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December 19, 6:46 p.m. 04 seconds
(Somewhere in Michigan)
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After he cleared the fresh layer of snow on the windshield, Kyle slipped back into the car. He turned up the heat and put his frozen fingers to the vents. Juniper was buckling her seatbelt and talking on her phone. She comforted her special needs twin, her voice breaking from the restrained guilt at being away from him. With a sidelong glance, Kyle observed her and caught his breath as he always did when confronted by her delicate tantalizing beauty so close to him.
He felt the strangest thing. Dread. Something was wrong. Some goddamn thing he said had hurt Juniper. Her pain was in the car. Like high-frequency electric currents in the air. It hurt him too. He scanned his memories of the day. The looks. The words. The meta-messages.
Zilch.
And then a date seared his brain like a notary’s stamp. The day they would say goodbye. And he understood at once what she felt.
Kyle wanted to share everything in his empty heart. Let her know how precious she was. How valued. He wanted to comfort her. Tell her it’d be okay. But he didn’t know how to comfort anyone. Or any other laws-of-attraction horseshit. At that moment, Kyle knew he was connected to Juniper way beyond his comfort zone.
What is she doing to me?
Fists unfolding, he clamped the steering wheel. He adjusted the rearview mirror and his image adjusted too. It mocked him, lips in a sneer.
Who are you?
He twisted the mirror away. Another image replaced his face. Chloe floating in the water, her body limp and eerie as the chains of the Misty Thunder. Chloe’s body came closer, her eyes open and accusing, as always. She looked right through him.
She would never leave him. She was always there.
He had told Juniper regret was useless.
Follow your own advice, asshole.
