NOCTE (Nocte Trilogy #1)(58)

Finn’s black ones dangle over the side and he kicks his feet casually, not looking one bit concerned that the edge could break away at any moment.

“Finn,” I say slowly, trying not to startle him, “Move away from the edge.”

He looks over his shoulder at me, unconcerned. “Hey, Cal. Did you know that nutmeg is incredibly deadly if it’s injected?”

This freezes me, too.

“You don’t know that firsthand, right?” I stare at him, examining his arms for injection marks.

He rolls his eyes. “You know I hate nutmeg.”

I can’t breathe. “I also know you’re sitting too close to the edge. Move back. Carefully.”

He doesn’t move, and I see tiny balls of clay rolling around him, dropping off the edge. My heart pounds in my ears.

“Want to go to the lighthouse today?” he asks, like he didn’t even hear me. He stares out over the water toward the beacon, watching the gulls fly around it.

“Yeah,” I tell him quickly. “Let’s go right now.”

With another shrug, Finn clumsily gets to his feet, one of his shoes breaking off a piece of the edge. It plunges over the side, but Finn doesn’t even notice. He just walks to me like sitting on a cliff is the most natural thing in the world, like he is completely oblivious to the danger.

I throw my arms around him and hug him tight.

“What is wrong with you?” I whisper into his neck, inhaling his sweaty skin. “Why would you do that?”

“Do what?” he asks innocently. “I just wanted a good view.”

“You know it’s dangerous.” I pull away and stare into his eyes. “You know that.”

“And you know that I was far enough back to be safe.”

He tells me the same thing I told him the other day, only it’s not true in his case.

“You were on the edge,” I tell him shakily. To that, he shrugs.

“I still am.”

He walks away down the trail, whistling a tune that sends goose-bumps down my spine. The song that Dare played on the piano last night.

He heard it. He knew Dare was in the house and it upset him. That’s what this has to be about.

I skid down the trail to catch up.

“Are you upset because I’m close with Dare now? Because you have to know that you’re the most important thing to me, Finn. You’ll always be the most important thing. No matter what.”

He pauses and looks back at me.

“Calla, you’re overthinking this. Nothing is wrong with me. I’m not mad at you.”

And then he continues on his way.

I trip along side of him, trying to stay calm, and I do a very good job of it, too, until we walk halfway up the beach, and I see something silver glinting in the sand. Jogging ahead, I bend down and pick up Finn’s St. Michael’s medallion.

Speechless, I let it dangle in my fingers while Finn catches up.

“Why did you throw this out?” I demand. “I get that you don’t want to wear it right now, but this was a gift from mom. She gave it to you, Finn. You can’t just throw it out.”

He shrugs and I’m getting tired of all his shrugs.

“If you want it, you can have it,” he tells me nonchalantly and I want to scream.

“I don’t want it. I want you to want it. It’s yours. Our dead mother gave it to you. You should want it.”

I’m practically yelling now, and Finn doesn’t flinch, and doesn’t react at all. He just stares at me, with his pale blue eyes the same color as the sky.

“But I don’t,” he says lightly. I stay frozen in place, the necklace clutched in my hand while Finn walks out onto a rock walkway and sits staring out at the water. He’s quiet, he’s pensive, and something is most certainly wrong.

I feel it in my bones, in my heart, in the hidden and dark place where a twin knows.

So I do the only thing I can.

I’ve got to get help from a professional, from someone who Finn tells the things he won’t tell me.

I rush back home and climb in my car. I drive down the mountain, through town and to the hospital. When I get there, I shove the medallion in my pocket. God knows I can’t give it back to Finn. He’s likely to throw it out and I’ll never find it again.

I walk numbly through the halls, past the abstract bird painting and into the Group room. I’m interrupting a session and everyone turns to stare at me curiously. Jason, the therapist, gets up and crosses the room. He’s short and blond, and his steps are long. He reaches me quickly.

“Calla,” he says, assessing my face. “Is everything all right?”

With his arm on my elbow, he leads me into the hallway, so I don’t instill panic into his precious patients.

“There’s something wrong with Finn,” I tell him abruptly. “I can’t figure it out, and he won’t tell me. Do you know?”

Jason stares at me, his hand patting my back, as he tries to figure out how to calm down a frantic woman. I’m annoyed, because like my father and his grieving clients, Jason is supposed to know how to handle upset people. He’s a therapist, for God’s sake.

Finally, he shakes his head. “I don’t know, Calla. He hasn’t said anything to me. But even if he had, you know I can’t share that with you. It’s confidential.”