My parents always watched the news. Both when we lived in Caldwell and after we moved to New York, our dinners were spent on the couch in front of the TV as reporters talked about politics and crime. I rarely listened—what was happening on my phone seemed far more important. But sometimes, when a story was particularly tragic, I would tune in and wonder what it’d be like to have the firsthand details of something like that. To be a part of it, not just a spectator through a screen.
Now I know. It’s like floating outside of my body, wishing none of it was real.
The flat-screen TV above my hospital bed has been muted since I awoke, but when a grim-faced reporter appears on the screen, I turn it up. His voice bounces off the white walls around me.
“His body was impaled when the vehicle flipped into a ditch, the back of the vehicle colliding with a tree. His death was almost instant, and we think he suffered very little. That’s the only comfort we can offer the friends and family of seventeen-year-old Miles Hendricks at this time.
“Miles’s twin sister, Faye Hendricks, is in the hospital in critical condition, but we’re being told she’ll pull through. The other passengers, whose names are being withheld at the request of their guardians, seem to have escaped the tragedy with minor injuries.
“As for the nature of the collision, all we know now is that an eighteen-year-old male was the driver and that it’s being investigated as an alcohol-related accident.”
I shut off the TV and sink into the bed.
Miles died on impact. Nobody tried to drown me in the lake that night.
It’s been almost two days since the crash, and no one has been in to see me except my parents, not even West. That’s good, though. I don’t want anyone to see me like this, and I don’t know how I’ll face him knowing his brother is dead and I accused him of so many things.
I went catatonic after Mom told me about Miles’s death. My voice just isn’t there, which leaves a lot of room for static noise in my head. And thought-loops. I’ve had a lot of those.
Miles died on impact. Nobody drowned me in the lake.
Dr. Levy once told me that sometimes when you experience something too traumatic for your brain to handle, your mind can trick you into thinking it wasn’t real. Maybe you’ll think, This can’t be happening. It has to be a dream.
But what about when the opposite happens? When I dream of something so real that my mind convinces me it is real?
I can still feel him chasing me. Still hear the hatred in his voice as he bellowed my name through the forest. But I know now it was impossible. The police described to me the way Miles was found. They used nice words like “twisted,” “bent,” and “with God,” but what they meant was crunched, contorted, and slaughtered. It was evident on the faces of the men who pulled him out when they came to interview me: they had seen death. If I thought hard enough, I could picture Miles’s mangled, bloody form burned into their retinas. I can almost see it myself now.
What did you want to tell me before the crash, Miles?
My sadness is chilled by the medication they pumped into me, but it’s there, meshed with confusion and shame.
Mom knocks on the door before she pokes her head in. “Livvie?” When I don’t reply, she steps in and holds out her phone. “It’s Dr. Levy. Do you think you’re up for a conversation yet?”
Only my parents and those two cops know what I thought I saw that night. The officers agreed to keep it a secret, and Mom said I can’t tell anyone what happened. It would be disrespectful to Miles’s family, and to his memory. She’s right. The only person I can talk to is Dr. Levy, but my body is still numb.
With pursed lips, Mom hands me the phone and slips out of the room. Dr. Levy’s face is on the screen with her office in the background. It’s like looking into a world I know so well, but don’t recognize anymore.
“Hi, Olivia,” Dr. Levy says with a warm smile.
“Hi.”
“Are you ready to talk now?”
I’ll probably never be ready, but I nod.
My voice comes out weak, like rust scraping against metal, but I tell Dr. Levy everything. About the dreams of Miles. The animal killer. The lurker outside of Keely’s house. Even West. I allow myself to be an open faucet, and by the time I’m done, Dr. Levy’s eyes are full of a sadness I’ve never seen on her.
“I’m sorry you’ve had to go through all this, Olivia,” she says. “You weren’t ready to go back. I’m sorry.”
“It isn’t your fault. I wanted to be here, I really did. But Miles—” I lower my head in shame. “I don’t understand why I saw what I did.”
“We’ll have to talk more once you return to New York, but it sounds as though you had a hyperrealistic night terror, Olivia. A combination of that and sleepwalking must have been how you ended up in the lake. And because Miles was with you the night you fell off the cliff, it’s possible you subconsciously associated him with the event. Maybe that’s why you started to view him as evil when you came back to Caldwell Beach.”
So this thing with Miles—it was like the deer outside of my window at the cottage: not real.
I say, “But do you think Miles could really have been the guy outside Keely’s house? Could he have been the animal killer? Or was he trying to warn me who it was before he died?”
“That’s something I can’t answer. You’ll have to ask the police to keep you updated on the case. You don’t have to tell them you suspected Miles, it won’t do any good now. And if Miles was the one killing animals, the town will know if it stops happening. As for what he wanted to tell you before he died . . . unfortunately, only Miles knows that.”
Images of Miles flicker through my mind. It’s like I was blinded, clouded by his bad behavior until that was all I could see. Throughout the summer, every time I’ve thought of Miles, I thought of the time he tried to kiss me, and all the terrifying dreams I had of him, and how petty I thought he was.
But I never stopped once to empathize with him. To imagine what he was going through, watching me choose West over him.
“I’m a horrible person.”
“Please don’t say that, Olivia. You have a condition—you can’t hate yourself for it.”
“It’s about more than my condition. I knew Miles was hurt but I completely ignored his feelings. Now he’s dead, and the last conversation I had with him was in my head. It isn’t fair to him. I had problems with him this summer, but I didn’t want him to die.”
Dr. Levy is quiet. “It’s a horrible tragedy, but I need you to understand that it wasn’t your fault.”
She’s only doing her job and trying to help me, but I don’t want to talk anymore. “Thanks for calling me,” I say. “I feel a little better.”
“Call me if you need anything else. I’ve been in contact with your psychiatrist here in New York and we’ve talked to the doctors there. We all agree that maybe the medication you’re on now isn’t the right one for you. They’re going to prescribe you with something to help you sleep until you get home. They’ll also let you know how to start weaning off your current drugs. I’ll see you when you get to the city.”
“Thanks, Dr. Levy. Bye.”
When Mom reappears, I update her on what Dr. Levy said, and even she is at a loss for words.
“Mom, how could I imagine something so real? I know Miles didn’t do all that to me, but it feels like he did. And now I feel so guilty because he’s dead, but I still—” I choke on a sob. “I remember him as a monster.”
Mom holds my hands. “I don’t know, sweetie. I wish I had more answers for you, but we’ll work it all out once we get home, and everything’s going to be okay, I promise.”
“Okay.” I don’t believe it, but say it because it’s what she needs to hear.
“Keely’s here to see you. Do you want me to send her away?”
“No. I think I’m ready to face her.”
Mom leaves, and moments later, Keely’s arms are wrapped around my neck, her familiar smell surrounding me. “Liv, oh my God, you’re okay!”
I want to say I’m glad she’s not hurt, but the words aren’t there, so I just hug her tightly. Keely pulls up a chair and sits. Bandages cover the cuts on her skin, and the pain of the crash is evident in her eyes.
“I’m so sorry, Liv, this is all my fault. I never should’ve gotten in that stupid van.”
“You didn’t make me do anything. None of this is your fault.”
“And oh my God, Miles . . . I can’t even believe he’s dead. Like, I can’t even process it.”
“I know. I don’t know what to think.”
“What happened to you before the crash, Liv? You were freaking out.”
“Can you just tell me one thing first? Did I cause the crash?”
“No! Last thing I remember, Dean was all pissed off at Miles, and then . . .” She shivers. “No, the crash wasn’t your fault, Liv. No one thinks it was. It was Dean’s fault for being reckless. He must’ve gotten distracted by whatever you and Miles were fighting about.”
There’s no way for sure to know whether I caused the crash or not, but I appreciate Keely not blaming me. Even if I still blame myself.
“What was that, anyway?” Keely asks. “Did you really think he was the animal killer?”
“I don’t know. I was having a panic attack, Keel. They happen sometimes. It’s because of my PTSD.”
“Right, totally should’ve figured that.” Keely plays with the bracelet on her wrist, our friendship bracelet. “But why did you accuse Miles of all those things?”
I swallow, unable to find the words.
“I know he upset you when he tried to kiss you, but I have to be honest, I could never picture him hurting anything. I mean, it’s Miles . . .”
“I can’t really explain it, Keel. I’m sorry.”
“Guess it’s over now, anyway. And I’m here for you no matter what. You’re still my best friend. I know I was a crappy friend this summer, but I was just . . . I wanted Shawn to like me and for everyone to think I was cool. And now Miles is dead and everything is so screwed up.”
“I know, but it’s not your fault either. And I’m sorry too. I was the crappy friend.”
“No, you weren’t. West is somewhere in the hospital. He wants to see you. Should I go find him?”
“No, I should go to him.”
West may not have gotten along with Miles, but I know him. He’ll be destroyed over this. Talking to Keely has given me the strength to see him.
“Okay.” Keely smiles. “Let’s go together.”
I move through the brightly lit halls, a walking corpse. Since we’re under eighteen, we were put in the children’s ward. The walls are painted with Care Bears and cartoon bees, murals of grassy hills and monarch butterflies. I’ve been fed nothing but chocolate parfaits and apple slices, because I can’t stomach anything else.
As we’re turning the corner, Dean’s voice makes my hair stand on end. Even though he’s newly eighteen, they must have just put him in with us. Keely and I turn to see him exiting a room in the jacket and jeans he wore during the crash, and he tugs at the hospital band around his wrist until it tears. He tosses it on the ground and stops when he sees us and frowns, like he wasn’t expecting us to even be alive.
I’ll always blame myself for what happened to Miles, but this is on Dean too.
“Olivia, Keely,” Dean drones out. “Glad to see you two alive and well.”
“How are they just letting you go?” I say.
“I wasn’t drunk.”
“But you crashed the van!”
“Don’t know what to tell you. They found no booze in my blood, so I’m free to go.” He tries to breeze past us, but I grab his arm. Dean slowly turns back. “What?”
“Miles is dead, Dean.”
I don’t know what I want from him. Maybe some hint of remorse, but he just scoffs once. “Don’t act like you cared about Miles just because he’s dead, Olivia.”
His words are scathing and cruel, but they hurt the most because they’re true. Dean adjusts his jacket before he disappears down the hall.
The interaction leaves a bad taste in my mouth, but we continue down the hall. Keely directs me toward Faye’s room, where the door is open a crack.
“Faye, just listen to me, please,” West says from the other side.
“No!” Faye shouts. “Get away from me, Weston. You’re only making things worse.”
“I want to change. Just give me a chance, please. I’m sorry I was such an ass. I’m sorry I didn’t try to help you, or—”
“Don’t you get it? I don’t care what you have to say! You’ve been horrible to us our whole lives, and now suddenly you want to fix it because Miles is dead?”
“I know. I was selfish and shitty to both of you. But I’m so sorry. I thought we had more time to fix things. I thought—”
“It’s too late. Go.” Her voice is heartbroken. “Please, West. Go.”
West comes out of the room, and he doesn’t even see me before he disappears through the doors to outside. Keely and I stand there, stunned.
“Should I chase him?” I ask.
“I don’t know, Liv . . .”
West should have a minute alone. I step in front of Faye’s door while Keely stays behind. When Faye sees me, she stares blankly at the wall. Slowly, I enter the room. Her skin is paper white, and blood-soaked gauze is wrapped around her head and arms. The bags under her eyes are sunken so deep, they’re almost purple. The look on her face is hollow.
“Oh great,” she says. “Another one.”
It doesn’t carry the same usual annoyance; the tone of her voice is heavy, like she’s putting all her energy into keeping it together. Maybe acting like her usual self is her way of coping. I don’t know. I can’t even imagine what Faye is going through right now, but it’s much bigger than what I am. Miles was her other half.
“Hey.” I hold my hands behind my back. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
Faye blinks at me. “You know, it’s funny. I think you and Weston are the only two people in the world that I hate equally. I look at you both and I just can’t decide who’s worse. I’ve barely been up for five hours and today has already been the shittiest day of my life. Now I’m being told that Miles’s funeral is in two days. Not really sure what to think about that.”
The funeral. It didn’t even cross my mind.
“I see that look on your face,” Faye utters. “After the way you hurt him, I don’t want you anywhere near his funeral. But—” She looks away, tears streaming down her cheeks. “But as much as I’ve always hated it, Miles did love you. A lot more than you realized.”
My eyes water. “I’m sorry, Faye. I didn’t want any of this to happen.”
She’s quiet for a moment. “I know I have a messed-up way of expressing things sometimes, but I tried to get you to at least notice Miles this summer. I at least wanted you to talk to him. But instead you shunned him. I get he like, tried to kiss you, and did petty stuff, but what changed so much, Liv? When we were kids, nothing could keep you away from him. He tried to apologize to you for the way he acted.”
I don’t know how to explain to her that my negative feelings toward Miles were about so much more than the petty things he did. They were about more than the day he kissed me too. It’s all too confusing; multiple versions of him exist in my head, and I have no idea which ones are real and which ones are a result of my own paranoia and nightmares.
“We just—he wasn’t who I remembered him being,” I say. “And I wasn’t who he remembered me being. I think we both had expectations for each other that we couldn’t live up to. And then—”
“And then you chose West.”
“Yes. I chose West.”
Faye looks at the wall. “I can’t blame you for everything. I mean, Dean was my boyfriend.” Her bottom lip trembles, and she cries harder. “Now my other half is dead because of my shitty choices. Jesus Christ. Have you seen Dean?”
“Did no one tell you? They let him go . . .”
“What? Is he here?”
“I don’t know. We saw him take off.”
“He should be arrested. I—I don’t want him anywhere near me. He killed my brother, Olivia.”
“Okay, we can tell a nurse not to let him in.”
She lets out a breath. “Yes, I want that.”
I glance down at her arms, covered in bandages. What’s beneath is more than the evidence of the crash, but I already poked my nose too deep into her business once before. Faye catches me looking, though.
“You were right,” she says, almost too low for me to hear.
I straighten up. “What?”
“You were right, Olivia. About Dean.”
The air between us grows colder.
“He burned me,” she whispers. “The first time, I thought it was just like—a joke. He told me it was normal to give people ‘smileys,’ and I thought it was okay because Shawn had some, too, but they were older than mine. But then he just never stopped.”
“But Miles said you did them yourself.”
“That’s what I told him. I didn’t want him to worry, and I didn’t want to break up with Dean.”
“Why? Dean was hurting you—why did you stay with him?”
“I don’t know. Somehow, despite everything, I thought we were in love. He never hurt me any other way—it was just the burns. And they always came out of nowhere, even when he was in a good mood. I was so scared of upsetting him, but I can’t forgive him for this. Ever since I found out Miles is dead, it’s like I’ve woken up from some sort of twisted dream. I never want to see Dean Bowman again.”
“Miles knew Dean was hurting you?”
Miles’s voice rings in my ears, the words he told me at the barbeque: “Someone I care about could be in serious danger.”
“Yeah,” Faye says. “He tried to get me to break up with him. He tried to protect me by always being there, but . . .”
My memories before the crash are fragmented, but I do remember Miles saying he knew someone had lied. But I don’t know who he was talking about.
I shake my head. I’m too sedated to digest any of this right now.
“Don’t mistake what I’m saying,” Faye says. “I still hate you for how you made my brother feel, but you noticed something was up with Dean and me, and you tried to help, so thanks.”
“Of course. I was worried about you.”
She looks away. “You can go now. Please.”
“I’ll ask Keely to get a nurse to make sure Dean can’t get in, okay?”
“Thanks.”
Even though Faye and I have never liked each other, I’ve known her for as long as I’ve known Miles and West. She was always mean to me. Attention seeking. Yet I thought she was beautiful, and I envied her more than I cared to admit. And I think I now know, the real reason I crawled along the edge of that cliff five years ago. It wasn’t because I wanted everyone to think I was cool or daring or badass. It was because I cared about Faye Hendricks’s opinion. I never thought seeing her in this much pain would make me realize, for the first time in my life, that I care about her too.
I leave Faye’s room feeling hollow. I have all the reasons in the world to feel guilty about loving West, but all I want is to make sure he’s okay.
When I get outside, I find myself in the afterglow of sunset, on a concrete path lined with blue and pink hydrangeas. The late-August air is warm, but a cool breeze breathes through my cotton hospital gown. A distant memory unearths itself, blooms like a flower I had long forgotten about. Miles and I were seven, and he had fallen and scraped his knee, so I’d put leaves on his cut to work as a bandage because I didn’t know any better. He thanked me anyway, even though he knew they weren’t helping.
West is sitting on the ledge of one of the gardens and hides his face in his hands. It shatters me; I never thought I would see him cry.
“West?”
He wipes his tears with his wrists. “Olive. Fuck, sorry.” I sit next to him, no words on my tongue. After several moments of sniffling, West says, “I’m sorry I didn’t visit you sooner. I was going to after I talked to Faye.”
“Don’t apologize, it’s okay. I talked to her too.”
“She has every right to hate my guts. The last time I ever saw Miles, I hurt him.”
“I’m so sorry, West.”
Now we’re both crying. He smooths his hands over his face and takes a deep breath. “I haven’t been able to sleep at all. I can’t stop thinking about him. All I can think about is how horribly I treated him, and then I feel even more fuckin’ guilty because it isn’t fair to suddenly feel bad now that he’s dead. But I do. I just thought we had more time to change things.”
“I’m sorry, West.” It’s so robotic, but I don’t know what to say. We’re on the same page, though. After all the things I thought about Miles this summer, it isn’t fair to suddenly care about him now that he’s gone.
But now everything is so final. When Miles was alive, there was drama, but somewhere in my mind, that drama had an end. Not like this. Not with death.
“When we were kids,” West says, “my dad used to yell at me when I acted up, and it made me feel powerless. I hated it. More than that, I hated the fact that Miles didn’t get any of it. I didn’t understand, you know? Why’d my dad hate me so much, but loved Miles and Faye? But I get it now. It’s because he didn’t give a shit about my mom, and he loves Beatrice. My dad never even wanted to have me, was just pushed into the role when my real mom died. And I guess the only way I could ever feel like I had any power in that house was to beat on Miles. Even just the other day, when I hit him—God, I never changed.”
His words give me chills. “You took it out on him because it made you feel powerful?”
“Yeah. But once we got a little older, Miles started to realize he could outsmart me. He could manipulate my dad to get me into trouble. If I beat on Miles or pissed him off, it wouldn’t be long before my dad would beat on me. But—can I blame him? He wanted me to pay for hurting him, and fuck.” He crams his palms into his eyes and cries. “Fuck, Olivia, my little brother hated me, and he had every right to. For a while, I wanted to make things better with Miles, but my relationship with him was so fucked up, and he always had his guard up around me, so I never got anywhere with him. And I guess I gave up. So when you came back to town and we hit it off, I didn’t care if he liked you. I went for you anyway, Olive. I can only imagine how much he hated me for that.”
This conversation was bound to happen, but it still makes me nauseated with guilt. “Same here, but—” My voice breaks. “But I love you, West. And I never led Miles on. I didn’t feel like we owed him anything.”
He puts his hand on the back of my neck and gently squeezes. “We didn’t. And I love you too.” He pulls away. “But I’m going to need some time.”
“I know. Me too.”
“I’m going to take some anger management classes or something. Therapy. I think I need it.”
“That could be good for you, West.”
“Yeah.” West collects himself and takes a deep breath. “What happened to you in the woods, anyway?”
I stiffen. In my head, Miles’s phantom voice shouts my name.
“Olive?” West nudges me, and I snap out of it. “Your parents told me you ran off, and”—he points to my arms—“you’re all scratched up.”
“Yeah, I . . . I lost my phone, then I wanted to get help and . . .”
“Did something happen?”
Lying isn’t an option, but I can’t tell him the whole truth either. “Yeah. It was like that night again, when I went to the hospital after seeing the dead deer. I saw things again, but I can’t tell you what, okay?”
“Okay, I get it. But are you good now?”
“For now. I need to get home to the city and see my psychologist, but not until the funeral.” I pause. “Is it maybe okay if I come with you? Not as a couple, just—”
“Of course. You don’t have to ask.”
With a nod, I weakly smile. I don’t know what we are now, but I’ll need him with me. This thing that lives inside me wears Miles’s skin like a cloak—it looks like him, talks like him, sounds like him. But it isn’t him. It’s me. And I’m terrified to go to his funeral and stand around the people who loved him and know that, even with his flaws, I didn’t deserve to be friends with Miles Hendricks. He wasn’t perfect, but he was far from evil. Maybe someday I can tell West exactly what I saw, but it’s my secret. I’ll spend a lot of time living with it.
I want to keep listening to West’s voice, even if we just talk about nothing, but everything is different now. I check the time. “I have to get back to my room soon,” I say.
We stand, looking at anything but each other. I try to keep it together, but when West pulls me to his chest, my knees go weak. I collapse in his arms and clutch at his black T-shirt, breathing in his achingly familiar smell. West kisses me on the side of the head.
“I’ll see you soon, Olive.”
And then he’s gone.