Page 112 of Elusion

“We were heading to the ER when he came home drunk,” he continues, shifting a little. “But Cal forgot her keys, and he followed her inside. I should have gone after her, but she told me to stay with Cate. She made it out the door before…” He wipes his face with his uninjured hand. “We were going to leave and never come back. I was going to make her promise that we would never go back.”

The picture that forms in my mind along with what I saw at the house overwhelms me. I have to concentrate on the basics of breathing, eyes directed at the stars until I block everything out. Once I can respond without fear of choking on my own words, I refocus on him.

“You won’t have to go back to him, Connor. None of you will. Graham’s going to be in a hell of a lot of trouble for what he did. And when Callie wakes up, she—”

“Stop,” he says. He finally looks at me, the tears streaming down his face. “You don’t know that. Everyone says that because it’s what we’re supposed to say. She’ll wake up. He’ll go to jail. Our mom will have an epiphany and want to be a mom and learn how to love us.” His head falls back against the seat, and his hands cover most of his face. “What in my life would make me think any of that will happen? Why should I believe anything good will ever happen?”

“Because it’s just as absurd to think only bad things will ever happen,” I say, fighting the urge to go into a full-on philosophical rant. “The universe spits everything out at random. It doesn’t differentiate between bad and good. That’s our job. Then we take each hit as it comes and search for something that makes it mean something more. Something that helps make the rest worthwhile. It’s up to us to find our own meaning in a random, uncaring, and relentless universe.”

Connor’s quiet for a minute, digesting what probably wasn’t the most helpful speech. “What if—”

A chilling tone slices through the crisp night air. His head lifts off the seat and turns toward me. Only, instead of looking at me, he looks past me. Even though I already know, I follow his gaze over my shoulder to the spot of light down the tracks. The train’s horn blows a second time, and the dreamlike fuzziness returns full force.

It can’t be real, but the bite in my palm as a fist forms around Pete’s truck key says otherwise. My eyes close, and I try to keep my mind clear to maintain my composure.

I summon the most authoritative voice I can produce. “Connor, we need to go.”

Again, he sits as still as a statue, facing forward. And he shows no signs of budging.

“Connor.”

Not even a blink.

Nothing equips me to talk a fifteen-year-old off the train tracks. Not the sailing lessons or the piano or all the prep courses. But it doesn’t really matter because I need to do it anyway.

When I warned Callie about the stupid decisions I would make in my life, I meant the purchase of the occasional sports car or an impulsive move to Guam. Not one that carries the potential of keeping me from making any type of future decisions. It’s my fault for not being more specific, I suppose.

I open the passenger door and climb in, pulling it shut behind me.

Connor’s head whips toward me, alarmed that I’m suddenly sitting next to him.

Yeah, me too, kid.

“Jordan, what are you doing?” His voice shakes.

“There’s no chance in hell I’m telling Callie I left you here by yourself.” I check the train, and sure enough, it keeps on rolling toward us, the spot of light growing. “What are we doing here, Connor?”

He tips his face up to the roof of the cab, eyes shut tight. “I need to make it all stop.”

“Everything?” I ask, trying to get him talking again.

No answer.

“That sounds like an awful lot to put on yourself.”

His face shows the agony tearing him apart inside. All his unhappiness has surfaced at once, and he’s desperate for a way to escape it. Desperation can play tricks on the mind, blocking out the alternatives one by one until it feels like nothing’s left. If we were in a dream and I could control it, I’d say something profound that would help him break through it. But we’re not, and I can’t, so I just start talking.

“It’s absolutely terrifying how most of our life is completely out of our hands. Especially when people do terrible things. Senseless, violent, inexcusable things we can’t stop. Eventually, I think we have to make a choice. We keep fighting against everything out of our control and let it consume us. Or we stop blaming ourselves for what we can’t change and focus on finding what makes our life worth living. The beauty that makes the rest hurt less.”

He opens his eyes, staring at the gray fabric above him. “Neither of those sounds very hopeful.”

The train’s warning sounds much louder than the last time, and the light shines through the open window, lighting up the side of Connor’s face. Panic sets in along with my own desperation to get this kid out of the fucking truck.

“Then screw hope,” I say.

His eyebrows pull together, two lines forming between them. He’s probably questioning where I’m headed with this. Honestly, I am wondering myself, but I ramble on.

“Hope gives us an excuse to wait for something good to happen and a reason to feel disappointed if it never does. We should seize the fucking day, man. Do what we can; accept what we can’t. We have so little control over what happens to us, so why give up more?”

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