I looked around. From where I sat, I could see mountains reaching into the sea, and islands floating in the glistening bays. Whitesailed ships caught the last hint of daylight, and a cool breeze blew.
| ME: | I think so. |
| DAD: | Then stay right there. Elias Phinn. Minneapolis. I’ll take care of notifications. Clara, you can’t see him again. You know that, right? |
| DAD: | Right? |
| ME: | I’ll stay right here. |
“Right. Stay right here,” I repeated and shut my laptop. “You’re about to have Elias arrested. On this trip, half of me used him. Half of him used me. We’re not so different. Would you throw your own daughter in the slammer? If you knew I saw you out the window and let you take the blame, would you arrest me?”
I took a deep breath. The lookout included a tall, circular monument, constructed of fitted stone. Four thin steps led up to the tower, and open arched doorways allowed you to walk right through it. It would provide shelter for me tonight.
I opened my bag and threw on two more sweaters. I inflated the camping cot, and lay down in the monument.
“Well then, God, here I am. It would be nice for you to make a more certain appearance, especially tonight. I have some items I need to discuss.”
The wind rustled the leaves.
“Fair enough. I shall consider that your entrance. I don’t know but that I should be furious and terrified of Elias, but I’m not, not right now.” I stood and paced the clearing. “Dad says I can’t see him, and that is likely best, it’s just . . . he alone explains my last weeks. I’m in the middle, not a crossroads-type middle, but a no roads-type middle, and the truth, the truth is I’m not frightened because I no longer know Elias. I’m frightened because I no longer know me. That’s it, I suppose.” I sighed. “That probably was not a very good prayer. Quite rambling, little focus. Oh, and I am presently taking orders from my father in London. It seems quite ridiculous, given my past months, but yet quite warming at the same time.” I thought. “All right, now I think I’m really done.”
I remained with God on Mt. Battie for the remainder of the night, as well as the next day. Several hikers invaded my mountain, but none stayed long, and as night began to fall, not only was I famished, I also realised I couldn’t stay there forever.
Elias’s last words replayed in my mind. They had not been the words of a madman, or a killer. They had not carried the cadence of the Other One.
I plopped down beside my bag and removed Dad’s journal. Anything to rid my mind of Elias. I flipped to the last entry.
Entry 300
It’s been awhile since I’ve written in this old thing. I guess I thought my adventures were over. I thought that when I started a family, the excitement of the hunt would fade. But I’m looking at him, and I think my true search is just beginning. He is so different than Clara, a girl so much like me. He’s not like Teeter either. He’s not loud or demanding. He is my Little T, human and perfect. Does he see me? Does he know me like the others? Maybe not. Maybe he never will, if the doctors’ drivel means anything. Maybe he’ll struggle, struggle to understand, to connect, to learn. But I see him in my arms, his eyes looking everywhere but to me, and I know there is another part. A hidden part only I know, buried beneath. What the doctors don’t understand is none of T’s baseline measurements matter. Who doesn’t get emotionally stuck? Who doesn’t have a struggling half and a loving half? As for T, I’m not going anywhere. I’ll always love both of him, and he’ll always love both of me.
I slammed shut the journal.
My Elias. The last words had been his. I had promised him I would not leave, but in my horror, I did. The only way to make it right was to break another promise.
“Sorry, Dad, I need to find him.” I jumped to my feet. “You can blame yourself for this one.”
What would I do when I did? It didn’t matter. It was time to stop running.
I bid God farewell and began a slow descent, arriving back on Laite Beach around noon.
It took some looking, given the wildness of my departure, but soon I located his last known location: the carriage house, its doors standing open, and the interior empty. I ran to the residence and pounded. Slowly, the door opened.
“Salt?”
He stepped out slowly. “You okay, lass? I did look for you. You went searching and he came just after. I let him park in the garage —”
“Yes, I know. Where is Elias now?”
“I’ll answer that, but what’s going on, Clara? Why were the authorities parked in Tenant’s Harbour?”
Dad.
“How would I know?”
“Ayup.” Salt stepped out onto the porch. “So I’ll start over. Elias became more and more frantic here, and I hauled him and that plane to Rockland. Boy cares deeply about you, wouldn’t stop babbling about his Clara. But I reckon you know all that. Bottom line was he needed a space to work, and I thought Tenant’s boathouse was perfect. Plenty a room in there, and you knew the place. Wasn’t sure where you were and figured you might find your way back there. But as I said, the harbour was crammed with police, and Atticus was being questioned. I quietly took Elias to a less stressful spot to work.”
“Work on what?”
“That plane. Seems like a big hobby, but he was so tense. Talking about it calmed him. Didn’t see no harm in it, least until you showed up.”
My heart slowed, as if it was beating in molasses, and I willed my breaths. “Is there an airport near there?”
“Knox County Regional. Where I left the lad. I’ll go pick him up this evening.”
“I don’t think he’ll be there this evening.” I grabbed his arm and tugged. “We need to go now.”
Salt rolled his eyes. “Do I look like the ferry service?”
“No, no you don’t.”
“Come on, lass.”
Minutes later, we entered the airport and the private hangar area.
“He’s in this one here.” Salt tugged on a giant door. “Got a friend who works in aviation, and it seemed a good alternative —”
It was, of course, empty.
Atticus stood on the edge of the dock and stared out to sea.
“It’s a round world. You live long enough, you see it, the coming round of things.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Elias wished you were with him.”
I stopped, one foot on the dock, the other on the earth. “Where is he? What is going on?”
Atticus turned. “Mine to show, though I take no pleasure in it. It’s gonna hurt.” He gestured toward the boat, and along with Salt we eased out toward Two Bush. Nobody spoke. Words weren’t needed. The sky was clear and stars shone above us, Orion bright in the eastern sky.
The sea was a window, reflecting the lights but allowing me to glance below. It was empty. There was nothing beneath the surface. No life. No . . . life. When finally we lapped up in the shadows of Two Bush, I knew.
The three of us climbed up the rocky crag and onto the flat that was the island. No tree or bush grew there; it had been razed flat, except for the lighthouse shining in the near distance, pointing safety to all who drew near.
Almost all.
I walked toward the far end of the island, toward a twisted sculpture, glistening in the beacon’s light. It was metal. It was cordoned off with police tape. I paused, and then I ran.
“Elias! Elias!”
And my foot struck it.
The piece of the fuselage, the words written:
Clara
A Light in the Sky
I lifted it and held it up to the moonlight. It was real. It felt real. It had been real.
I spun around and raced back to Atticus. “Bring me to him! Where’d they take him?”
“What do you see?” Atticus dropped his gaze. “Think a boy could survive this?”
“Maybe!” I shoved the man, and marched toward Salt to shove him, but my arms, they didn’t work, and I paced. “Maybe, maybe he could, right?”
“Clara.” Salt opened his mouth and let it fall shut, only to restart. “Okay. Maybe.”
I staggered toward the wreckage, perched precariously near the cliff. “It’s not completely destroyed. It didn’t burn.” I spun around. “Have they found him?”
Atticus slowly removed his handkerchief. “I did. By the lighthouse.”
I wandered toward it, toward the entry, and my hand raised to my mouth.
The door was covered with drawings.
Of Elias and his father holding hands.
Of Elias and his father looking through a telescope.
Of a small Elias and his father locked in embrace.
And in the center of the door, Elias and me. Holding hands, staring at each other.
Oh God.
“The police are thinking he crawled from the crash clear to the lighthouse. I watched a plane fly low right over the dock, go quiet near this island and I just knew. I chugged out and found him right where you stand, collapsed by the door, pushpins and blood everywhere on the ground,” Atticus continued. “There was a drawin’ book filled with more pictures beneath his head. But he stuck some up before he . . . Boy must’ve been bent on trying to hang the important ones.”
I dropped to my knees and lay down. Salt lowered himself beside me and stroked my head. Tears flowed easily, as did time. I don’t know how long I cried.
“He didn’t draw, Salt.” I sniffed and pushed myself up. “My Elias didn’t draw. Only the . . . only the Other One, and he wouldn’t have hung these. He hated the Keeper. He hated . . . his . . . dad. Unless, the two, in the end, unless the two became one.”
He did.
I stared up at Orion, and whispered. “We did it. Elias, you did it. In the end it was just you.”
Atticus cleared his throat.
“I . . . I need the other sketches,” I said. “The ones he didn’t put up. Please. Where’s the book now? Take me to it —”
“Figured they might hold interest.” Atticus reached into his trench coat and removed the sketchbook, gently placing it beside me on the ground.
“I reckon you are goin’ to want some time alone.”
“Thank you,” I mouthed, and grabbed the book and drew it close. “Would you mind coming back for me in the morning? I’ll be here.”
Atticus smirked. “Don’t mind taking your money twice.”
What was left of Elias and I spent the night together.
The book was tattered, but still beautiful, filled with scenes from the entire trip, proof again that a mind at war had truly made peace in the end.
I relived it all, let myself feel it all. The wild ride down the dirt mound in the Elias. The fight at Kira’s university. The antique shop, Kenton in the tunnel, Izzy cleaning her gun.
I winced at the partially clothed Londoner sitting in a tower, giggled at Elias’s mad fire dance, and wondered why I could feel so full sitting before an empty cross.
But I spent hours with the final three pictures:
Elias standing triumphant in front of the finished plane.
A young, horrified girl staring out of a window, and a proud dad staring back up.
And a kiss.
Once again, he had peeked inside my bag, and once again he had catalogued the weightiest items at the end.
I stood and walked toward the darkness of the cliff. I lay on my back and listened to waves crash beneath me. I laughed and cried and stared up at the crescent moon, while Orion’s starlight, and perhaps even the keeper of the lights, watched over me.
“Dear Elias, you’re not getting away from me that easy. I can keep my eye on you just as easily from London.”
And the stars twinkled brighter than they had before.