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“I know it’s hard to accept, or even to understand,” Elena began, “but I’m here for you, and for your baby. I always will be.”
I felt Elena’s hands on my shoulders from behind; I wanted to push her away because I didn’t want to be touched, but she was too kind and I couldn’t bear to treat her that way.
“Hunt was a good man,” Edgar said. “He will be remembered, and honored. No one here knew him but you and I, but he will still be—”
“Yes,” I interrupted, “Atticus was a good man. I am alive because of him. And I will live because of him, because I made a promise.” I said these things more to myself.
I peeled the tape from my arm and removed the needle feeding me fluids, letting it fall to the floor. With two fingers pressed against the flow of blood, I limped toward the balcony and pushed open the glass door to a bright blue sky and a new day. A new life. A new purpose.
Shreveport City was not as I had imagined—it was better. The streets were not made of gold, the skyscrapers did not scale in a whimsical spiral high above the clouds like out of a fairytale, and there were no glittering gates insofar as I could see. It was realistic—it was real. It was safe. And to finally be here, it meant everything. And as I stepped up to the stone balcony railing and looked out at the Great City, at the river reflecting the sun, the thousands of people packing the streets, I only thought of Atticus and how I wasn’t supposed to be experiencing this moment without him.
Finally acknowledging the life growing inside of me, the life Atticus and I created, I placed my hand on my flat belly. “Your father was the bravest man I ever knew,” I whispered. “And one day, I’m going to tell you all about him.”
Edgar and Elena joined me on the balcony.
“Where is his body?” I asked without looking at either of them.
“I’m sorry,” Elena said, “but we left the bodies. We don’t bother with the dead anymore. When people die here, in the city, we give them a proper burial. But out there on The Road, people we don’t know, we leave them. I’m sorry.”
I nodded. I understood. Am I standing? I couldn’t believe I was still standing. I couldn’t feel my legs. Or my hands. The pain of losing Atticus was all I could feel.
“Just the same,” I said, “I’d like to go back to where you found me. I need to bury him. I can’t stand the thought of him…lying there like that”—I swallowed—“I can go myself if I have to, but if someone could—”
“Say no more,” Elena cut in, touching my wrist. “I’ll have a group take you there. You can bring the body back, and we can bury him here.”
I turned back to the balcony.
“I…I’m sorry, but I need to be alone,” I told Elena and Edgar. After a moment, when neither responded, I added, “Please.” I sensed their reluctance.
“Okay,” Elena finally said. “We’ll go right now and get a group ready to take you. Are you going to be all right?”
“Yes. I’ll be fine.”
Seconds later, I heard the door to my room shutting softly.
My ghost legs finally gave out on me and I collapsed onto the stone floor as air rushed into my lungs. But I could not cry. And my eyes did not burn. I could never cry again—I knew I could never cry again. In these many months, I had cried all that I could, and there was no time for that anymore. Because I made a promise. And in the world I knew I had to live in, the one I was determined to shape even with the smallest of hands, there was no place for tears. There was no room for weakness.
I pulled myself up, and I looked out at the city, but all I saw was the memory of Atticus’ face. He saved me. And he loved me. And he forever changed the landscape of my life, paved the way for my future. Atticus Hunt was a hero. A great man who sacrificed everything for me. He was the love of my life. And I knew that I would never, could never, love another again.
PART
IV
~THE BITTER TRUTH~
73
ATTICUS
One week earlier…
The eerie sound of laughter filled my ears; it was eerie because my instincts woke me during my dream, telling me I needed to open my damn eyes, and open them now, or—I didn’t know; I just knew I had better listen.
Expecting sunlight, I shielded my eyes in preparation, but was surprised to see it was night. My hands were covered in blood, and I could taste it in my mouth and feel it on my face. The voices were far off, but getting closer, the laughter carrying over the field to find me lying half-alive somewhere within it, legs sprawled out, my clothes soaked with blood and water, a bullet buried somewhere in my back.
Dizzied and weak and in excruciating pain, I tried to roll over onto my stomach, but Thais’ body lying next to mine stopped me.
“Thais…” I whispered, choking back a sob. I pressed two fingers to the vein in her neck, but felt no pulse; I did the same to her wrist, but with the same results. Tears burned to the surface, and they tumbled down my face and onto hers and into her bloodied hair. “Thais…I love you”—the words rattled out of me in a desperate and broken shudder—“Goddammit, I love you!” I kissed her face all over, and I held her close and I was ready to die with her. “Why did You take her from me?! Why did You take her and leave me here?”
