In the morning, he’d woken up sweating, anxious, frustrated. After checking out of the hotel, he found a hawk perched on the hood of his car, a refugee of the great fire still burning in the east. The hawk studied him before spreading its wings and soaring across the parking lot. Smoke blanketed the morning sky in a gloomy yellowish overcast that set David coughing.
The memory faded to an unsettling murmur in the back of his mind. Deacon had let go of Beth’s hand and now traced a circle on her knee. The tattoos covering his arms were mostly words, phrases in Latin and what appeared to be ancient Greek. A flaming cross decorated his forearm, as if to remind himself daily of things David had spent his entire adult life trying to forget.
“As night follows day, death follows life,” the pastor said. “We are all leaves on the Tree of Life, which replenish each year. We who remain can mark this moment by loving one another and doing our own part to make the Tree stronger.”
Beth brushed away Deacon’s exploring fingers and dabbed a tear with a tissue. “She was strong.”
David squeezed her hand. Yes, Emily was. She’d been the calm center of his world at the commune and later at the institution where Dr. Klein had treated them. Without Emily, their scattered little tree was even weaker.
Some fundamental stress had built up in her over the years, or she’d just snapped one day. If she hadn’t been strong enough to fight it, whatever it was, then quite possibly none of them were.
“May the Lord bless you and keep you,” the pastor said. “May the Lord make his face shine upon you and be gracious unto you. May the Lord lift up his countenance upon you and give you peace. Amen.”
While the mourners prayed, David again drifted into the past.
He didn’t know the name of the place where the adults had brought him, which he’d guessed was some kind of hospital. Since the sheriff’s deputy led him out of the Temple, David’s world had been a blur of strange people asking him questions and shuttling him from place to place. Now he wore pajamas all day and took a pill called Prozac and had to talk to a man named Dr. Klein about how he was feeling.
He hadn’t seen his sister and friends since they’d arrived here, but today, the psychiatrist had good news. They were all allowed to go to the rec room. A large space with Ping-Pong tables, board games, and the same white walls. There, he found Angela sitting at a table, glowering over a puzzle.
Hunching his shoulders to make himself as small as possible, David sat in the opposite chair. There were other people in the room, all teenagers in pajamas except for a big woman wearing a uniform. He wanted his sister to hug him and tell him everything was going to be okay.
He scanned the room one last time for threats. “Hi.”
Angela didn’t respond as she fitted a piece. When finished, the puzzle would make a picture of dogs playing on a beach as if they were people.
He leaned in to murmur, “Are you okay?”
Angela spun another piece in her fingers, her face a mask of frustration. “I don’t know who to be mad at. Maybe it’s you.”
David sank even lower. “Please don’t be mad at me.”
Emily, Deacon, and Beth entered the room. David smiled at them and ventured a wave. They pulled up chairs around the table.
“They think we’re crazy,” Beth said. “Like what happened is our fault.”
David struggled to hold back a surge of tears, another round in a losing battle he’d been fighting ever since the police officers had brought him here. “I’m just twelve. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
Angela glared at him. “You didn’t?”
“You didn’t,” Deacon assured him. “None of us did. We’re alive, that’s all.”
“We aren’t supposed to be,” Emily said.
“The world isn’t supposed to be here either,” Deacon pointed out.
“Nobody died,” David said. “They’re all in a different hospital.”
His friends said nothing, pretending to be interested in Angela’s puzzle. Beth picked up a piece and pressed it into its proper place.
“When I came out of my hiding spot,” he added, “everybody was gone.”
Beth’s hand froze as she reached for another piece. “They…”
“You don’t know anything, Dave,” Angela growled. “You were hiding.”
“I was scared.”
“I didn’t see much either,” Emily said. “My mom locked me in a storage shed. I could only see outside through gaps in the boards. Just…”
Angela eyed her. “Just what? What did you see?”
“I don’t know. Nothing.”
Beth shuddered. The puzzle piece she was holding dropped to the tabletop, seemingly forgotten. “They… Everybody’s dead.”
“That’s not true,” David said.
“I was with Mom when she died,” Angela said. “Where were you again?”
“You’re a liar!” He leaped to his feet. The chair tilted to crash against the floor. “She’s not dead! Stop saying everybody’s dead and that it’s my fault!”
Across the room, the other kids cringed or paced. The nurse locked eyes with his. Heat bloomed in his cheeks.
“Sorry,” David said.
“Do you need a time-out?” the woman said.
“I’ll be good.” He sat down, shivering.
Emily wrapped her arms around him. He gaped at the puzzle, seeing not the materializing picture but the empty spaces that riddled it.
“If they’re gone, it’s not your fault,” she murmured. “If they’re gone, they’re across the black sea now. They’re with the Spirit.”
“I want my mom.” He covered his face and wept. “I want to go home.”
Angela said, “If they’re with God, then maybe that’s who we should be mad at.”
The remainder of the funeral service saw a parade of Emily’s family and friends stand behind the pulpit to share stories about her. David listened with interest, learning about the life she’d led after leaving the institution. Otherwise, he stayed seated, doubting they wanted to hear his own stories. When her husband, Nick, went up to talk about how important she’d been to him and their children, the man broke down so completely he had to be escorted back to his seat, a heartbreaking sight. The mourners sang a final hymn, and the pastor turned over Emily’s soul to God.
After the service was over, the organ played, family members carried her casket to the waiting hearse, and David needed a stiff drink.
Outside, Beth coughed on the smoky air. “I’ll drive us to the cemetery.”
David reached her Mercedes first and climbed into the front passenger seat. “Do you still have that flask?”
Beth started the car but let it idle to allow the other mourners to leave the parking lot first. “In my purse.”
He unscrewed the cap and took a long belt before passing it to Deacon.
“I still don’t understand.” His friend tilted his head back to drink and sighed. “Why she did it.”
“She was the last person I ever would have expected to do it,” Beth said. “Back when we knew her, nothing ever seemed to get her down. In her new life, she was surrounded by people who loved her. She volunteered for groups helping battered women and abused children. She had plenty to live for.”