Page 49 of Don't Let Me Go
Because I am.
Riley’s been an incredible friend since I moved to Orlando. I keep having to remind myself that I met him only two weeks ago because I feel so comfortable around him. Like I’ve known him my whole life.
For some reason, the dude just gets me. And I get him. We click.
It’s actually a little disturbing how much we click. During our late-night texting sessions, I’ve told him things that I’ve never told anyone. I don’t mean deep dark secrets. He already knows my secrets. I mean silly, stupid stuff. It’s like all my life I’ve been storing up these stories about myself and now I finally have someone to share them with. Someone Iwantto share them with. And he wants to hear them. Just like I want to learn everything about him...
“Who wants to live forever?Who wants to live forever?” Riley sings, his voice growing in confidence as he reaches the second chorus. He doesn’t have Audrey’s swagger or showmanship, but there’s somethingcompelling about his performance. He closes his eyes the way some singers do when they’re really feeling the music, and his entire body seems to relax and expand like the song is filling him up—likes he’s becoming one with the music.
Lost in his performance, Riley is more self-assured, more alive, morehimself. It’s like getting a glimpse into his soul. A soul that is strong and beautiful andfamiliar...
Something stirs in the back of my mind. A buried memory pushes itself to the surface. Images of people and places I only half recognize flicker in front of my eyes like a flip book with the pages out of order.
It makes my head spin.
I try to steady myself against the table, to focus on Riley until the dizziness passes, but I can’t seem to concentrate. The world is going sideways.
“Jackson?”
My legs give out under me. I collapse to the floor, the weight of my own body pulling me down as the world goes dark.
Somehow, though, I can still see Riley, his face leaning over me, his clear green eyes staring into mine.
Those eyes...
“Jackson?”
I’ve seen those eyes before.
“Are you all right?”
I’ve met Riley before.
“Can you hear me?”
I know him.
London, England
(May 10, 1941)
Chapter 19
Jack Hartnell
Truth is, people can get used to anything. Look at Myrtle. Nine months ago, every time the Germans dropped their bombs, she would scream her head off and scramble for the nearest shelter faster than you could say “God save the King.” Tonight, she just lights up a smoke, not even bothering to look up at the planes buzzing overhead.
Why should she? The Germans never bother with Piccadilly. All the girls who work the streets ’round here know that. Even the sounds of the bombs dropping on the other side of the river hardly warrant their consideration.
It’s all a bit old hat now, innit? I mean, every other night, the same routine: The sun goes down, the air-raid sirens go off, a dozen planes courtesy of Herr Hitler fly up the Thames and blow up a few buildings. Then they pop back across the Channel, and we all get on with our lives. Start to finish, the whole thing only lasts an hour. I suppose that’s what they mean on the radio about “German efficiency.”
“All right there, Myrtle?” I shout over the din, tipping my cap to her as Charlie and I make our way past the fountain with the flying baby on top. Myrtle told me once it’s not actually a flying baby. It’s some Greek lad named Eros who’s the god of love or something. That’s why all the tarts hang around it.
“Slow night.” Myrtle yawns and flicks a bit of ash off the sleeve of her coat as another loud boom echoes in the distance. Only ten minutes ago, Charlie and me saw the Germans hit Tower Bridge on ourway across the river. Watched the Constable Tower go up in flames and everything. That last explosion sounded closer, though. Maybe London Bridge? Or Southwark?
The Germans always go for bridges.
“Why don’t you go inside, have a warm-up?” I ask as a gust of wind causes Myrtle to shiver. It’s a bit nippy for May, and the streets were emptier than usual even before the air-raid sirens sent everyone ducking for cover.
