A Desire So Deadly (A Need So Beautiful #2.5)(18)

“It’s your sister, sweetheart,” Monroe says. “She’s consumed by the Want. You’ll have to extinguish her.”

My sister, Lucy. She was like me, a Forgotten. But she couldn’t make the sacrifice, and instead she turned to the Shadows—binding herself to misery. Horror. She’s the bad impulses in the world. She’s death and destruction.

But she’s still my sister.

“What does she want with me?” I ask.

“She wants you to be a Shadow with her, stay with her forever. She wants to put out your light and keep you. She’s selfish and she’s dangerous.”

I shake my head, an ache spreading through my chest. “But it’s not her fault,” I say sadly. “She didn’t know what she was giving up.” The Shadows are often tricked, promised eternity with those they love but never told about the impulses they’ll have to indulge. Lucy just wanted to stay with me and our father. She wasn’t ready to cross over. “I won’t do it,” I say with a shrug. “I can’t.”

Monroe nods as if he understands, and I miss him so much. Monroe was my doctor, my confidant. He was like a father to me once. “Then she’ll kill you and everyone you love,” he says. “The choice has never been easy, Charlotte. Elise.” He smiles. “Claire.”

I open my eyes, and my bedroom is filled with sunlight. I’m shaking, unbearably sad. Grief-stricken, even. I remember my dream, but it doesn’t make sense. Monroe—I don’t know him. But in my dream I did. Oh God. I’m going completely crazy.

I run my palm over my face, trying to make sense of everything. Lucy’s my sister? No, no—what kind of whacked-out dreams am I having? What the hell is going on? I get out of my bed and grab my robe. It’s barely six a.m. and the house is quiet. I quickly shower and then go back to my room, trying not to think. I’m just movements, my eyes wide and scared in my reflection.

As I rub the towel over my hair, I imagine it blond again. I freeze, staring at my face. There’s a memory trying to break through. My bottom lip begins to quiver, and I squeeze my eyes shut, refusing to look at myself any longer.

I have to get out of here. I have to do something, anything. When I open my eyes, I catch sight of my wet suit lying on the floor in front of my closet. It seems so stupid now—a coffee bet to learn to surf. Were things that normal once? Was I ever that normal?

I know what I have to do, how to ground myself in this world before it slips away. I move quickly from my vanity and grab a bathing suit from my top drawer. I get dressed and then pull on my wet suit. I keep my mind blank, ignoring the knot in my stomach. After I’ve dressed, I try to sneak out without running into my parents. My dad’s keys are still on the table, and I pause at the door and look back at my house.

There’s a thought that I might never see it again, but I’m quick to push it away. I open the door and walk out, determined to fit back into my life.

I pass my usual surfing spot and head for the real beach, even though I know my chances of wiping out are tripled there. But I don’t care. If I can surf, really surf, I’ll win the bet. And if I can do that, maybe I can fix everything.

There are only a few lingering surfers when I pull up, and I drag my board across the sand. When I’m at the water, I zip up my wet suit and wait my turn. Ten minutes later, I’m paddling out, hoping I don’t drown.

The water splashes my face, cooling my skin. The harder I work my arms, the less I think. And soon I’m just lapping, muscles tense and chest tight from breathing hard. I make the turn and sit on the board, letting a few small waves pass me by. It’s quiet, so incredibly peaceful. I wish I could stay here forever. In that silence, my mind wanders to my dream, but I splash cold water on my face, trying to drive the images away.

The next wave is also small, but I have to move or my fear will come back to crush me. I glide for a bit before I take in a quick breath, and then I hop up. I get both feet on the board, but immediately I start to pitch forward. I hold out my arms for balance, and I do it. For about three seconds, I’m surfing.

I fall backward, but the minute I smack the water, it seems to envelop me, closing in around me. I struggle just as another wave comes crashing over my head, pushing me farther under. Without thinking, I open my mouth to scream for help. I choke.

I can’t even tell which direction is the surface; I’m flailing my arms, kicking my legs. The panic is overwhelming, and in this panic, I lose control of my thoughts. And the memories come rushing in.

My name is Charlotte, and I grew up in Portland, Oregon. I have the Need—a compulsion to help people. I have visions into their lives, see their problems. And I offer a way to fix them. I give hope. But every time I save someone, I lose a bit of myself. My skin, my body begins to wear away. Monroe Swift guides me, but slowly, everyone I’ve ever known, ever loved, forgets me. It’s a fate worse than death.

I’ve stopped thrashing in the water, my arms going limp as the memories suffocate me. In my mind, I see Harlin. He takes my hand and pulls me onto his Harley. I wrap my arms around him, rest my chin on his shoulder. We are going to get an apartment in the Pearl District, where he can paint and I could go to school. We are going to have a future.

And then that life is blotted out in a burst of golden light. I’m in a tunnel, and then I emerge and my name is Elise. My father is a pastor, and during his sermons Lucy and I sit in the front row. Our mother died, but our father went on. And he loved us so much.