Twenty-one

How powerful have you become, Holly? Your swallows found us, a mile from the river, and told you where we were. Are they searching the whole city for us now? We’re driving away from Stratofortress’s house, but it’s not done. You’ll come back. You’ll keep coming back and coming back. You’ll never let go of me.

And you’ve made Stratofortress into runaways too, leaving behind everything except each other. We head to Britney’s apartment on Greene Street, behind Domino’s.

Britney opens the door. “Hey, Steve. Um … what’s up?” She glances past his shoulder at us.

“Hey, how you doing, honey?” We crowd into the living room and Steve tells her the story. Britney offers to order a pizza, but nobody’s worried about food. LeighAnn holds Hobbit in her lap, and Max holds her.

“Got anything to drink?” LeighAnn asks.

Britney finds a bottle of liquor. Ultimate pours some into a Panama City shot glass for LeighAnn and takes a swig from the bottle himself. They both twitch their heads like horses as the stuff goes down.

While Britney goes to find extra blankets for us, LeighAnn murmurs, “So what happens now?”

“We stay here tonight. And tomorrow … ” Max glances at me, then away. “Tomorrow, we’ll figure out what to do tomorrow.”

Taking the bottle, LeighAnn pours another shot and downs it. “Jane, you can’t come back. I’m sorry. Tyler, same thing.”

“Come on, Lee-lee. We’re not kicking them to the curb.”

“Don’t you remember when that thing touched you?” LeighAnn snaps. “I do. I remember pulling flowers out of—” She hits him, then starts to cry, managing, “Now it’s coming to my house? Killed my damn dog.”

Ultimate tries to say something; I cut him off. “She’s right. Tyler, if those birds, and whatever else Holly has searching for us, found us at their house, they can find you at yours. We’ve got to get away. Get away from the lake, maybe from this whole stretch of river.”

“You have anywhere you can go? Some family you can stay with?” Ultimate asks.

“Family that wouldn’t immediately call our parents?”

“Well, we’ll loan you some cash,” LeighAnn says. “Plus maybe you can sell the Dreadnought. An antique like that should be worth a couple thousand.”

“No.” I jerk my head up. “That’s—”

“Quiet,” Ultimate says.

“No, we can’t sell the—”

“Shut up!” Ultimate hisses. “Bird. It’s one of the birds.”

Perched on the window sill—a shadow against the glass—it cocks its head and stares in at us. Nobody speaks. Nobody moves.

The swallow’s attention drops down to something on the sill. It pecks at it, seeming to forget about us, then flicks its forked tail and swoops back into the dull orange glow of the city.

“Did it see us? Is it going to tell Holly?”

“Well, in the first place, was it one of Holly’s birds?”

“It must be.”

“So what now? They followed us? Or are they looking in every window in the city?”

“And still, did it see us? It didn’t look like it noticed us.”

“I don’t know, but tomorrow morning, you guys have to leave.” Max looks at me and Tyler, squeezing LeighAnn’s hand. “Sorry.”

Tyler nods. This is the best thing. The only thing, really.

“Guys, I’m so sorry,” Britney walks back in, arms loaded down. “I don’t have enough extra blankets, just some sleeping bags.”

“Don’t worry. I’m used to it.” I take one of the bags from her, giving her a hug in exchange.

Things settle down, and the next time I look up, Britney and Ultimate have slipped off to the bedroom. Tyler and Max decide somebody should keep watch. Tyler offers to stay up first, and he’ll wake Max up at four. I stay up with him. We sit in the kitchen, the guitar on the table. It’s the only clue we have—it’s my last link to you. Selling it just doesn’t feel right, Holly.

The apartment grows quiet, just LeighAnn’s gentle snores. We keep the curtains drawn and only the light above the sink burning.

“Listen,” Tyler whispers. “We’re going to keep looking for answers to all this, okay? We’ll sell the Dreadnought and keep looking for Dr. Frazier’s missing transcripts, okay?”

I drop my face into the snug darkness between my arms. “I want to go home.”

“I know.”

He really doesn’t, does he, Holly? Tyler doesn’t have a clue what it’ll be like to leave everyone behind, not even saying goodbye. He can’t imagine how bad he’ll want to touch their hands again, to hear their voices. He doesn’t know yet, but he will soon.

He rubs my back, whispering, “It’ll be okay. We’re going—”

“Quit.” I shove his meaty arm away.

We sit hunched into ourselves, together but alone. After a long time, I pick up the guitar, running my fingers along the strings. They sound like far away groans.

“What are you doing?” Tyler hisses. “We have to be quiet.”

“I’ll play quiet. Just for you and me.” No pick, barely brushing the strings with the edge of my thumb. Soft snatches of songs and things I make up. The Dreadnought is big and clumsy. It was made for giants—Johnny Cash, your pa-paw—and I can hardly get my arms around it. Tyler listens until his eyes slip closed. Head in his hand, he starts snoring. It’s hours until we’re supposed to wake Max up. I let them all sleep for now.

I play “Down by the Riverside” so softly I have to strain to hear it. It’s a song for everybody who’s been cast out and cut away, everybody lost in the wilderness. Tonight, I play for me and Tyler. And LeighAnn with the job she hates, and the rest of Stratofortress. I really hope they make it someday. I play for you too, Holly. Despite all this, I still love you. I wish you knew that. I’m still chatting with you like you’re right beside me because I always talked to you when I was afraid. Because how can I get through this without my best friend?

Grimacing as I shape my wounded hand into the right chords, I push through them a little smoother every time. I feel the Dreadnought’s mojo as it sings about the heaviness in my bones that I don’t have the words to explain. It comes from everyone who’s played this guitar, every song it’s sung. It makes the guitar more than what I can see with my eyes or hold in my hands.

Then God speaks. His whisper falls like an atom bomb. Dread not.

I hold the guitar and feel you holding it too. I can feel the magic you put into it with every song, with the first song you ever played. It was before we ever met, Holly, but the guitar holds the moment within its whorled grain.

Seven years old and an orphan and scared—scared in a way you didn’t even have words for. One day, your pa-paw folds his calloused fingers over your soft ones. Together, you strum loud and laugh and the music makes you feel brave. You squint through the sound hole, searching for that magic. The guitar is just wood and metal strings, nothing mysterious. You keep searching, though. You touch the curling gold letters behind the headstock, sounding them out.

C. F. Martin & Co. Dreadnought.

Dread not.

God laid His hand upon your head and made a promise. Dread not, and even when you couldn’t be strong, music would make you as stubborn as spring. Dread not, Holly, and music would be your deep roots. You would survive drought and freeze. You played and played that old Dreadnaught until your fingers blistered and bled and calloused. You kept your end of the covenant. When your me-maw died, you almost forgot, but I helped you remember. I helped you decorate—dedicate—your new guitar.

Fear not.

In Britney’s kitchen, I start playing fearlessly, strings biting my fingertips. We just have to make you remember again.

Tyler’s head jerks up. “Jane! Jane, quit!”

“I know why Auntie Peake’s prayer didn’t work!” I say. “Holly had her own way of praying. She connected to God through music. See? Dreadnought. Like ‘fear not.’ Like she painted on her guitar. We just have to get her to pray her way.”

He blinks at me, eyes dull with sleep. “Huh?”

I explain everything, slower this time. In the living room, LeighAnn and Max sit up and listen.

“You want to get her to play music?” LeighAnn asks. “How do you even try without getting killed? And even if she remembers, how can that help?”

“If Holly remembers anything, it’s music. Music made her feel close to God.” I laugh as it all slides so easily into place. “That’s why Auntie Peake’s prayer wouldn’t work; Holly talked to God, heard God, in music. So if we get her to play, reconnect her to God, she’ll find her way out of the drowned forest.”

“You haven’t answered the ‘without getting killed’ part.”

“We have to try,” Tyler says. “Me and Jane, we loved her. We owe her. But you guys don’t owe Holly anything. You guys should stay clear.”

“Are you kidding me?” The bedroom door swings open. Ultimate steps out, zipping up his pants. “Back when we were in the Banana Hammocks, Holly came to our first-ever gig. Can’t leave a fan hanging.”

“Thanks, man.” Tyler gives him a shoulder-bumping half-hug.

Max and LeighAnn look at each other. Max says, “If Steve dies, we gotta find a new drummer.”

“Yeah … wanna ask Davis?”

“He’s in Gypsy Fingers now. What about Twitchy?”

“Twitchy’s a pothead. He’ll never come to practice. Maybe Karen?”

“I’m not putting up with that Britpop crap.”

LeighAnn groans and kicks out of the sleeping bag. “Forget it. Easier just to keep this one alive.”

Ultimate Steve bumps shoulders with her too. “Leave Hobbit here. I’ll write a note for Britney.”

Slipping on shoes, grabbing the Dreadnought, we head out into the night.