Page 129 of Irreversible

All I need is right now.

I tell her everything. Everything I recall, from the harrowing, gruesome ins and outs of my captivity to The Timekeeper and his horde of evil minions. The egg transfers. The men and women who appeared on the other side of the wall, only to vanish into thin air.

Mom has always been the best listener. She’d tell me that all a person ever truly wanted was to be heard. So, she made it an artform, her own special love language. There’s solace in her silence, and it fuels my words and pain-steeped stories.

When my strength is depleted and my voice is raw, she climbs into the small bed with me and curls an arm around my waist. I prop myself up against two stacked pillows and glance down at her fingers as they graze the length of my arm, wrist to elbow. My mother loves jewelry. Rings, bracelets, necklaces. There’s a new jewel circled around her index finger that catches my eye. It’s shaped like a dragonfly. “What’s this?” I touch my fingertips to the gold and cerulean ring with curiosity.

She glances at it, wiggling her finger. “It reminded me of you. Your love for insects.” She smiles. “Dragonflies represent resilience and change. It kept me grounded. Close to you.”

My eyes water through a nod.

“I never believed you were dead, Everly.” Her chin lifts, gaze connecting with mine. “Never. Lost, yes…but not gone. I would have known. I would havefeltit.”

Mom is the intuitive type.

She loves nature, crystals, incense.

When I was stressed, she’d tell me to stand outside in the grass, barefoot. When I was sad, she’d encourage me to hug a tree and breathe in the crisp bark. Nature is a healer, she’d say. It’s our essence. For years, I had none of that. No sunlight, no grass blades, no flowers stretching toward an open sky. I became a hollow shell.

Heaving in a frayed breath, I look up at the ceiling and think of Jasper. The snap. The clipped tether. I’d convinced myself he was dead because I felt him leave me. It was a bone-deep dread that consumed me for months.

But he’s alive.

My instincts were wrong. The truth couldn’t reach me inside of that place.

“Have you talked to Allison?” I wonder, reaching for my mother’s hand. She stiffens a bit. “Does she know?”

Mom nods slowly. “Yes. She’s in the waiting room. They would only allow one person in at a time.”

“I missed her.”

“She missed you. Terribly.”

I swipe away a stray tear. “Have you stayed in touch?”

“Of course. We’ve had coffee dates, shopping trips, lunches out on the patio. Less frequently, lately…”

Swallowing, I close my eyes. “Why?”

She doesn’t reply for a while. Then she whispers, “She’s been busy.”

“Can I see her?”

“Sure.” Mom untangles herself from my arms and stands, smoothing out her blush-hued blouse. “I’ll send her in.”

She leaves the room, and I pull the starchy blanket up to my chin. Seconds tick by, turning into minutes.

Ninety-two, ninety-three…

I push my hair off my face, tucking it under my head. When I lay back down, something pokes at my scalp.

My eyes round.

The guitar pick.

A tsunami of emotion hurls into my chest as I sit up straight and drag my fingers through my giant mess of hair, searching for the priceless treasure. It’s still secured, just barely. Tangled in a few loose strands. Wincing, I slowly pull it free, my heartbeats skipping as it comes into view inside the palm of my hand. A shimmering blue teardrop.

Sara’s.

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