IN THE DARKNESS, there is no past, no future; there is no room for them. There is agony, and there is an endless thundering, a tearing and tumbling. There is you, and there is the one who is with you: your arms around each other, your fingers tangled in her hair, locked together in the churn of the deep. And there is the one consuming, sustaining thought: Together—we are together—we are one.
Imagine, then, finding the darkness suddenly empty. The bulwark against the horror vanished, only the greedy deep and no solace within it. The exultation of eternity with your beloved turned into a promise of unceasing hell.
It would drive anyone to madness and rage. I can hardly be blamed.
I sit cross-legged on the floor. Water drips steadily from my fingertips and the ends of my sodden hair, and I swallow constantly as it pools in the back of my mouth. The others sit on the couch or stand or pace in tight circles.
The hours crawl by. For them, it’s excruciating. For me, it’s nothing. I have waited years. These last moments are nothing but sand cupped in my palm, spilling slowly between my fingers. Quickly spent.
Then the sun makes its slow way below the horizon. Even in the glow of electric light, I can feel the night’s approach. The dead aren’t meant for daylight. I’m more awake in darkness. Not more alive—it’s a fallacy to suppose I could become less dead. But I am different in the dark. More powerful.
I stand. The air is cold against my skin—or rather, my skin makes the air cold. Eden’s heartbeat is sluggish. When I catch a glimpse of my reflection, there is a burst of blood in the white of my eye.
“You and you—you’ll get Delphine. Bring her to me by the Narrow,” I say, pointing to Veronica and Ruth.
“No way. I’m staying with Eden,” Veronica says, arms crossed.
“Del knows you best,” I remind her. “She’ll trust you enough to follow. Don’t tell her about me or what’s happened. Just get her to come to the river.” I want to explain things myself, without Veronica poisoning her against me.
Veronica’s stubborn resistance crumples like tinfoil. “Fine. What about Zoya?”
“She’ll come with me,” I say.
They’re still expecting some grand betrayal. I don’t have the time or the inclination to convince them that I’m being perfectly honest when I tell them what it is I want. A “hostage” will make things go more smoothly for everyone.
We all leave together. Veronica and Ruth split off. Zoya, folded in on herself with her elbows tucked tight against her ribs, looks to me.
“You know the way,” I tell her.
She starts out. Bracelets click softly against each other at her wrists.
She’s quiet, but her stories will rip your heart out and make you thank her for it, I think. Eden thinks. A fierce scorch of pride warms my chest. I narrow my eyes at Zoya’s back. Wait your turn, I think to Eden. If she’s aware enough to understand, I can’t tell.
Zoya keeps sneaking glances at me, her face a perfect picture of sorrow.
“Is there something you want to say to me?” I ask as the silver ribbon of the Narrow edges into view. She stops, looking more at the stars than at me.
“I’ve been wondering,” she says softly, “if there were someone I loved as much as you say you love Grace, would I want to be with her forever, even if it meant she suffered? I think I would want them spared, even if I had to suffer because of it.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’ve never been in love.”
“Why do people always think you have to be in love for love to count?” she asks, but she isn’t really asking me. “I love Eden. We all do. And if you hurt her, we will find a way to make you suffer more than you can imagine.”
“It’s cute that you think that’s possible,” I tell her, and resume my trek down toward the water.
The moonlight makes the surface pale. Sly and unassuming, it slithers between the rocks. I know its falseness, its vast and hungry heart. I walk to the edge. I can feel them down below—the rest of the drowned. The Narrow lets nothing go. It’s kept us all, losing ourselves piece by piece until there’s nothing left but the raw scream of our last panicked moments. We have nothing to hold on to but each other, and we claw and bite and tear, an endless threshing below the water. But Grace and I, we had each other. And with her in my arms, the others couldn’t claim me, and neither could the Narrow.
It will be that way again. We’ll drift within the maelstrom, and we’ll persist.
Once Grace is here.