NOCTE (Nocte Trilogy #1) (22 page)

But his contradictions confuse me. His
want and his detachment confuse me.
 
His hot blood and cold attitude confuse me.
 
Over the past week, he’s anchored me
amid all of this crazy.
 
Is it
possible that he just doesn’t want to be that anchor anymore?

My chest feels numb with the thought,
because somehow, I’ve come to depend on him already.
 
I depend on him to make me smile, to
lift me out of this mire into a world where hope survives.
 

But he just closed a door in my face and
I can’t help but wonder if it was a metaphor for something bigger.
 

I try and put it out of my mind as I wait
for Finn, then drive him into Group.
 
All I can do right now is keep going
through the motions, keep my head above water.
 

Dare doesn’t define me.

That’s going to have to become my new
mantra.
 

I fall sleep with that thought in my
head, with the very best of intensions. But I’m awakened at three a.m.

Piano music plays softly, filtering
through the house.
 

Startled, I sit up in bed and look at the
clock again.

Yes, it’s the middle of the night.
 

No, the piano shouldn’t be playing.
 

I pad down the stairs toward the chapel
and with each
step,
the soft music gets a little
louder.
 
When I hit the bottom step,
the music stops.
 
Silence seems to
echo loudly in my ears as I rush down the hall and round the corner into the
room.
  

The piano seat is empty.
 

Stunned, I walk numbly to the front,
trailing my finger along the empty piano bench.
 

I know it was playing.
 
I know it’s what woke me. The lid to the
keys is open, which is unusual. It’s usually closed when it’s not in use.
 

And then I smell it.
 

The barest hint of Dare’s cologne.
 

My heart in my throat, I look out the
window, to see a lamp turned on in his cottage.
 

He’s still up.
 
He’d been here.
 

Somehow I know, without anyone having to
tell me, that he still wants me as much as I want him, regardless of how cool
he’d acted earlier.
 
I don’t know
his reasons, and I don’t know his secrets.
 

But I know one thing as I collapse onto
the seat of the piano.

Even though he tried, he couldn’t stay
away.

TRIGENTA
UNUS

Calla

In
the morning, I want to go see Dare.
 
But at the same time, I don’t want to be desperate.
 
I don’t want to play games.

The memory of his piano music drifting
through my house last night buoys me, though, keeps me from panicking.
 

He’s trying to do an honorable
thing.
 
I feel it in my bones.
 
And just as much, I feel the connection
to him, loud and strong, tugging and tugging me toward him.
 
I know he feels it too. And because of
that, I can’t let myself worry.
   

It’ll work out.
 
It has to.

So with a last glance over my shoulder, I
walk away from his door, certain that I’ll see him sooner rather than
later.
 

With the sun shining on my shoulders, I
decide to take a walk.
 

I wind through the trails, working my way
up toward the cliffs rather than down toward the sea.

When I get to the top, I’m surprised to
find Finn sitting too close to the edge.
 

Startled, I stop, my pink chucks freezing
in place.
 

Finn’s black ones dangle over the side
and he kicks his feet casually, not looking one bit concerned that the edge
could break away at any moment.

“Finn,” I say slowly, trying not to
startle him, “Move away from the edge.”

He looks over his shoulder at me,
unconcerned.
 
“Hey, Cal.
 
Did you know that nutmeg is incredibly
deadly if it’s injected?”

This freezes me, too.
 

“You don’t know that firsthand, right?” I
stare at him, examining his arms for injection marks.
 

He rolls his eyes.
 
“You know I hate nutmeg.”

I can’t breathe. “I also know you’re
sitting too close to the edge.
 
Move
back. Carefully.”

He doesn’t move, and I see tiny balls of
clay rolling around him, dropping off the edge.
 
My heart pounds in my ears.
 

“Want to go to the lighthouse today?” he
asks, like he didn’t even hear me.
 
He stares out over the water toward the beacon, watching the gulls fly
around it.
 

“Yeah,” I tell him quickly. “Let’s go
right now.”

With another shrug, Finn clumsily gets to
his feet, one of his shoes breaking off a piece of the edge. It plunges over
the side, but Finn doesn’t even notice. He just walks to me like sitting on a
cliff is the most natural thing in the world, like he is completely oblivious
to the danger.
 

I throw my arms around him and hug him
tight.
 

“What is wrong with you?” I whisper into
his neck, inhaling his sweaty skin. “Why would you do that?”

“Do what?” he asks innocently.
 
“I just wanted a good view.”

“You know it’s dangerous.”
 
I pull away and stare into his
eyes.
 
“You know that.”

“And you know that I was far enough back
to be safe.”

He tells me the same thing I told him the
other day, only it’s not true in his case.

“You were on the edge,” I tell him
shakily.
 
To that, he shrugs.
 

“I still am.”

He walks away down the trail, whistling a
tune that sends
goose-bumps
down my spine. The song
that Dare played on the piano last night.

He heard it.
 
He knew Dare was in the house and it
upset him. That’s what this has to be about.
 

I skid down the trail to catch up.
 

“Are you upset because I’m close with
Dare now? Because you have to know that you’re the most important thing to me,
Finn.
 
You’ll always be the most
important thing. No matter what.”

He pauses and looks back at me.
 

“Calla, you’re overthinking this.
 
Nothing is wrong with me.
 
I’m not mad at you.”

And then he continues on his way.
 

I trip along side of him, trying to stay
calm, and I do a very good job of it, too, until we walk halfway up the beach,
and I see something silver glinting in the sand.
 
Jogging ahead, I bend down and pick up
Finn’s St. Michael’s medallion.

Speechless, I let it dangle in my fingers
while Finn catches up.
 

“Why did you throw this out?” I
demand.
 
“I get that you don’t want
to wear it right now, but this was a gift from mom.
 
She gave it to you, Finn. You can’t just
throw it out.”

He shrugs and I’m getting tired of all
his shrugs.
 

“If you want it, you can have it,” he
tells me nonchalantly and I want to scream.
 

“I don’t want it.
 
I want
you
to want it.
 
It’s
yours.
Our dead mother gave it to you.
You should want it.”

I’m practically yelling now, and Finn
doesn’t flinch, and doesn’t react at all. He just stares at me, with his pale
blue eyes the same color as the sky.
 

“But I don’t,” he says lightly.
 
I stay frozen in place, the necklace
clutched in my hand while Finn walks out onto a rock walkway and sits staring
out at the water.
 
He’s quiet, he’s
pensive, and something is most certainly wrong.
 

I feel it in my bones, in my heart, in
the hidden and dark place where a twin knows.

So I do the only thing I can.
 

I’ve got to get help from a professional,
from someone who Finn tells the things he won’t tell me.

I rush back home and climb in my
car.
  
I drive down the
mountain, through town and to the hospital.
 
When I get there, I shove the medallion
in my pocket.
 
God knows I can’t
give it back to Finn.
 
He’s likely
to throw it out and I’ll never find it again.
 

I walk numbly through the halls, past the
abstract bird painting and into the Group room.
 
I’m interrupting a session and everyone
turns to stare at me curiously.
 
Jason, the therapist, gets up and crosses the room.
 
He’s short and blond, and his steps are
long.
 
He reaches me quickly.

“Calla,” he says, assessing my face.
 
“Is everything all right?”

With his arm on my elbow, he leads me
into the hallway, so I don’t instill panic into his precious patients.
 

“There’s something wrong with Finn,” I
tell him abruptly. “I can’t figure it out, and he won’t tell me.
 
Do you know?”

Jason stares at me, his hand patting my
back, as he tries to figure out how to calm down a frantic woman.
 
I’m annoyed, because like my father and his
grieving clients, Jason is supposed to know how to handle upset people. He’s a
therapist, for God’s sake.
 

Finally, he shakes his head.
 
“I don’t know, Calla.
 
He hasn’t said anything to me.
 
But even if he had, you know I can’t
share that with you.
 
It’s
confidential.”

“Even if he’s a danger to himself?” I
demand.
 
“He was on the edge of the
cliffs this morning. And then he told me that
he
was on the edge and it wasn’t a metaphor, Jason.
 
He’s in serious trouble.
 
His hands have been shaking and I’m
afraid he’s stopped taking his meds.
 
Has he said anything to you?”

Jason hesitates,
then
stares seriously into my eyes.
 

“I can’t say.
 
But what I
can
say is that Finn hasn’t been to group in weeks.”

Those words slam into me with the weight
of a freight train and I stand limply in front of the therapist.
 

“Weeks?” The word scrapes my lungs.
 
“That’s impossible.
 
I’ve been driving him myself.”

Jason shakes his head regretfully. “You
might be driving him here, but he’s not coming in.
 
I’m sorry, Calla.”

He’s sorry.
 
My brother is losing it, and his
therapist is sorry.

My blood boils and I whirl around.
 

“Why didn’t you tell someone?” I demand
before I walk away.
 
“You’re
supposed to be helping him, for God’s sake.
 

It’s no wonder Finn always calls out for
me. I’m the only one he can count on.
 

I storm through the hospital and slam my
car door hard enough to shatter the half-open driver’s side window.
 

I’m covered in pellets of safety glass as
I sit hunched over the steering wheel.
 

Perfectus.
 

To make matters worse, because it’s
Oregon, it starts to rain as I drive.
 
I lean away from the door as the rain blows the precipitation in.
 
By the time I get home, I’m
drenched.
 

I slam the car door again, as hard as I
can.
 

It echoes through the yard, or so I
imagine.
 

I take the stairs three at a time, and
before long, I’m standing in front of my father again.
 
He’s startled by my drowned rat
appearance.
 

“I just came from the hospital,” I tell
him harshly.
 
“Finn hasn’t been
going to Group.
 
So if you weren’t
worried before, you should be now.”

My father stares at me blankly, something
that infuriates me.
 

“Dad, you’ve got to live in the present
right now.
 
I know you’re sad.
 
I know you have gin in that coffee
cup.”
 
He looks at his glass and
then looks up me guiltily.
 
“Did you
wonder why your open bottle was gone the other night?
 
It’s because I drank it and you didn’t
even notice.
 
Dare cleaned me up and
took care of me, not you.”

My father looks horrified and appalled
but I don’t pause.
 

“Finn needs you.
 
He needs you right now.”

My father’s head drops and he stares at
his hands, at the mug in his hands.
  
“I’m sorry, Calla.
 
I’m sorry
that you think I’ve checked out.
 
I
haven’t.
 
I love you, and I love
Finn.”

My heart softens at the sight of his
broken expression.
 
“I know,” I tell
him softly.
 
“I’m sorry I’m so
angry. I’m just… Finn.
 
I’m worried
about Finn.”

“I know,” he tells me. “We’ll figure it
out.
 
I promise.”

“Do you know where he is?” I ask as I
head toward the stairs.
 

“No.”

I don’t turn back
around,
I just leap up the stairs.
 
Finn’s not there.
 
Not in his bedroom or mine or on the top floor at all.
 
I go back downstairs and search every
room, even the Visitation rooms.
 
He’s simply not here.

As I stand in the kitchen, trying to
figure out where he might’ve gone, my attention is drawn to a pad of paper
lying on the counter.
 

One word is scrawled over and over.

NOCTE.

And with that, I know where I have to go.