Page 50 of Uncharted Desires
Why?
Why did I let him go?
I didn’t even want to.
How can the universe give you a taste of something and then rip your tongue out your throat the second you start to appreciate it?
Sirens wail again and the ambulance speeds back toward where it came from, going a thousand miles per hour.
And the wheels are still turning.
A silhouette appears in the distance, walking toward me.
It’s not until it comes under the yellow light of a streetlamp that I realize it’s not a person.
It’s a memory.
Or maybe it’s my brain slipping into delusion to save my sanity.
Phantom Sawyer walks toward me. He doesn’t have his jacket on. Don’t they wear leather in heaven? Because that’s where he went. Whatever god that’s currently welcoming him inside is a cruel one.
“Hey,” the phantom Sawyer says when he reaches me. His voice is sad.
Maybe because they won’t let him wear leather.
Come back to me. Come back. You can wear it here.
“Are you okay?” phantom Sawyer asks.
His arms are covered in blood. I burst into tears. “Are you happy there?”
“What?”
“In heaven. Are you happy?”
Maybe I should run into the street. Maybe I could join him.
“Blake? Are you okay?”
Phantom Sawyer reaches for my arm. It’s almost as if I can feel his touch. “Please, Sawyer. Tell me you’re happy. I have to know.”
The phantom hand touches my forehead. There’s concern on his phantom face.
It’s wrong. It’s all wrong. I don’t want to make him sad.
And then, phantom Sawyer says, “I’ll call an ambulance,” and pulls out a cell phone from the back pocket of his bloody jeans.
“What?”
“Blake, talk to me. What’s wrong?”
I open my mouth and close it again. He feels so real. “I don’t understand.”
“Look at me.” He grabs my shoulders and shakes my frame. “Blake!”
His phantom hand slaps my cheeks a couple of times. And it hurts for real.
I reach out and touch his cheek. “Are you—Are you real?”
