Wallace’s knees felt weak, loose, and he grabbed onto the railing to hold himself up as he heard yelling come from the bottom floor below him. He closed his eyes when Hugo began to shout his name frantically. “Here,” he whispered. “I’m still here.”
CHAPTER
18
Hugo said, “Alan. Wallace, where’s Alan?”
Wallace looked at the door in the ceiling. “He’s crossed.”
Hugo was bewildered. “What? On his own? How?”
Wallace shook his head. “I don’t know. But he’s gone. He found his way through, and he’s gone.”
Hugo stared at him. “I don’t … are you all right?”
Wallace smiled, but the weight of it was heavy. “Of course.”
* * *
Back downstairs, Harvey said, “I do believe I lost myself for a little while. Excuse me, won’t you? I need to go home. I’ve got a terrible headache.” He was pale as he walked toward the door. “Keep this place up to code, Hugo. You won’t like what’ll happen if you don’t.”
He walked through the door, closing it quietly behind him.
“What the hell?” Mei muttered. “What happened?”
“I don’t know,” Nelson said, hands rubbing his forehead. “I feel like I’ve just woken up. Isn’t that strange?”
Hugo didn’t say a word. His gaze never left Wallace.
And Wallace looked away.
* * *
Seven days.
What will you do with the time you have left?
Wallace pondered this as the sun rose on the first day.
He didn’t know.
He’d never felt more lost in his life.
* * *
Grief, Wallace knew, had the power to consume, to eat away until there was nothing left but hollowed-out bones. Oh, the shape of the person remained as it was, even if the cheeks turned sallow, and dark circles formed under the eyes. Hollowed out and left raw, they were still recognizably human. It came in stages, some smaller than others, but undeniable.
These were the stages of Wallace Price:
On the first of his remaining days, he was in denial.
The shop opened as it always did, bright and early. The scones and muffins were placed in the display case, the scent of them warm and thick. Tea was brewed and steeped, poured into cups and sipped slowly. People laughed. People smiled. They hugged one another as if they hadn’t seen each other in years, patting backs and gripping shoulders.
He watched them all through the portholes in the kitchen, burdened with the knowledge that they could leave this place whenever they wished. The bitterness he felt was surprising, tugging at the back of his mind. He kept it in place, not allowing it to roar forward no matter how much he wanted it to.
“It’s not real,” he muttered to himself. “None of it is real.”
“What was that?”
He glanced over his shoulder. Mei stood next to the sink, a look of concern on her face. He shook his head. “Nothing.”
She didn’t believe him. “What’s wrong?”
He laughed wildly. “Nothing at all. I’m dead. What could possibly be wrong?”
She hesitated. “Did something happen? With Alan, or…？”
“I told you already. He went through the door. I don’t know how. I don’t know why. I don’t even know how he got there. But he’s gone.”
“So you said. I just…” She shook her head. “You know you can talk to us, right? Whatever you need.”
He left her in the kitchen, heading out the back door.
He walked amongst the tea plants, fingers trailing along the leaves.
* * *
The first night was anger.
Oh, but was he angry.
He snapped at Nelson. At Apollo. They were hovering. Nelson held up his hands as Apollo put his tail between his legs. “What’s gotten into you?” Nelson asked.
“None of your business,” Wallace snarled. “Leave me alone for one damn second.”
Nelson was hurt, shoulders stiff as he pulled Apollo away. “You should see a doctor.”
Wallace blinked. “What? Why?”
“To get that stick up your ass removed.”
Before he could retort, Hugo was in front of him, brow furrowed. “Outside.”
Wallace glared at him. “I don’t want to go outside.”
“Now.” He turned and headed down the hallway, not looking back to see if Wallace would follow.
He thought about staying right where he was.
In the end, he didn’t.
Hugo stood on the deck, face turned toward the sky.
“What do you want?” Wallace grumbled, staying near the door.
“Scream,” Hugo said. “I want you to scream.”
That startled Wallace. “What?”
Hugo didn’t look at him. “Yell. Scream. Rage. As loud as you can. Get it all out. It’ll help. Trust me. The longer it sits in you, the more you’re poisoned. It’s best to get it out while you can.”
“I’m not going to scream—”
Hugo sucked in a deep breath and yelled. It was deep, the sound of it rolling through the forest around them. It was as if all the trees were screaming. His voice cracked near the end, and when his voice died, his chest heaved. He wiped spittle from his lips with the back of his hand. “Your turn.”
“That was stupid.”
“Do you trust me?”
Wallace sagged. “You know I do.”
“Then do it. I don’t know what’s happened to cause this regression, but I don’t like it.”
“And you think screaming into nothing will make me feel better.”
Hugo shrugged. “What could it hurt?”
Wallace sighed before joining Hugo at the railing. He felt Hugo’s gaze on him as he looked up toward the stars. He’d never felt smaller than he did at that moment. It hurt more than he cared to admit.
“Do it,” Hugo said quietly. “Let me hear you.”
He wondered when the threshold had been crossed that he couldn’t refuse Hugo anything.
So he screamed as loud as he could.
He put everything into it he had. His parents, telling him he was an embarrassment. His mother, taking her last breaths, his father next to him, though he felt like a stranger. When he died two years later, Wallace didn’t shed a tear. He told himself he’d cried over them long enough.
And Naomi. He’d loved her. He really had. It hadn’t been enough, and she didn’t deserve what he’d turned into. He thought about the last good days they had, when he could almost convince himself that they’d make it work. It’d been foolish to think that way. The death knell had already sounded, they’d just ignored it for as long as they’d been able to in hopes that it wasn’t the end. They went to the coast, just the two of them, a couple of days away from everything. They held hands on the drive there, and it was almost like it’d used to be. They laughed. They sang along with the radio. He had rented a convertible, and the wind whipped through their hair, the sun shining down. They didn’t talk about work or children or money or past arguments. Deep down, he had known this was it, the last chance.
It hadn’t been enough.
They had made it a single day before they were fighting again. Wounds he long thought scarred over reopened and bled again.