The Forevers - Chapter Two

"The Forevers - Chapter One" 

Ireland died yesterday.

Carissa stared at the moon, wondering how it could possibly happen. How could someone die at seventeen? Someone like Ireland?

She curled into herself, her chest aching with guilt. She knew exactly how it happened. She knew before any of this – drinking and driving was bad. Jefferson was drunk. She let Ireland go with him.

She should have yanked Ireland right out of the car. If only she pulled Jefferson out of the driver's seat like normal and drove them home, things would be so much different now.

She let anger get the best of her. She felt it even now, as she clenched her fists so hard that blood trickled down her palms. A sob escaped her lips and she punched the cold, solid roof, and she wondered where Ireland was now. She wondered if she could see her.

If she could, she hoped she finally realized that Carissa cared. She hoped she realized how stupid she was to get involved with someone like Jefferson, and to act like him and hang around his friends. She hoped that Ireland remembered who she used to be, and a part of her – a cruel part, deep inside of her – wished that she regretted it.

It was the wrong thing to wish on a friend, but Carissa always hoped that some day Ireland would be as hurt by all this as she was.

In the end, this was how Ireland died at seventeen: Her best friend made an awful wish that somehow, inexplicably, came true.

“I never meant it,” she whispered into the night sky, to Ireland or God or whoever might be listening. As her words drifted into the air, she knew it was too late. Everyone in the world could hear her, and it would not matter.

Still, she continued, “I didn't mean for her to die.”

As she inched closer to the edge of the roof, a strong wind blew past. She imagined it knocking her right over the edge, but, if anything, it would have pushed her back. Wrong direction.

The fall would not kill her, but she may break a few bones. She lie back and closed her eyes against the cold wind, and the rain that began to fall, stretching her arms out above her.

Inside, weather alerts sounded on her mother's television. A dangerous thunderstorm was moving into the area, and the high winds may turn into tornadoes later in the night. The woman turned the volume down and rolled over, content with the knowledge that she and her daughter were safe. Indoors.

On the roof, Carissa sat upright. She stood, wobbly on her legs, afraid of the extra height they gave her. This, she thought, was the least she could do. She would not jump, tonight.

Her bedroom window sat just behind her. The storm was getting bad, now, and she needed to get back inside.

As she turned, lightning struck the roof. It hit the standing girl as if granting another wish, letting her die without effort. The body tumbled onto the front lawn, where a neighbor would find it the next morning.

~*~

Something nudged Ireland's shoulder, and she burrowed her face deeper in the soft blanket. “Get up,” a voice said. She turned away from it, blinking sleepily.

“Go back to sleep, James,” she mumbled. After saying his name, she remembered the crash, and then felt awake. She sat up, rubbing sleep from her eyes as she prepared herself to tell him about the crazy dream she had.

When she looked up, Remington was standing above her. “Your boyfriend isn't here,” he said, a smirk on his face. “You ready to go?”

Ireland yawned, taking in the same room she fell asleep in last night. She had hoped to wake up to something different, even if it was the scene of the car wreck, or in a hospital bed.

“Go where?” She stood to face Remington, although she still had to look up to do so.

“The mission,” he clarified. “Kyli still says I have to bring you along.”

She frowned. “Don't I have a choice? You didn't even tell me what we have to do.”

The idea of Kyli, who didn't even seem to be her boss – or at least, not her permanent boss – giving orders bothered her. She barely met the woman, and she did not know Remington at all. Why should she go anywhere with him?

Remington looked into her eyes. His were a dark blue, and looked determined. He opened his mouth like he would tell her something, and then he closed it again.

“Don't worry about it, Ireland. It's just a quick trip to Earth. We go there, we come back, and then you'll have your options.”

She crossed her arms. “I want to know what we're doing.”

She would stand there all day if she needed to. These people had done nothing for her, barely answered her questions, and she barely knew where she was. From what they told her, she barely knew who she was.

“Ireland, this is important. Mandatory missions aren't just thrown around!”

“Then why do I have one, the day after I wake up? How is that fair?” Ireland did not yell often. Her anger came and went quietly, sometimes unspoken. But she was not angry now.

Remington turned away. He walked to the door and opened it, stepping just outside. Two backpacks lie on the ground in the hall, and he threw one over his shoulder. The other, he tossed at Ireland's feet.

“This isn't about fair, Ireland. It's not even about you.” He paused. “Kyli left a change of clothes on the dresser. I'll be outside.”

After he left, she sat down on the bed. She stayed in place for a few minutes, fuming. She did not want to go anywhere with Remington. She did not ask for a mandatory mission, or a partner who yelled at her.

It seemed that a girl deserved a grieving period after her own death – a time to cope with everything. Nobody offered her that.

They did offer her a change of clothes. She would have preferred a shower, but instead she slipped out of her party dress and into a pair of jeans and a rather beautiful turquoise shirt – her favorite color. There were socks and tennis shoes at the end of her bed, and she sat down to slide them on.

Outside, she would just tell Remington she refused to go. What would they do, throw her in jail? She highly doubted they had those in Heaven.

She grabbed the backpack from the ground and opened it – surely they gave her something to brush her hair with – but found only essentials. Water, a flashlight, extra clothes …

In the end, she used her fingers to tame her hair as much as possible, then stepped out into the hall. She could not see Remington, but she heard him.

“This is why I hate humans,” he said. “We lose so much of ourselves. We become selfish, and reckless, and irresponsible.”

“You're not being very rational yourself,” Kyli answered him. Ireland fought the urge to peer around the corner, instead standing very still.

Remington remained silent.

“This is a rough transition, and you know it. She doesn't remember a thing, and she's afraid, and none of this was her choice.”

Ireland's eyes stung. She blinked back tears and told herself she was not scared. No, she only hated Remington. She did not want to be stuck with him.

Before he could speak – she did not want to hear him say any more about her – Ireland walked around the corner. Remington looked over and said, “I didn't think you were ever coming out.”

“I'm ready to go,” she said. Her voice sounded small and weak – she sounded afraid. Kyli offered a sympathetic smile, but Ireland looked away.

Remington studied her face, as if searching for a lie, and then nodded. “Right. Come on, then.”

He navigated through the building without hesitation, although the halls felt like a maze to Ireland. The ceilings were high and everything looked beautiful and grand, and she felt like she could stand there for days taking it all in. She wanted to wander this place until she knew every twist, until she knew every room, the same way Remington seemed to know. But he walked quickly, without paying her attention, and so she rushed to keep up.

Once outside, they were in a place Ireland did not quite have a name for.

She would call it a city, but tall, castle-like buildings replaced skyscrapers. The ground was surely made of clouds now, and it looked brighter outside, contrasting with clear blue above them. It was like sky, but clearer, cloudless, a shade different than any blue Ireland remembered seeing before.

The castles belonged in ancient times, yet looked brand new. In her awe, she forgot about Remington, and trying to keep up with him. She forgot about being lost and afraid.

She beamed at everything, her eyes flickering from place to place – first the sky against the castle towers, next to a couple who smiled and waved at her, then to the ground, where there were patches of flowers. She wondered how that happened.

“Ireland.” Remington walked towards her. “You can't just –”

He paused, watching her a moment, then looked down and cleared his throat. Ireland's smile fell. “We can't stop,” he said, his voice kinder. “This is important, and it might take a long time, and I need you to focus. I know this is a lot to take in.”

If she had to deal with Remington, she wanted him like this: Soft eyes, kind words, understanding. “Fine,” she said. “I'll try not to get distracted.”

It took less than ten minutes to reach the end of the city. The buildings gradually spread out until there weren't any at all, just plain white beneath their feet and in front of them, too, as far as Ireland could see.

At first she focused on Remington. He seemed to grow tense the longer she looked at him, the hard angles of his face becoming sharper. She looked away.

“How long do we have to walk?”

He sighed. “Much longer. The city is a ways from the forest.”

Already, he was losing patience with her. She forced herself to stand up straight, to keep her face blank in case he looked her way – not that he had, since they began walking.

She could not think of one useful thing to do in a forest. Why would she be sent there, of all places? It could not possibly be so important.

“Can you tell me what we're doing?” she asked.

“Walking.”

“That's not fair!”

“It's not about being fair,” he said, his tone flat. He thought he was ending the conversation.

She stomped her foot. “I should know what's going on. There's no reason to keep me in the dark.”

Remington studied her, and his eyes grew mean. They narrowed and seemed to darken, just a shade. “We are looking for Carissa,” he said. “You were sent because you know her best.”

Carissa. She had managed to block her old life out of her mind, replacing it with this new place. Her confusion distracted her. “Why would we be –”

Remington didn't answer. He must have known that she figured it out, by the way she cut off her question, or maybe by the horrified look in her eyes. She knew what had happened, but still forced herself to ask, “Well? She's dead, isn't she?”

“Yes. She died hours ago and there's still no sign of her.”

Ireland didn't know exactly what this meant, but Remington spoke like it was abnormal. Dangerous. She still could not erase the thought of Carissa dead.

She wanted to keep going, to pretend it was alright. Remington clearly did not see it as a big deal, but Carissa was her best friend. And Ireland had a feeling it wasn't just a coincidence, her and Carissa's deaths being so close together.

“Do you know how she died, exactly?” She tried to say the words like there weren't tears in her eyes. Remington was not looking at her, but ahead at the blank space. She swore he would not see her cry.

“I don't,” he said. “We can't know anything when she's not here to tell us.”

He continued walking, and it took him awhile to realize that Ireland no longer followed. She was surprised that, as he turned around, his face softened. “Ireland?”

She tried her best to look annoyed. She glanced at her nails like the chipped polish was her only concern. “What?”

“Are you going to cry?” He looked so gentle and compassionate, the complete opposite of how he behaved before. She wanted to punch him for that.

“I won't cry.” Her voice betrayed her, and the tears were becoming more pronounced. Remington took a step closer as she felt the first one fall.

Her hands waved in front of her, signing for him to stay away. To forget about taking even one step closer. Somehow he understood this unofficial sign language, but he still watched her face.

“I'm not. I'm not crying,” she denied, even though the tears were falling freely. After his behavior, especially his change in attitude, she did not know what to expect. She did not want pity, but she could not stand to be made fun of. She would turn into a sobbing mess if he made even one sarcastic remark now.

As Ireland brought a hand to her face, covering her eyes, Remington turned around. He sat, leaning against his backpack, and shook his head. “You're not,” he agreed.

She dropped her hand away from her face and let the tears fall. His soft tone gave her permission to cry it out, and she just had to hope he would not bring it up later. She sat almost directly behind him and curled her knees to her chest, and she sobbed until she ran out of tears.