Henry Franks(35)

“I killed her mother.”

“Henry, look at me.” Dr. Saville took his hands in hers, her fingers ice cold. “Henry.”

“I don’t want to die. I kept saying that but no one would listen.”

“Who wouldn’t listen?”

“Elizabeth. She couldn’t hear me. No one heard me.” He pulled away from her, rubbing his fists into his eyes. A single drop of blood snaked down from his nose, leaving a red trail around his lips. Dr. Saville grabbed a tissue off the desk and handed it to him. “No one ever hears me.”

“It’s all right, Henry.”

“I killed myself,” he said.

“In your dream?”

“After killing Elizabeth.” He shuddered and closed his eyes. He took a single breath and held it long past a count of ten.

“Breathe, Henry.”

He gasped, sucking in air. Stars danced in the corners of his vision as he hyperventilated and collapsed back in the chair.

“Deep breaths, Henry.”

“I don’t want to die.” He tilted his head to the side, looking up at her with a smile highlighted in blood. “I miss Elizabeth.”

“Just a dream, Henry,” she said.

“Justine is helping me remember.”

“You said you didn’t want to.”

“Would it change anything?”

“You tell me.”

He looked at her and then shook his head. “I remember dying.”

“That was a dream.”

“I guess I don’t want to remember, but I’m afraid that someday I’m going to.”

“That’s a healthy step,” she said.

He brushed his hair back off his face. A trail of tears ran down his cheeks, mixing with the blood.

“What if I don’t like me?” he asked.

“What if you do?”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Did you expect one?”

“What happens next?” he asked as the alarm beeped.

“We find out where the path leads.”





nineteen




The salt of the Atlantic lingered on the hot early morning breeze when Henry opened the door. As he walked up the street, he looked over his shoulder toward Justine’s house and slowed his pace when her door opened. He stopped completely when she appeared.

In a white sundress with a yellow belt, Justine flowed down the street, moving from one patch of shade to another. Her hair caught the wind, swirling around her like a cloak, hiding everything but her smile. When she stopped in front of him, she brought the shade with her.

“You,” he said before turning around to look for the school bus.

“Yes?” she said.

“Morning.”

“You too.” She walked up beside him, facing the oncoming bus. “Did you know that high schools in England are called secondary schools? Didn’t help much, though, to be honest.”

“Help?” he said as they found their seat and sat down.

“Well,” she said, twisting around to face him, her leg caught up beneath her. “He doesn’t have a British accent, right?”

“Who?”

“Your father. I was bored. You were asleep, remember?”

He shook his head, then smiled. “Start over again.”

“Your dad, not British, not in secondary school in England. I checked a few Oxford-related school listings, didn’t find many William Franks in their class annuals, very helpful, no pictures though. But, since the years didn’t really work, I gave up. With me now?”

“Yes,” he said. “I think.”

“It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack.”

“I know.”

“No, it’s worse,” Justine said. “It’s like looking for one particular needle named William among all the needles in all the haystacks. Have you figured out what you’re going to do if we find out where he went to school?”

Henry shook his head, a half-frown on his face.

“You still could ask him.”

“He’s never even home anymore. No one to ask.”

“Where is he?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Work?” He shrugged. “I don’t think he sleeps much.”

“You all right?”

He looked at her. A loose curl caught the wind from the open windows, warm honey eyes welcoming him along with her smile. “I think so.”

“Ever look for those pictures again?”

“Everywhere but in his bedroom.”

“Why not?” she asked.

“It’s always locked, even when he’s not home. So I don’t even bother anymore.”

“Locked?”

Henry shrugged.

The metallic shriek of the brakes as they turned into the high school carried through the bus. With the motion, Justine slid against his shoulder.

“Any plans this weekend?” he asked.

She looked up at him, her hair falling between them. “Any time in particular? Like, say, Friday night?”

“Friday night would be good,” he said with a smile.

“As long as the hurricane turns north, no plans at all.”