CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

I push through the lobby doors at a run and burst out into the courtyard. My shaky legs carry me to the edge of Jhana Park. I fall to my knees at the base of a towering elm tree, out of view of prying eyes. My hands form tight fists and press against my eyes as another emotional collapse holds me in its merciless grip.

The steady march of time stops for no one, even when you’re dead. The minutes become an hour. Two. I can’t move. The desperation is blinding. Paralyzing.

I’d give anything to have another shot at that drive to cello practice, to see my family and friends again, to wake up in my own bed, to throw that tennis ball for my dog before I got in the car and drove away.

My sweet dog, Karma.

I picked her out of a litter of seven, surrounded by fuzzy little troublemakers. They licked my face and nipped my fingers, squeaking and yipping as they vied for attention. She curled up in my lap and fell asleep amid the bedlam, and I knew she was mine.

Will she miss me?

Will she forget?

All the things I took for granted, gone in an instant. But maybe that’s the worst part. My family, my friends—they’re not the ones who are gone. I am. Forever.

They’ll all move on.

Have lives.

Get married.

Have kids.

I’ll be a distant memory.

A scream builds in my chest. I jump to my feet, eyes wide open, arms stiff at my sides.

And then I spot Bobby.

The fiery rage slips quietly from my lungs as I duck back behind the tree.

Bobby walks down the main trail leading from the tower, deeper into the park, and I decide to follow. After a few minutes, Bobby stops. He pulls a pen and notebook from a messenger bag he carries. He looks into the treetops and jots down a quick note, then he turns down another path that winds along the banks of a stream. Hanging back about twenty feet, I creep along in the shadows of the trees along its border.

A twig snaps under my foot, flushing out a nearby pair of birds in a flap of feathers and cacophony of squawks. I freeze in my tracks. You’ve got to be kidding me.

Undisturbed, Bobby sits down on a bench and writes furiously in his notebook. His back is to the side of the path I’m on, leaving me in perfect position to sneak in for a closer look at what he’s doing. I close the distance between us, my footfalls silent.

Only ten feet or so separate us. Taking shelter behind a tree, I settle in to figure out what he’s doing.

“Surveillance,” Bobby calls out over his shoulder, “requires a measure of stealth. Based on admittedly brief encounters, one could extrapolate it is a skill in which you lack aptitude.” He continues to work, not bothering to look up.

I curse silently.

He taps the empty space on the bench next to him. “There is ample room, should you wish to join me.”

I’m torn between fleeing and speaking up.

“If you aren’t going to join me, could you at least be so kind as to chase the wildlife toward me, rather than away?”

Wiseass. I step from the trees and move to the bench. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“In this park, or Atman in general? Or do you mean at this specific point on the bank of the stream?”

“The park, the stream, either one, Bobby.”

He holds up his notebook. “Cataloging species. I find the observation of the oddities in this park, as well as the others, to be both entertaining and intriguing. Do you know there are 174 unique species of birds residing in Jhana Park?”

“How could I?”

“Of course. You’ve only just arrived.” He shakes his head. “My apologies; time has an irritating habit of eluding me.” He wiggles his wrist, where his bracelet error message is still flashing.

“Shouldn’t you be at Evening Reflection?” I ask.

“Shouldn’t you?”

“Touché.” I sit next to him and turn my attention to his notebook. “That’s quite the journal you’ve got there.”

“I feel a bit like Darwin in the Galápagos.”

“I thought quantum chromodynamics was your specialty.”

He gives me a puzzled look.

“I saw a documentary about you last semester in my AP Physics class.”

He claps his hands. “At long last, I have a fan.”

“Sorry to blow your cover. You’ve had quite the urban legend thing going, here.”

He waves a dismissive hand. “Anonymity is overrated.” He looks over toward the towering buildings of the city beyond the towers, climbing the foothills toward the sky.

I lose myself in the stunning sight. “It’s so beautiful. It’s a shame we can’t go.”

“We are not permitted to go. A subtle difference.”

“Are you saying you’ve been?”

“Of course I have.”

“But it’s forbidden, right?”

“What consequences do you fear? If you believe you’re dead, there isn’t a great deal they can do to you, is there?”

“I don’t know. Seems like they’re pretty good at making us miserable.”

“That is only the case if you allow it to be so.”

“Tell that to Gideon.”

“Resident Protection Services can indeed be a thorn in your side, but even the mighty can be bested by logic and resistance.”

“You don’t seem like the rebellious type.”

He wags a finger at me. “History’s greatest scientists have always questioned authority and gone against social convention.”

“Can’t argue with that.” What will being good get me? I’m dead all the same. A jolt of energy surges through me. “You want to take me with you sometime?” The words come tumbling out, and there’s no taking them back.

He studies me as he considers my request. “You’ve only just arrived.”

“So?”

“Ask me again when next we meet. A journey to the city isn’t for the faint of heart.” He smirks. “Or for the clumsy of foot.”

“Whatever.” I’m still fixated on the amazing skyline.

“If you listen, you can hear it call to you. The haunting whisper of departed souls.”

“Really?” I try to push out the sounds of the park and focus on the city. The birds, the placid rhythm of the stream, the breeze rustling through the trees—they all seem to get in the way of hearing anything significant.

“No. That would be highly nonsensical.”

“Hook, line, and sinker, Bobby.”

“I find that a lovely analogy, as we are all just fish in the sea of life, are we not?”

“Sea of death, more like it.”

“The sea of our imaginations.” He closes his journal.

“Next time, then, Bobby. I’m not giving up asking.”

“I look forward to it.” He looks up at the sky. “You may wish to return to the dormitory, as it will soon be dark. Based on your recent arrival, I predict the darkness would make for a difficult journey back without familiarity with the terrain or benefit of a portable light.” He stands and walks off into the woods.

“Are there stars in the sky?” I call after him.

“I’m afraid not,” he calls back from the trees.

“Well, that blows.”

The sky is turning from azure to a deep purple, and the light is, in fact, fading.

I’d better get back. I’m not sure I want to find out what comes out at night around here.