But even I can feel how shallow it is, and even I know that even with eyes half closed, he can see right through me.
He says nothing else, so I do.
“I love you, Malachi.”
As though a weighty burden lifts off of him, a quiet breath drains from his lips, and he lowers his eyelids. And this is not how any of it was ever supposed to happen, but there’s nothing I can do about it, so I lay my cheek on his chest. His heart thumps slower than it should, and I plead with the only words that matter.
“I love you, amor. I love you. World without end, I love you, too. I always have, and beyond my last breath, I always will.”
I don’t know if he can hear me. But, if our lives have done nothing else for us, they have stitched a soul connection. A thread that bound our hearts together across time and distance, and misunderstanding and anger, and even fleeting, unfounded hate.
In the end, that thread tangled and stretched, but it remained intact. And it’s that thread that assures me, even if he can’t hear me, he knows.
TWENTY-TWO
MALACHI
Present
IT IS A BLINDING white room. Not a single shadow, and no way to tell which direction the light is coming from. As though light simply is. It’s also saturated with static silence aside from a single sound.
“Malachi.” Her voice is light and feathery, sing-songing my name like she did when we were tiny children and she wanted my attention. “Malachi. Malachi. Malachi.”
I turn in an attempt to decipher where she is, but just like the light in the room, her voice isn’t coming from any specific direction and seems to be part of the atmosphere itself.
“Isla?”
“Malachi. Malachi. Malachi.”
“Where are you, little Isla?”
“I bet you can’t catch meee…”
I smile and lurk forward, making a big show of searching for her like I used to when we would play hide and seek. She was always very bad at hiding, but I pretended to have no idea where she was.
“Where, oh where, is little Isla?” I call into the shapeless white space.
Her response is a musical giggle that seems to originate from my chest, causing a searing fire and biting pang that causes the serenity of the space to falter.
“I bet you can’t find meee…”
She giggles again, and the pang in my chest radiates with a dull, cold ache. Nevertheless, I continue to slowly step and creep along as I search for her.
“I don’t see little Isla. I can’t find her. Where is she?”
Despite the game I continue to play with her, despite her giggles, a foreboding sense of anguish begins to seep from my chest through the rest of me because I know I failed, and my failure has cost me the one thing I love more than anything else.
I’m not going to find her in this shapeless, white room.
“Malachi.” She giggles again, but her giggles are starting to morph into hitches of quiet weeping. “Just hang on, cariño. Try to look at me.”
“Islaaa…” I force myself to sing-song her name in an effort to continue the carefree game of hide-and-seek. “Where is little Isla? I can’t find her.”
“I’m here, Malachi. Try to find me. Try to look at me. Just hang on, cariño.”
“Little Isla… where is little Isla? I can’t find her.”
“Malachi. Malachi. Malachi.”
“I’m still searching. Where is she? Where is that little Isla? She is way too good at hiding for me to find.”
Another pang slams my chest, and my steps falter.
“Just hang on, Malachi. Don’t close your eyes. Try to look at me.”
“I can’t see her. Where, oh where, is little Isla?”
“Please look at me, Malachi. I’m right here. Can you hear me?”
The searing pain of anguish slices deeper because I can hear her, but I know I’ll never see her again.
“Little Isla? Little Isla? Where are yooo-uuu?”
There’s a sensation on my face as though she’s touching it, but there’s still nothing in sight. “I’m right here, amor. Can you look at me? Open your eyes, cariño.”
The game suddenly registers as pointless, and the anguish swallows me. “I can’t.”
“You can. Just try.”
“I’m sorry, Isla.”
“Just try, cariño.”
So, I do.
And as I do, the pure, blinding, shapeless white palpitates, flickers, and then goes black. Inky blackness stretches for what feels like eternity, and a chill seeps into my chest, then spreads throughout my extremities. I shiver violently, my teeth rattling against each other, and my chest feels so tight that it seems to crush my heart and lungs.
The black morphs to a strange, deep crimson, and the pain escalates to crazed levels, and I attempt to soothe it by rubbing my chest, and I feel the distinctive sensation of another hand.
“Fuck… me…” I mumble.
“I know.” Her voice again. “I know it really hurts, but just hang on. Try to look at me, Malachi.”
Now it’s all just confusing. I’m no longer in the shapeless white room, but I feel like I’m floating while simultaneously being weighed down by veritable tons of pressure.
“Can you try to open your eyes, cariño?”
I do try again, but this time, rather than blackness, it ushers in that same blinding whiteness, and now it sears my pupils through tiny slits in my eyelids like I’m staring straight into the core of the sun.
“Fuu-uuck…” I groan again, squeezing my eyes shut before attempting to peel them open again.
“Pobrecito. I know it all feels shitty, but you’re doing so good.” I feel the sensation of her touching my face again, and this time I reach for it. My fingers close around her palm, and I don’t really want to get my hopes up, but I think she’s really there.
And that’s enough motivation to brave the searing light and peel my eyes all the way open.
And there she is. Leaning over my face, crowned with a halo of all those blinding-as-fuck lights behind her, looking pretty damn exhausted with dark circles under her eyes and her hair pulled back in a messy, drooping ponytail, but more beautiful than ever, because holy fucking fuck.
“You’re here,” I mumble, noting the distinctive slur of my speech that makes me sound like I’ve got a mouthful of marbles.
“Yeah.” Isla smiles sweetly and combs back my hair. “Your parents are on a plane. They’ll be here soon, too.”
“Fuck my parents,” my filter-lacking mouth blurts out.
She laughs lightly. “Don’t say that, Malachi. That’s awful. They’re worried about you.”
“I mean…” I blink a few more times and rub my eyes. “I don’t care that they’re not here yet. I care that you’re here.” I lift my hand to rest it on hers that’s still resting on my chest. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
“Of course I’m here, cariño.” I’m now one-hundred-percent positive that I’m back in the real world, and she’s calling me cariño again, and that has to be a good sign. “I’ve been here, and I’m going to stay here, and when they discharge you, we’re going to settle you in at the summer house, and I’m going to stay with you there.”