I reached across the emergency brake and held her hand. She didn’t pull away. Instead, she simply smiled.
“So what now?” she asked.
A gray Honda Civic screeched to a stop behind us, the tires squealing, and Sean jumped out of the driver’s seat and ran around to my side of the car. He banged on the window, so I rolled it down.
“Elena,” he said. “It’s Natalia. She’s hurt and you need to come with me.” Sweat had matted his hair to his forehead and his eyes were wide and wild.
“What’s wrong with her?”
Sean opened my car door, grabbed my arm, and started pulling me out. “We have to go!”
“What’s going on?” Freddie asked. “I’ll go with you.”
“She’s at the hospital, Elena,” Sean said. “It’s serious!”
“What happened to her?”
Sean kept pulling me toward his car. “We need to hurry!”
“Elena?” Freddie said.
“I’ll text you,” I called to her. I got in Sean’s car and barely had time to shut my door before he slammed on the gas and took off.
FIFTY-FIVE
“WHAT HAPPENED TO Mama?” I asked as Sean tore out of Lago Vacia.
Sean’s skin was moist and pale, and his hands trembled on the steering wheel. “Do you have your phone?”
“Yes, but—”
“I need to call Helen and ask her to watch the kids,” he said. “Mine’s dead.”
“I’ll call her, then.” I pulled my phone out of my pocket and started to dial, but before I could finish, Sean plucked it from my hand, rolled down his window, and threw it into the road.
“What the hell are you doing?” I yelled.
Sean kept his eyes focused straight ahead. He rolled up his window and locked the doors. A wave of nausea crashed over me, tumbling me and threatening to drown me. I pulled on the handle and tried to unlock my door, but it didn’t work.
“Child safety locks,” Sean said.
“What did you do to my mother?” I demanded.
“Natalia’s fine. She’s working the Groom Waggin’, I think.” He looked at me with contempt, a seething, burning disgust that had, after years, finally boiled over. “Now sit there and shut the fuck up. And don’t try anything or this is going to get a lot worse for you.”
I was afraid to ask “worse than what?” Unless I could open a door or a window, I was trapped in the car with Sean. I briefly considered punching him and trying to escape, but that would have caused an accident and I didn’t know whether my miracle abilities included the power to heal myself.
“I’ll heal you,” I said.
“Too late,” he said. “You told me I was going to have to fix shit on my own, so that’s what I’m doing.”
Sean drove to I-95 and headed south. The entire drive, I tried to come up with a plan, but I was trapped in the car with nowhere to go, so the best I could do was see where he was taking me, remain vigilant, and hope an opportunity presented itself. After half an hour we drove over the Flagler Bridge onto Palm Beach Island and navigated the side streets until we pulled into the driveway of a sprawling house and parked in a circle, at the center of which stood a fountain crawling with cupid statues. Ornamental columns stood guard along the front of the house, and thick confederate jasmine climbed the walls, covering all but the stained-glass rose windows.
“What are we doing here?” I asked, trying to keep my voice neutral to avoid pissing off Sean.
“You’ll find out.” He got out of the car, hurried around to my side, opened my door, and yanked me out. I immediately began screaming for help, but he squeezed my wrist so hard it felt like he was going to break it. “Shut your mouth. No one’s going to hurt you.”
Run, Elena! the cupids sang. You have to get out of here!
I kicked Sean in the shin and tore my hand free of his grip, but before I could run, he tackled me to the pavement. I threw out my hands as I fell, and they burned as the ground shredded my palms. Sean pulled me up by the back of my shirt and shoved me toward the door.
“You always gotta make things hard, don’t you?”
I’d also hit my knee when I’d fallen, so I was limping, and my hands stung like mad and were bleeding, though not badly. “And you always try to take the easy way out.”
“Nothing’s easy when it comes to you.”
The front door opened, and Carmen Ballard stepped out, looking elegant and powerful in a fitted sleeveless dress that was green from the waist down and had light and navy blue geometric patterns on top. Her wavy blond hair shone like sunlight, and she wore a welcoming smile. She held an envelope and her cell phone in one hand, and offered me the other.
“Elena,” she said. “It’s so nice to see you again.”
I scoffed at her gesture. “You had me kidnapped?”
“When you wouldn’t agree to meet with my client, I enlisted Mr. Malloy’s assistance to persuade you to come.”
I barked out a laugh. “So you preyed upon him because he was desperate,” I said. “How much are you paying him?”
Carmen stepped aside, and Sean shoved me into the house. The furniture was covered in white sheets, and dust hung in the air, flittering motes that looked like minuscule fairies.
“Up the stairs,” Carmen said, motioning toward the grand staircase. I would have been awed by the house if I hadn’t been forced there against my will. As it was, the only thing on my mind was figuring out how to escape. My best chance was to run to a neighboring home and hope someone answered the door.
I trudged up the stairs, pushed by Sean and followed by Carmen Ballard.
“You’re a very special girl, Elena, and I wish that we were doing this under friendlier circumstances, but my client simply lacks the time to wait.”
“I won’t heal them,” I said. “Just because you got me here doesn’t mean I’ll do what you want.”
Sean snorted. “I told you she was stubborn.”
“I’m hoping you’ll change your mind,” Carmen said. “But if you don’t, I believe we can incentivize you another way.”
“That sounds like a threat,” I said.
“Not against you, of course. We would never hurt you.”
I tried not to think of who Carmen Ballard would hurt to make me do what she wanted. Freddie was safe, but I had no idea where my mother or Fadil or Conor and Sofie were. Sean might not have given a crap about me, but I refused to believe he would put Mama or his own kids in danger.
We reached the top of the stairs, and Carmen led us down a hallway to a pair of heavy oak double doors. Without preamble, she pushed them open and walked inside. The room was enormous, decorated like something out of Versailles. Gilded, framed art hung from the walls, and a four-poster bed stood in the middle of the room, surrounded by medical machines hooked into an old man lying in the bed under a heavy comforter, buttressed by an army of pillows. The man himself was bald and frail, with liver spots on his hands and head. His chest rose and fell slowly in time with the beeping of the machines, helped by the breathing mask over his mouth and nose.
Carmen handed Sean the envelope, which I assumed contained cash, and said, “Thank you for your help, Mr. Malloy.”
Sean took the envelope and shoved it into the back pocket of his jeans. He glanced at me, and I think he almost looked ashamed. “Don’t be stupid, Elena. Just do what they want and go home.”
“If you think Mama’s ever going to take you back now, you’re dumber than I thought.”
With nothing more than a scowl, Sean stomped from the room, leaving me with Carmen and the old man in the bed.
“Elena,” Carmen said, “I’d like to introduce you to Harrison Bartlett.”
“Yeah, hi. Whatever. I’m leaving now.”
Carmen stood in front of the exit, and though I thought if I rushed her I might be capable of overpowering her, I wasn’t sure. “Hear me out, please.”
Do not listen to them, Elena! Get out of there!
I scanned the room until I found a stately brass hors
e clock on an ornate table in the corner. I couldn’t answer the horse or Carmen and Harrison Bartlett would ask questions, and I didn’t want them to learn about the voices.
You’re in danger! You have to run!
“Mr. Bartlett is suffering from multiple organ failure and his remaining life is measurable in weeks if not days. He has used his extensive resources to try every means available to extend his life, but none have succeeded. We heard of your story, and I witnessed your miracle work when you healed Benjamin Smith of cystic fibrosis. Mr. Bartlett has asked me to offer you whatever you wish in exchange for your help.”
“You want me to heal him,” I said.
“Yes.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Money?” Carmen said. “Protection? We know about the agents who visited you at school. They’re not from Homeland Security.”
Do not help them, Elena! the horse shouted.
“How do you know I won’t heal this old guy and then go straight to the police and tell them you had me kidnapped?”
Carmen offered an unconcerned shrug. “Mr. Bartlett is a valued member of the community, with ties to very important people. It would be your word against his.”
The sad truth was that she was probably right. History has proven that in a showdown between a wealthy man and a teenage girl, the girl will usually lose. But I wasn’t about to be coerced into healing this guy.
I crossed the room to the bed and stood over Harrison Bartlett. “Why you?” I asked.
Mr. Bartlett withdrew his right hand from under the blankets, moving glacially, and removed the mask. “Because I can.” Even those three words, spoken in a dry, raspy voice, seemed to exhaust him. But he had enough life in him to follow it with a smile before returning the mask to its place.
“You’re nothing but another rich dick who thinks he can take what he wants.”
“In exchange for more money than you would otherwise ever see in your life, Elena,” Carmen said. “Enough to buy a house, enough to buy ten houses. Your brother and sister could attend the best schools and your mother would never have to work again.”
She’s lying, Elena! They’ll never let you leave, and the world will end. Everything we’ve worked for will be for nothing!
I believed the horse.
I wasn’t foolish enough to think that my life mattered to the voices, but they still needed me and would do anything to protect me so long as I was useful.
“What if I don’t want your money?” I asked.
“I thought you might say that.” Carmen tapped the screen of her phone and waited. When it lit up, she said, “Are you with them?” A man’s voice on the other end acknowledged he was. “Show me.” A moment later, Carmen turned the phone’s screen to me. Sofie and Conor were running around on the playground at home while Mrs. Haimovitch watched from the bench.
“Mrs. Haimovitch!” I shouted.
Carmen took her phone back. “As you can see, I have a man waiting for instructions. You may leave here without healing Mr. Bartlett if you so choose, but if he dies, so will your brother and sister, Helen Haimovitch, your mother, Fadil Himsi, and Winifred Petrine.”
“You can’t—”
“Yes, Elena,” she said. “We can.” There was no malice in her voice. To her, this was nothing more than a business transaction, and she didn’t care what happened either way.
If you heal this man, they will never allow you to leave, the horse said. You can’t do this.
“I don’t have any choice,” I said.
“No, you don’t.” Carmen hadn’t known I wasn’t speaking to her. But she was still right.
I turned back to the old man in the bed. He was staring at me hungrily. There’d never been any doubt in his mind that he was going to get what he wanted. Men like him always got what they wanted. I lay my hands on his arm. His skin was rough and thin and repellant to me.
You can make them disappear.
“What?”
“Hurry, please, Elena,” Carmen said. “The lives of your loved ones depend on you now.”
You can make them both vanish. Close your eyes and we’ll show you how.
Lego Gandalf had hinted that I could rapture people directly, and now the horse had confirmed it. I didn’t believe that Carmen Ballard and Harrison Bartlett would allow me to leave the house after I’d healed him. Even if it was my word against his, going to the police would still call more attention to them than they would want. My only chance to save my family and win my freedom was to get rid of Carmen and Harrison myself.
Quickly!
I closed my eyes. Bartlett’s energy was practically nonexistent, but I wasn’t concerned about him.
Look beyond for the crack in the dark.
I had no idea what the horse was telling me, but I did as he said and turned my senses outward, past Bartlett. Deep in the darkness, I found a sliver of light leaking out through a crack in the void, just like the horse had said. I reached out and ripped it open. Fire surged through the tear and I aimed it at Bartlett and Carmen Ballard. I found the man watching Sofie and Conor and sent another tendril toward him. The fire tangled around them and sucked them back through the hole in the empty space beyond. I didn’t see them leave with my eyes, but I knew the moment they were gone, and I pulled the ends of the tear together, cutting off the light.
When I opened my eyes, exhausted by what I’d done, Carmen’s phone lay on the floor, Bartlett’s bed was empty, and I knew Sofie and Conor were safe.
FIFTY-SIX
THE MYSTERY OF life is that there is no great mystery. You were born. You will die. This is an incontrovertible fact. Every human who has ever walked this planet gestated in a mother’s womb and was spit out onto the earth. Every human who has yet to be born, even those who might exist in a future paradise where they may never know cancer or hunger or pain, will eventually die.
I’m no cynic, though. I’m not suggesting there are no mysteries or miracles in our world. There are mysteries. There are miracles. I might be one of them or I might be a girl-shaped cosmic oops. It’s just that the mystery isn’t life itself. The miracle isn’t that we’re alive. Instead, it’s the choices we make and the people we meet and the lives we intersect in the finite seconds between our births and our deaths. It’s that we can live in this ugly, cruel world and still find the love to sustain us. Sometimes we don’t. Sometimes we lose our way and can’t separate the mystery from the misery, and when that happens, sometimes we make bad choices. Horrible choices that ripple through the lives of everyone involved.
And yet, despite being faced with so much hardship and pain, we continue to live. We continue to struggle and fight for our place in the world. We continue to try even when we know we’re going to lose. That’s the real miracle; not me.
FIFTY-SEVEN
HUMAN BEINGS ARE stupid. Sure, we’ve traveled into space, we’ve built machines that have allowed us to peek into the building blocks of all creation, we learned to replace human organs and how to connect the entire world over wires and screens. We’ve written beautiful literature and we’ve created more silly cat videos than, I imagine, any civilization in the universe. We will our most fantastical dreams into reality and believe resolutely that there is nothing we can’t accomplish. And yet, despite our ingenuity and genius, we’re a fundamentally stupid species.
Human beings actively work against our own self-interest. We know that we’re destroying the planet, yet we fill electronics graveyards with cell phones because we need to have the latest model. We toxify our lakes and rivers because we’re too lazy to properly dispose of chemical waste. We drive vehicles that spew carbon dioxide into the air because we have to have a bigger and better car than our neighbors. We take drugs that wreck our minds and bodies, we eat mountains of fast food despite knowing it will eventually kill us, we complain about the politicians ruining our country and we devote countless hours to wearing pins and posting protest memes and bitching about it to strangers on the Internet but willfully refuse to
sacrifice one hour of our lives to vote.
People make stupid choices. We make dumb, harmful, self-destructive decisions because we can. Because we have free will. It doesn’t matter whether you believe free will comes from the divine—God or Allah or Elohim or Krishna—is a result of possessing a soul, or is merely a side effect of humanity’s singular biological and neurological processes. Our free will and ability to choose is ultimately what makes us the dumbest intelligent species on the planet.
I didn’t know David Combs. I didn’t know of him. He may as well have not existed for me on the day I went to work at Starbucks and inadvertently jump-started the apocalypse. I didn’t know his name or that he’d been a victim of bullying or had been rejected by Freddie. I didn’t know he’d created a fantasy life where I was his girlfriend and he had everything he’d ever wanted.
But the truth is that no matter what series of events led David Combs to shoot Freddie, he’d made a choice. I regret any part I might have played in causing David to feel that he had no other options, but the ultimate decision—and the blame—belonged to him alone. Nothing could justify his actions, nothing could explain away what he did. He made a choice. And it was the wrong one.
Freddie’s father made a choice that devastated Freddie and caused her to believe the only way to cope with life was to stop making choices altogether.
I made a choice when I chose to heal her.
Fadil made a choice to stand by me.
Sean made a choice to ignore his problems, and then he made a choice to attempt to rectify his mistakes by choosing to make a bigger one.
The voices chose me to save humanity, a choice I’m determined to make them regret.
We make choices. We make bad choices. But we still deserve the right to choose.
Carmen Ballard and Harrison Bartlett attempted to take my ability to choose from me. I’m betting they wished they hadn’t done that. And while the voices may have chosen me, they also tried to use me to take away the rights of others to choose. David Combs and Ava Sutter and the 17,701 souls who were raptured without their consent. It doesn’t matter whether the voices were actually saving them from a terrible fate or that I didn’t know about the connection between my miracles and the disappearances until many had already been taken. My ignorance doesn’t absolve me of complicity. I am responsible for every life disrupted and shattered. I stole their right to choose the way others tried to steal mine.