I open the tattered book, and flip through the pages until I find what I’m looking for… the last several entries. My blood runs cold as I stare at the words… the insane, crazy gibberish lining the page.
The handwriting is mine.
“I thought I was him,” I murmur. “But there at the end, his journal was mine.”
Dare sits next to me, careful of my brother’s space. He knows it’s sacred to me, especially now. “The human body is an amazing thing,” he says by way of explanation. “Your mind knows how to shield itself from too much pain.”
I trace the tarot card in my hand, following the ragged edges with my finger.
“I wonder what this means,” I whisper. “I didn’t know Finn ever had his cards read.”
Dare stays silent, because of course we’ll never know the answer.
I drop the journal and watch the pages flutter as it falls to the floor.
When it hits, the cover closes… a metaphor for Finn’s life.
The story is over.
I gulp.
“He did love a good metaphor,” I say aloud.
“What’s that?” Dare leans closer. I shake my head.
“Nothing.”
“Let’s take a walk on the beach,” Dare says with a small smile. “We should get some fresh air.”
We make our way down the trails and I cringe as we pass the Chapel because I remember the funerals now. I cringe when we pass the woodshed because I remember Finn chopping wood. And I cringe when we pass the pier, because Finn and I went out on the boat so often.
“That night… when I got drunk. I was waiting and waiting for Finn to come back with the boat. But it was me all along. I was out on the boat.”
Dare stares out at the water. “I watched for you, and when you stepped onto the pier, I knew right away you were drunk.”
I grip his hand tighter, but look away. Because God, how embarrassing. All of this.
“And Nocte,” I murmur. “Those initials were ours. We’ve been there several times before.”
“Yep. You and me. And also, you, me and Finn.”
I look at him, sharply now, because I’ve been focusing so much on my own pain, that I haven’t considered his. He and Finn had been friends for most of the year.
“You helped Finn with his senior science project,” I recall, a memory suddenly re-surfacing of Finn and Dare hovering over the kitchen table with test tubes.
Dare smiles. “Yes. He probably would’ve blown the house up on his own.”
I giggle in spite of myself. “Probably.”
I glance at him. “I haven’t asked you how you’re doing.”
Dare looks down at me. “I’m doing better now. For a while, I thought I’d lost you both.”
I swallow hard, remembering the day I’d found him punching the woodshed.
“It must’ve been so frustrating.”
“You have no idea.”