Page 44 of Black Waters

The other guard asked, “Mr. Jones?”

Under my feet, was the dock covering—hiding—my mother, father, and dead brother. It was surreal. It was gut-wrenching. And it told me I was the Mr. Jones the guard referred to. Since lies got us into this travesty, I hoped they would get us out. “Sorry, John. Whitney was watching my morning swim, and uh, she slipped into the water.”

The guards and officers rushed forward, all asking questions at the same time and calling for paramedics. “Is she okay? We have an ambulance on the way…”

Whit squeezed my neck, whispering, “Please, I must say good-bye to him.”

We both needed this—this horrendous closure, but neither of us would get it. My parents were left in the cold water to deal with the fate of my brother, as Whit and I were forced into an ambulance and taken to the hospital where I had once accused my now deceased brother of trying to kill the girl we loved.

I wanted to die, too.

There are certain characteristics that make certain people stand out from the rest—make them more than unique. That was Whitney Summers. Her unconventional, intelligent, free-spirited, intricate ways were slowly snuffed out by the people around her. Some of us may have been more innocent than others, but we were guilty all the same. By the end, it was like a rare tiger being put into captivity to slowly die. That in itself was a crime, so this tiger had to be set free. She needed to rejuvenate and relearn her natural ways. She needed space and room to become Whit again. I don’t think she wanted to leave me. I think she had to.

After learning about how she was brought into this world: born from human trafficking, from an abducted woman forced into the sexual slavery trade, a ray of Whit’s beautiful light faded. After learning that the young man she fell in love with was also born from the same circumstance and was killed because of a failed business, another ray of light from Whit’s soul dispersed. After learning I was his brother, also a product of a heinous crime, barely any of her light shone at all. And after she learned her adoptive parents, law-breaking ones, had tried to end her life for career purposes, Whit finished her last few weeks of high school, said hello to her two million dollars and good-bye to Harvard, grabbed a suitcase and a passport, and was gone.

“There’s too much darkness,” she’d said as we sat with a lit candle between us.

“I know. I know.” I wondered where this new journey would lead her.

The flame was the only light shining on the hidden stone representing a gravesite, even though we had no body to bury. Whitney had a song quietly playing in the background. Knowing she had good reason, I gently asked, “Why this song?”

“Its called ‘Devil’s Got My Secret’by Mieka Pauley. Crash believed it was meant for him—his life.”

The female voice sang…

Oh to take sorrow and use it as a crutch

And have all you need and never know it as such

Oh to want the warmth of fire

And get the burn of its touch…

The song was painful.

The song sang of a young man’s life.

Already missing everything about Whit, I told her, “I love you. I always have.”

She mirrored my sadness. “I know. I—I… It’s just I can’t… too much.”

“He knew, Whit.”I pointed to the stone.

“What? He knew what?”

We sat in the dark while I told her about the nights Crash and I watched over the girl we loved. As I carved my water sign in the earth, I told her, “He said you didn’t know you loved me, but that you did.”

Whit burst into tears, rocking.

“That’s why he told me to love you enough for the both of us.”

Green eyes looked at me with the first glimpse of hope I’d seen in them in a long, long time.

It was too late, but I finally had the courage and sense to speak the truth freely. “I do, Whit. I love you enough… for both Crash and me.”

Mieka Pauley echoed into the night…

The Devil’s got my secret