first time I see it. Uneven and ugly, graffiti has been scrawled across some of the pieces of concrete. The words have me gasping.

  Screw you.

  Screw tomorrow.

  Screw life.

  Over and over, in the same black, bleeding paint. Whoever wrote it has climbed all over the rubble, finding any piece of concrete large enough to hold the words.

  Wrapping my arms around my middle, I feel my eyes sting, but I grit my teeth. I’ll choose hollowness any day over the alternative. Whoever wrote this is obviously angry.

  Somewhere in my mind, the words echo: Screw you. Screw tomorrow. Screw life. If I could feel anything right now, that would be a pretty good summary.

  The sound of crunching behind me has me spinning around to find Nevaeh climbing through the barricade. I haven’t seen her since she walked away before the demolition, unable to watch her dreams come down like a fragile deck of cards.