“Did you answer?”
“I think I did. I think I said Brutus, but I’m not sure. You know what’s weird, though?” Brick says, chuckling. “She kept calling me by my real name.”
“Your real name?”
“Yeah, you know, my pre-community name, the one I had before I came here.”
“Which is?”
“Trevor.” Brick lets out another chuckle. “Not as cool as Brick, is it?”
“It suits you,” Shell says, taking the information in. “I wonder if it means something . . . the voice you heard.”
“Come on,” Brick moans. “Tell me you haven’t dreamt about girls before. If I hadn’t been so rudely awakened, maybe my dream could have had a happy ending.”
Shell laughs. “Let’s not go there.”
Brick reaches under his bed for Shell’s pentacle rock. He gives it back to him and then sits at the foot of Shell’s bed. “So why are you up? What’s bothering you?”
Shell shrugs, reaching under his bed for a red candle. He snuck it from the kitchen at dinner, while everyone was cleaning up.
“What’s that for?” Brick asks.
“Remembrance.”
“Seriously?”
“My uncle taught me the meaning of candle colors.”
“You really want to remember more about your past, don’t you?” Brick asks.
Shell nods, glancing over at the empty beds in the corner, where Oak, Teal, and Horizon usually sleep. “Where are they tonight?”
“Punished. They’re sleeping in tents outside.”
“It’s got to be ten degrees out at best,” Shell says.
“Blame it on Clay.”
“Why, what did they do?”
“They were making fun of him during chores, I guess. They were supposed to be peeling potatoes, but they were playing around, imitating him—his nasally voice, his hunchback posture, and the way he’s always narrowing his eyes at everybody.” Brick squints his eyes extra hard to demonstrate. “Anyway, he walked in from behind and saw the whole thing.”
“That sucks.”
“At least it won’t happen to us.” Brick grins.
“Why not?”
“I told him I knew about what happened on trading day, how he stole the jewelry from Rain’s table.” Brick smiles, the tiny gap between his two front teeth barely visible. “I did it right after dinner while I was clearing the plates . . . just a few feet from Mason. You should have seen Clay’s face.” His grin widens.
“Did Mason hear you?”
Brick shakes his head. “I doubt it.”
“Why would you do that? Do you know for a fact he’s the one who took it?”
“I do now. The scab didn’t deny it.”
“You shouldn’t have done that.”
Brick shrugs. “I’m sick of him controlling my every move. At least this gives me a little leverage; I don’t have to be afraid of him anymore.”
Shell nods, but he has his doubts. “What if he makes things more difficult for you now?”
“No way,” Brick says, raising his eyebrows and grinning. “He already told me that he wants to set some time aside tomorrow so we can talk—just the two of us.”
“Alone?” Shell asks, remembering the words from his nightmare.
“Naturally,” Brick shrugs. “He said we should discuss a couple things . . . I’m thinking he wants to let me in on his looting . . . you know, so I won’t say anything. Either that or he wants to give me a little more clout, make me a big shot around here. What do you think of that?” Brick hikes up the sleeve of his T-shirt to flex a muscle that isn’t really there.
“I don’t know,” Shell says, shaking his head.
“I’m kidding, of course.” Brick rolls his sleeve back down.
“No. I mean, I don’t think you should be alone with him; make sure other people are around.”
“You’re being paranoid,” Brick says. “I need to be alone with him. How else is he going to crawl inside my trap? Believe me, there’s nothing I’d like more than to bring that scab to his knees. Plus, If we’re alone, there’s a good chance he’ll confess the whole thing . . . maybe even show me cold, hard proof. Then I could go to Mason and tell him everything.”
“Promise me you won’t be alone with him,” Shell insists, remembering the conversation he and Brick had on the beach—how Brick told him that Clay has a gun.
“Why? What’s with you?”
“I have a bad feeling about this.”
“Why?”
“Because . . . it just doesn’t make sense to me.”
Brick sighs and looks away. “Nothing makes sense to you. Clay wouldn’t try something stupid, if that’s what you’re thinking. Mason wouldn’t allow it.”
“Don’t be mad,” Shell says, brimming with doubt. “Just don’t be alone with him. Don’t cut any deals. Okay?”
“And how am I supposed to avoid it?” Brick asks, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. “What am I supposed to say when he wants to pull me aside?”
“You’ll come up with something,” Shell says, reaching out to bop Brick in the arm.
Brick nods, but Shell can see that he’s clearly disappointed. “You won’t be sorry,” Shell says, bopping his arm one more time.
Brick pulls his arm away to roll his sleeve back up. “Yeah, I’ll be sorry. And you will be, too. We could’ve been big.” Brick flashes his muscle again, making Shell laugh.
After Brick returns to his bed, Shell remains awake. He reaches into his coat pocket for a handful of parsley that he was able to save from his salad at dinner. He somehow knows that parsley has the ability to cleanse and, since he wasn’t able to sneak into the cupboard for a bottle of olive oil—on top of the candle he was already snatching—he needs it for its purification properties.
He rolls the parsley between the tips of his fingers before applying it to the candle’s base. The tiny green leaves bead up as he glides the sprig down the candle’s length, concentrating on the idea of purity. He touches the top end of the candle. “As above,” he whispers. Then he touches the bottom. “So below.” He continues to consecrate the candle for several more moments before unclasping the safety pin from his belt loop. Using the point, he carves a giant X into the side of the candle and then sets it down on a plate. “With the power of the moon and the strength of the sea,” he whispers, “I wish, I want to remember thee. Please tell me, Dream. Please make it clear—how did I end up living here?”
Shell positions the candle and plate on a safe spot on the hardwood floor and then lights the wick. He watches the wax droplets drip down the side, reminding him of tears. The flame flickers slightly with the draft in the room. Shell pulls his covers tightly around him and clenches his pentacle rock, lounging back in bed, willing his mind to remember.
After several minutes, he feels himself start to nod off. He extinguishes the candle with a few droplets of water from his cup, and then allows himself to fall asleep.
• • •
The ocean is absolutely freezing tonight. Shell swims through it, holding his breath underwater, trying to find his way out. It’s completely black below sea level. Not even the moon’s light can help him under here. Still, he keeps moving forward, trying to preserve his breath as best he can; his lungs feel like they’re filling up.
“Over here,” he hears someone whisper.
He turns and sees Angel. She’s floating a few feet away, dressed in a long white gown that floats upward. There are beams of light emanating from her skin.
“She’s up there,” she says, pointing toward the surface of the water, struggling to keep her dress down.
Shell looks up, but it’s just so dark.
“Here,” she says, removing an extra set of angel wings from her back. ?
??You can pay me back later.”
Shell takes them. “Thank you,” he says.
“No sweat.” She helps Shell fasten the wings to his back and, as soon as they’re in place, he becomes illuminated as well. “Pretty cool, huh?” Angel says.
Shell nods.
“You almost drowned, you know,” she says.
“Right now?”
“No, silly.” She laughs. “Before . . . when you fell overboard. Don’t you remember yet?”
Shell feels his face mess up in confusion.
“Oh yeah, that’s right; people with amnesia don’t remember anything, do they?” She laughs again.
“Amnesia?”
“Oh, like it’s such a big secret.” She huffs. “Tell me you didn’t know. I mean, it’s so completely obvious. Why else can’t you remember anything from your past?”
Shell nods, knowing in his heart that it’s true, but that he didn’t want to label it. He’s heard somewhere that amnesia can last for months, if not years.
“So what are you waiting for?” She throws a piece of sea kelp toward his head. “Don’t you want to remember?”
He nods.
“So get going, you goose!” She points upward again, toward the surface of the water.
Shell swims in that direction, his lungs so much stronger now, less constricted. After several minutes, he reaches the surface and breaks through it.
To his complete surprise, it’s daylight now. How long has he been lost at sea? He treads a few moments in the water, trying to get his bearings. There’s a long stretch of beach on both sides of him. He swallows hard, noticing the girl sitting alone in the sand. She stands when she sees him, taking several steps forward until they’re only a few yards apart.
She’s more beautiful than he’d ever imagine—long hair, the color of dark chocolate; golden brown eyes; and a heart-shaped face. There’s a large dark brown X over her neck. Somehow he knows that he’s the one who drew it there—with henna, he’s sure.
The girl is trembling. She clasps her hands over her mouth. “Is it really you?” she asks, her voice cracking slightly.
Shell nods and the girl runs to him, sobbing uncontrollably, unable to catch her breath.
“I love you,” she whispers, over and over again.
Shell embraces her, noticing right away how she smells like lavender, feeling more complete than he ever thought possible.
Shell wakes up in a sweat, his sweatshirt damp with perspiration. He forces his eyes closed, trying to retain his dream —her face.
He can still feel her—the way her fingers clasped around his neck, the way she pressed herself against him, her heart beating fast against his chest.
And what Angel said—how he has amnesia. It’s not like it comes as a big surprise to him; it’s just that the word makes it more real. There’s a past out there waiting for him—a whole life—and yet he has no idea how to find it.
Keeping his eyes closed, he remembers how she also said that he fell overboard, that he almost drowned. He wonders if that’s why he felt so uncomfortable sitting on the dock, near the water. He concentrates hard on the image, imagining himself falling from a boat and plunging into the sea.
That’s when he remembers. The cruise. The railing that came loose. And tumbling backwards through the air. His head had smacked hard against something—the side of the boat maybe. After that, everything went black.
He remembers several hours later—or maybe it was days. Someone was whispering to him, rubbing a warm cloth over his face. He thinks it was Sierra. He remembers her brittle voice—how she sang to him and told him stories. She fed him chicken broth and herbal tea, even though he was barely conscious, and nursed him back to health. He remembers her telling him how lucky he was, that his neck could have snapped in the fall. She told him that all things happen for a reason—that that’s why Clay and the others were on a taking mission that night. They’d been following the cruise boat he was on and saw the accident—his fall.
He wonders why Mason or Clay never mentioned all this, if the only reason Sierra told him was because she thought he might never wake up. But then he thinks how it’s obvious that they didn’t want him to know. Because then he might want to go back.
He opens his eyes, eager to tell Brick all about his dream, but he isn’t here.
Shell showers and dresses quickly, stuffing the pentacle rock in his pocket, wondering where Brick might have gone off to so early in the morning; it’s barely 5 AM.
“Have you seen Brick?” he asks Teal, on his way in from sleeping outside.
Teal shakes his head, pressing a handkerchief to his nose, having most likely caught a cold from sleeping out in ten-degree weather.
Shell wonders if Brick might have been assigned an early morning chore. He heads to the dining cabin, hopeful that he might learn something from one of the other campers.
And he knows just who to ask.
Lily is standing at the kitchen basin, washing potatoes. “You’re up early,” she says, looking outside. “The sun isn’t even out yet.”
“Have you seen Brick?” he asks, ignoring her remarks.
Lily looks over her shoulder at Rain, who sets the table only a few feet away. “No,” Lily says, shaking her head.
“Are you sure?” Shell asks.
“Sure, I’m sure. What kind of question is that?”
“Where’s Clay?”
Lily shrugs and resumes scrubbing the potatoes.
“I know you’re lying,” he tells her quietly so Rain can’t hear. “I know how close you and Clay are; he tells you everything. Are he and Brick together?”
Lily peers back at Rain. “Is everything okay?” Rain asks, her long black hair spilling down over the bib of her apron.
“Just fine,” Lily says, trying to smile.
“Tell me,” Shell whispers.
“Tell you what?” She splashes her hands in the water a bit, trying to lamely drown out their voices maybe. “You haven’t been very nice to me lately.”
Shell clenches his teeth and takes a deep breath. “I need you to help me outside for a second,” he says.
“I’m busy,” she says. “Breakfast is in an hour.”
“Please,” Shell insists. “I need you to hold the door open for me while I bring in some wood.” He narrows his eyes on her, hoping she gets the message.
“Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place?” She smiles.
Shell nods to Rain, but she barely has time to acknowledge their exit because she’s called away by Sierra, who’s looking after the children in the adjoining living room.
Shell leads Lily outside, over by the chopping station and the stockpile of wood. He pretends to gather a couple logs in the crook of his arm. “Just tell me,” he says. “Where’s Brick? I know you know something. Is he with Clay?”
“First, you tell me,” she says with a huff. “Why have you been so distant with me lately?”
Shell takes another deep breath, silently counting to ten. “Because I know you don’t care for me the way you think you do.”
“Of course I do.”
“No,” he says. “I know that Mason told you to give me extra attention.”
“No, he didn’t.”
“You’re denying it?”
Lily shrugs and looks away.
“Do you think that’s normal?” Shell continues. “Do you think you’re supposed to be told who to love?”
“Mason knows best,” Lily whispers, her eyes welling up. “Plus, it doesn’t mean that I don’t love you.”
“You know as well as I do that if I never came here, if Mason never told you who to care for, you’d be with Clay right now.”
Lily shrugs again, but she doesn’t deny it.
Shell puts the logs d
own and reaches out to touch her forearm, allowing her to fall into his arms. After several seconds, he breaks the embrace, noticing a group of campers look in their direction en route to the bathroom. “You need to help me,” he whispers. “I think Brick might be in trouble. If you know where he is, you need to tell me.”
Lily takes a step back, wiping at her eyes. “He’s fine.” She sighs. “He went with Clay.”
“Where?”
“Ask Mason. I’m not getting in trouble over this.”
Shell feels his chest tighten. He clenches the pentacle rock in his pocket, reminding himself of strength. “Where is Mason?”
“Where else would he be so early in the morning?” she huffs. “His study.”
Shell turns on his heel, hurrying off to Mason’s cabin. He knocks a couple times on the exterior door, but no one answers. He tries the knob. It turns. “Hello?” he calls, easing the door open. “Mason?”
He takes a couple steps inside and looks toward the door to Mason’s study. It’s open a crack and there’s a shadow flickering on the wall, from a lantern he assumes. “Mason?” Shell calls again.
The floorboards creak. Shell swallows hard, preparing what to say.
“Shell?” Mason says, stepping into the doorway of his study. “Is everything okay?”
Shell shakes his head. “I’m looking for Brick.”
“I see.” Mason tightens his grip on the book he’s holding. “Why don’t you step inside a moment and we can talk.”
Shell hesitates but then joins Mason in his study. They sit opposite one another on the benches, much like their last meeting. Mason closes the door behind him and rubs at his eyes, a long sigh blowing out his mouth. “What do you need Brick for so early in the morning?”
“I’m just looking for him. I don’t need him, per se.”
“He’s with Clay.”
“Where?”
Mason narrows his eyes on Shell. “How much do you know about Brick?”
“Enough.”
“Enough to know of his betrayal?”
Shell feels the surprise on his face. “What betrayal?”
“He’s been stealing from the group. Taking without first considering the worth an object has to its owner is stealing.”