Reeve doesn’t see it coming, even though I’m there, kneeling on one of the diving platforms. Even though I got the idea from his very own dream.
He takes off his towel. After a few arm circles and knee jumps to get warm, he hops into the water at the shallow end. He pulls a pair of swim goggles down over his eyes, sucks in a deep breath, and begins swimming a long straight lap, right toward me. I lean over the water and wait for him to come up and take a breath. His last. When he does, I’ll be the final face he sees. And then we’ll both be free.
To become visible a ghost must vibrate at the specific life frequency of the intended witness.
I close my eyes and use everything, every last drop of power, to set myself in sync with Reeve. A low buzz turns into the crystal-clear beat of his heart pumping him through the water in my empty shell. The in-and-out and in-and-out of his breath fills my atrophied lungs as he rotates his head from the surface to underwater. The bursts of blood coursing through his veins feel like thousands of electrical pulses waking up my numb extremities.
Reeve swims closer and closer. A few feet out from the wall, he sucks in a big last breath and takes the final stretch underwater. He starts rising back up to the surface, and I reveal myself like I read in Aunt Bette’s book. We lock eyes before he hits the air. His face contorts.
Good-bye, Reeve.
I leap into the water and wrap my arms and legs around his body. Reeve flails and thrashes, but I squeeze him like a vise and sink him down, down, down to the dark bottom of the pool.
He’s fighting me so hard, it doesn’t take long for him to run out of gas. His hum quiets, quiets, quiets.
It’s almost over. I’m so glad it’s almost over.
And then, a shock of white before things come in flashes.
His mother’s face.
Brothers throwing him up to the sky.
A hug from an old woman.
A dog snarling and snapping at his hand.
Running and sliding on wet cement.
His dad, drunk and swinging his fists.
This is Reeve’s life, flashing before his eyes. And because we’re in sync, I can see it along with him. Every bit of this mystery boy is unfolding for me like a movie of a billion different frames.
Baseball home run.
Hiding under a bed.
Walking into the Montessori lunchroom.
A flash of me, soaking wet on the ferry, bawling my eyes out.
Reeve running home, sobbing.
At the ferry the next day, looking for me.
Our teacher, breaking the news.
Reeve vomiting in the boys’ bathroom.
Reeve inconsolable, my pocketknife in his hands.
Opening the blade, staring at it.
It’s starting to hurt now. Feeling every emotion Reeve’s ever felt, all at once.
At the Jar Island lighthouse. Climbing his way up to the peak.
Screaming he’s sorry into the wind.
Staring over the edge.
Never in my wildest dreams did I think my death affected Reeve that way. Enough to make him do something so drastic, as drastic as I did. He did care. His skin burns in my grip, crazy hot. I fight the urge to let him go.
A park ranger grabbing him, pulling him down.
The show slows along with Reeve’s heartbeat. He’s dying in my arms. Almost done, I tell myself, because it’s stinging me like fire to hold on. Keep going. It’s almost over. The last image, brighter than bright:
Lillia Cho.
I can’t bear it. I can’t bear it for another second. I drop him.
* * *
When I open my eyes, I’m back at my house. Lying on the floor. My cheeks are wet. I’m crying.
I couldn’t do it. After all this time, after all he’s done to me, I couldn’t do it. Through his eyes I saw everything. I felt everything. Pain. Joy. Despair. Regret. Everything. All the things I’ve forgotten how to feel.
Love.
I know now that I’ll never be able to kill Reeve. That’s why I haven’t done it already, when I’ve had so many chances. I’ve been holding back. I’m never going to be able to kill him.
But he still has to pay for what he did. Otherwise I’ll never be free. But if not me . . .
And then I remember.
Reeve was the one who tormented me into doing the unthinkable. Taking my own life. He’s got to be the one to do it. There’s no other way.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
LILLIA
I PUSH THROUGH THE POOL door, and the first thing I notice is how quiet it is. How eerily quiet. Then I let out a scream that bounces off every wall. Reeve’s body is floating in the center of the pool, facedown.
Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.
“Help! Somebody help!” I scream. Then I jump into the pool, thrash over to him, and drag him to the side.
As soon as the air hits his face, Reeve takes a guttural, bubbling breath. His skin is white. I try to hoist him out of the water, but he’s too heavy, plus I am crying my eyes out. I’m just holding on to the edge of the pool, trying to keep us both afloat.
He takes another breath, and then another, and the color in his face slowly returns. He looks at me and starts coughing and wheezing and trying to get air into his lungs. He launches into a coughing fit. I push myself out of the water and drag him up with all my might. He helps hoist himself up, but he barely has any strength. He sits bent over, his legs dangling in the water, trying to get a good breath.
I scramble to my feet and run over to the bleachers, grab his towel, and drape it over his shoulders. He’s shaking; he won’t stop shaking. “I’m fine, I’m fine. I just—need a minute—to catch—my breath.”
I let out a choked sob and sink down beside him on the ground. I thought he was dead. “Oh my God,” I say, and then I’m crying so hard, I can’t see.
“Cho, don’t cry,” he begs. “I’m okay. I’m fine.”
Through my tears I ask him, “Wh-what happened?”
Dazedly he says, “I don’t know. I—I must have passed out in the water.”
I wrap his towel tighter around his shoulders. Last night’s dream comes into focus. I remember Reeve in the water. Mary.
I dreamed that this would happen.
My eyes dart around the room. I can’t shake this feeling of unease. I rise to my feet; my legs feel weak and unsteady. “Can you stand up?”
“You’re soaking wet,” he says, touching my heavy sweatshirt hem.
I help him to his feet. I collect my shoes, his gym bag, my towel. We go out to the parking lot and climb into his truck, and Reeve looks at me and says, “Why don’t you get changed first? You’re freezing. Do you have any dry clothes?” He starts rummaging around in the back for my towel.