26

THE SECOND ETHAN’S BEDROOM materializes around me, I search for some hint of how long I’d been gone this time. His light is still on and his closet door is open with a trail of pajama pants and socks leading into it. The hook his coat usually hangs on is empty, but his wallet and cell are sitting on his dresser. It’s clear he left in a hurry.

The covered bridge. Aimée and Madison and Mica—Drew!

My feet are moving before the weight of those words can sink in. The covered bridge. Drew. I told Ethan that Mica was with me on the bridge before I was sucked into that last memory, but that wasn’t the part he needed to know. I have to get to Ethan before he accuses Mica of killing me in front of my friends and Drew verifies the theory with a fake eyewitness account or something that will leave my death forever unresolved.

Would Drew do that though? Would he hurt his friend that way? He hurt me. I can’t stop the thought from running on repeat in my mind: Drew hurt me. Drew killed me.

The pulsing in my chest falters for a beat and I feel it weakening, slowly releasing its hold on me. I close my eyes and think of Ethan’s smile right before he kissed me on the bridge that first time. I blink and I’m at the river—no, I’m in the river. My leggings are soaked up to my knees in the bitter cold water. The temperature isn’t what is stabbing at my insides though; it’s the voice I hear echoing under the canopy of trees that line the river, floating through the narrow windows in the wooden bridge walls, streaming into the gaping hole that my body made when I was pushed—not when I jumped or slipped.

When I was pushed.

I know that’s what happened to me now and it makes my arms and legs feel floatier than usual, like they’re unhinging at the joints and stretching away from me by the force of some inexplicable sideways gravity. The silhouette that was standing on the riverbank the night I died looms over me again, its shadow stretching and bending in irrational response to the low afternoon sunlight reflecting off the ripples of the thawed river.

The voice fills my head, startlingly clear, as if I’m back in that moment: I didn’t mean to. This isn’t how it was supposed to go—this is her fault.

Madison’s voice replaces the silhouette’s. “How do you know Mica went back to the bridge?”

“I thought you were gone by the time Cassidy fell,” Aimée adds, her tone curious, but with the barest hint of accusation.

“Trust me on this.” Ethan’s voice wavers the way it does when he talks to teachers. I wish I’d had the chance to tell him the rest of what I remembered before he came here. There’s no way he’ll be able to hide his reaction when I tell him about Drew, and Aimée and Madison will know something’s up.

A raspy voice dissolves that thought and sharpens the edges of the looming silhouette. I need to get on that bridge.

I close my eyes and think of the one time Aimée beat me in a race across the bridge to see who got to eat the last red Fla-Vor-Ice, but nothing happens. I recall the first time the three of us camped overnight on the bridge and the day we found the bats roosting in the trusses. Still nothing.

I open my eyes and push my legs through the unseasonably turbulent river, but it’s as if I’m trudging through frozen pudding. The water suctions around my legs and drags against my movements. The faster I rush toward the bank, the thicker the substance seems. A glossy film begins to form around the rocks like an impenetrable bubble, like the force field that surrounded Other Me at the morgue.

The pulsing in my chest weakens as I grow more and more frantic about what’s happening on the bridge especially because I can’t see. It’s the opposite of how my body should be reacting—how an alive body would react. My heart should be rabbiting against my ribs, not lulling to a weary whisper.

I open my mouth to call Ethan’s name, but my voice comes out a strangled squeak. I grasp my neck and try again. The effort feels like razor blades sliding down my throat.

“Mica was with me, E,” a new voice that cracks my insides says. “In the house looking for Maddy.”

The black of the silhouette standing over me on the riverbank falls away, revealing Drew’s flat brown eyes and matching hair curled out around his wide, pale face, making excuses and twisting facts without hesitation to conceal what he did to me.

Liar! I scream at Drew in my mind. That alibi wasn’t to cover for Mica, it was to keep suspicion off himself.

I thrust my body forward, gasping for air that I don’t need as the river pulls me down. I sink like a warped pebble, shifting in the current, left to right, farther down with each sway. My hands claw at the rocky slope that connects the riverbank to the park above, but the force field keeps knocking me back. The urge to give up—to let my arms and legs float away, drift off with the current—is strong and alluring. I close my eyes and imagine that I’ve disappeared without a final thought … or promise.

Pain strikes my chest like a sharp piece of flint reigniting my purpose here. My eyes fly open and through the murky waves I see Ethan’s sad-confused face from Saturday night. I close my eyes again and visualize the bridge: every flake of white paint chipping off the walls, the splintered corners of the rails and beams, the rusted bolts connecting them, the way the sun cuts through the flaws in the wood and illuminates jagged patterns on the boards. The scene brings on a rush of memories that I’ve been fighting against for almost a week, but I don’t fight them now. They’re exactly what I need to get on that bridge.

The watery curtain clears, and the vivid images in my mind dull into flat, gray reality. I’m next to Madison, who is standing with her arms crossed over her chest like she’s protecting herself from some unknown threat. She has no idea. Her body is angled slightly toward the wooden wall on her right side where Mica stands in front of the broken rail. Ethan’s next to him, and Drew is a couple feet away, closer to the park end of the bridge, an arm’s length away from Aimée.

“Get her away from him!” I tell Ethan without looking away from Aimée. I’m terrified that if I lose sight of her I’ll never see her again.

Ethan shoots his eyes in my direction for a split second, then steps between Aimée and Mica.

“Not Mica, Drew.” My voice shakes so much I’m not sure he understands me.

He takes a quick step toward Drew, shifting his weight to make the movement seem less obvious. It has the opposite effect. The four of them stare at him.

“Are you okay?” Aimée asks.

Ethan answers automatically, “Sure.” Aimée scrutinizes him.

“Be more convincing,” I tell him.

“Being on this bridge is really creeping me out,” Ethan says in a run-on line. “Can you and I go inside and talk—Madison too?”

Madison turns away from Ethan. Her cheeks blaze as she chews around each of her fingernails.

Aimée smooths a hand down her long ponytail and glances at Mica. “You saw Ethan leave before Cassidy fell, right?”

“Yeah,” Mica answers. “I tried to go with him, but he wouldn’t let me in his car.”

“Why not?” Aimée turns a skeptical eye on Ethan.

“You’re accusing the wrong person,” I tell her in a voice so quiet even I have a hard time hearing it.

“Because he tried to kiss Cassidy,” Ethan finally admits. “I didn’t want to be anywhere near him. Still don’t.”

Aimée’s and Madison’s heads snap toward Mica, mouths gaping open. “You made a move on Cassidy?” Aimée shouts.

Mica lowers his head, cracking his knuckles one by one. “It wasn’t like that. I walked in on her kissing some other dude and it seemed like a clutch idea at the time to test the limits of her trifling so that when I told E about the other dude I would have solid proof that she was cheating. I was drunk, but, no excuses, I took it too far.” He pauses and faces Aimée. “I didn’t actually kiss her.”

Aimée glares hard at him, then asks Ethan, “Why didn’t you tell me about this sooner?”

Ethan throws me a pleading glance and his answer becomes clear: me. He didn’t tell her because he didn’t want me to hear. He didn’t want me to remember the bad bits and taint what time we had left together. I wish I could tell him what I remembered, what Drew did, but an intangible force is pinching my throat shut. I can’t seem to form the words: It wasn’t Mica. Drew pushed me!

“He didn’t tell you because he believed Cassidy’s lies,” Drew sneers. “She cheated on him with that stoner kid Caleb—and Mica evidently.”

Mica looks between Ethan and Aimée, insisting, “Nothing happened. I swear.” Then he glares at Drew in disbelief. “Dude, what gives?”

“Actually”—Drew perks up—“I saw that stoner kid run into the park after I delivered a note to Cassidy. Remember, Maddy, you asked me to give her that note?” Madison nods unheedingly. Drew continues. “I didn’t think much of it, but if he was drinking that bottle of schnapps with Cassidy on the bridge I bet he did something to her.”

Madison finally lifts her head, eyes fixed on Drew. I step in front of her. “Tell them what you know, Mads.”

“Where were you when you saw Caleb running?” Aimée asks Drew.

“With Mica, inside. I already told you that.”

“At what time?”

“We went in after E left, so around 11:30.”

“And you didn’t come back outside until after Cassidy was found?” Aimee asks, thinking out loud. Drew nods. Aimée squints at him. “But the only window in my house that overlooks the park is in the playroom.”

“Right.” Drew struts to Madison’s side and hooks his arm around her waist. She doesn’t move, still staring at him. “That’s where I found Maddy,” Drew says.

There’s only one reason to go to the playroom during one of Aimée’s parties, but Drew wasn’t up there with Madison. He was too busy beating up Caleb and killing me to force Madison to physically prove they were “official” like she promised they would be after he helped her with my breakup.

“So you guys were … while Cassidy was…?” Mica’s mouth pulls down in an exaggerated grimace. “That’s messed up.”

Aimée watches Mica closely as she asks, “If they were on the third floor, where were you?”

“With us. Right, Mica?” Mica doesn’t answer. “What, you don’t remember? You had what’s her name with you—ponytail girl.”

“Carly?” Mica asks.

“Yeah.”

Aimée’s eyes flicker, and I’m sure she’s remembering what Carly told her about not seeing Mica at the party. She asks Drew, “Why didn’t you tell the police you saw Caleb running away?”

He scratches his head. “I was pretty drunk. I forgot.”

“You weren’t drunk,” Madison finally speaks up. Drew bends his neck to look down at her. “You never get drunk,” she continues, suddenly strong. “You walk around with the same beer the whole night pretending you’ve downed a six-pack.” She meets his glare. “You pretend, Drew.”

Drew pushes his curly hair back, and for the first time, I realize he does that so it will fall onto his face and cover his eyes, which are so devoid of emotion that looking into them makes me tremble.

“What are you doing?” he says through clenched teeth, barely loud enough to hear.

“I can’t let Caleb take the blame for this—it’s too big. I can’t lie for you anymore,” Madison replies at full volume.

Aimée straightens to attention. “Lie about what?”

“He wasn’t inside with me or Mica. I sent him to the bridge to give Cassidy a note telling her how sorry I was about Caleb and everything. I told him we could go upstairs when he got back so he’d hurry. But he never showed.”

“Why didn’t you tell the police?” Aimée asks Madison.

“Because I didn’t know for sure what happened. It could’ve been Caleb or Drew or an accident or suicide like the police said, but, either way, it was my fault. And Drew knew everything—he’d helped me, so I had to lie for him. It seemed like a better option than admitting I’d killed my best friend.” She stops. “Until you started investigating Ethan. I knew Drew was on the bridge, but I didn’t know if that had anything to do with Cassidy’s death. Then I found out he was threatening to frame Caleb. That’s why I wrote you the other note.”

Drew interrupts with a sharp, “Ha! You lied for me?” He lets go of Madison and takes a wide step toward the center of the bridge. “So we’re telling the truth now? How about we start with you moonlighting as a recreational pharmacist or how much you hated Cassidy.”

“I didn’t hate Cassidy!” Tears flood Madison’s stormy eyes. “I—I…”

“Wanted to ruin her life?” Drew retorts.

“No! I didn’t ask you to hurt her.”

“What did you think was going to happen when she found out?”

“I don’t know, that you’d be a rational human being. Guess that’s too much to expect from you.”

Drew grabs for Madison’s arm, but Ethan blocks him. Drew’s eyes flare with anger, and he pushes Ethan hard. Fear stabs me as he stumbles dangerously close to the edge.

Mica steps between his friends with a hand raised to each of them. “Chill. Fighting about this won’t help.”

“You’re preaching peace now,” Drew scoffs at Mica. “That’s rich considering where the back of your hand was Saturday night.”

The memory of Mica’s slap stings my icy cheek.

Mica steps forward, momentarily shutting Drew up. He turns to Ethan. “E, I’m sorry about trying to kiss your girl—really, I am—but I wasn’t the only person making bad decisions with her that night. What she went through would’ve been enough to push a sober person overboard, but drunk…”

“She didn’t jump,” Ethan says confidently, and turns to look at me. “You were pushed, weren’t you?”

My throat might still be clenched shut, but I can nod.

A tear draws a line down Ethan’s face. “I am so sorry I left you.”

It’s okay, I tell him silently. Tears seep into my mouth when I smile at him. I can’t feel the warmth of his touch as he brushes his fingertips along my cheekbone to dry them.

Mica turns his head to investigate the empty space where I’m standing. He cocks an eyebrow at Ethan. “Dude, what are you talking about?”

Ethan doesn’t respond, but keeps looking at me, as if tiny windows have been carved into my middle and he can see through them to a different time and place, one where I can touch and talk like everyone else and none of this has happened. Where I’m not fading away.

“Ethan?” Aimée places a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back to the present. He blinks, focusing on her. “What are you looking at?”

“Cassidy.” Everyone goes silent at the shock of my name. There’s no sound but the wind whistling through the cracks in the wooden walls.

When he meets my eyes, I try to shake my head, but I’m not sure I manage it. My movements feel slow and detached from my mind. I hold his gaze, hoping he’ll understand what I’m telling him in my head: I’m only yours.

Finally, he turns back to the group. “This bridge—what’s here—is everything that’s left of her.”

“Tell him the truth, Drew,” Madison demands. “He deserves to know what happened. Everyone does.”

“I was with Mica. How many times do I have to say that?”

Mica shakes his head. “Tell us.”

Drew looks frantically between the friends he’s been fooling for days. “It was an accident. I was supposed to give her that note, but Caleb showed up and started talking trash about Maddy.” He gazes desperately at Madison. “I had to defend you. I lost it. Cassidy got in the way.”

Ethan’s lip curls up in disgust; he’s seething. “She got in the way?” He charges toward Drew, and Mica pulls him back. Ethan’s arms quickly break free, but Aimée stops him.

“Not like this,” she says. “Not like he did to Cassidy.”

Mica takes a step forward to help support Ethan’s weight as he crumbles into Aimée’s arms, the immensity of the truth finally hitting him.

“You better lawyer up,” Aimée growls at Drew. “You’re going to need one to explain your ‘accident’ to the police.”

“N-no,” Drew stammers. “I didn’t do this—it was Maddy’s idea—it’s her fault. And Cassidy was drunk. She fell on her own.” He takes hold of Madison’s arm, but she yanks it back and pushes him away. “If it was such an accident, why didn’t you call 911?” Madison asks.

“Why didn’t you help her? She might still be alive if you hadn’t left her for dead.”

“You can’t prove I did anything,” Drew declares. “You can’t even prove I was on the bridge.”

“Caleb can,” Aimée says fervently.

Drew laughs nervously. “Like anyone’s going to take his word over mine. There’s no proof.”

Madison holds up the photo she’s been concealing under her arm since Drew arrived and explains, “I left my camera on the drinks table when I went inside and it must have gotten passed around the party because a bunch of random shots ended up on my memory card.”

“Is this going anywhere?” Drew asks in a short snap.

Madison’s voice steadies, more confident. “When Nancy asked me about pictures for the memorial, I started looking through them, and I noticed this.” She points at a figure in the background of the smiling group: it is, distinctively, Drew leaving the bridge at 11:59 p.m., according to the time stamp printed in the bottom corner.

That’s thirteen minutes before Nancy found my body and enough time after Drew pushed me for him to threaten Caleb into keeping quiet. And for me to drown.

Aimée leans in to examine the photo. “You can see the bridge in the back. Is that…?” She turns to Drew in amazement. “That’s you. This is proof that you lied about being in the house.” Her expression hardens. “You told Caleb you’d tell the police he pushed Cassidy if he talked, didn’t you? That’s why he was acting so cagey. You were threatening to frame him for murder.” Aimée adds furiously, “I almost helped you do it.”

Drew grabs for the photo, but Mica stops him. “It was an accident,” Drew repeats numbly.

“You pushed her,” Madison says. “It was not an accident.”

“And it wasn’t your fault,” Aimée says to Madison. “Or Caleb’s.” The outlines of their bodies start to blur as she places her phone to her ear.

The distant sounds of sirens and muffled voices that I don’t recognize float in and out of me. Aimée must’ve called the police. She thinks of everything. I’m really going to miss that about her. Thank you, I whisper to my best friends—both of them—in my mind, because my mouth won’t move. My death will no longer be a mystery that haunts the people I love after I’m gone. Since that’s what I am.

Slowly … fading … nearly gone.