Page 97 of The Otherworld

It’s impossible.

Papa has made it impossible.

* * *

Time does not pass in our world—instead, days repeat themselves. Night dissolves into a gray wash of morning. Rain comes and goes. Afternoon slips mournfully into the black robes of twilight. And the cycle repeats all over again.

I awaken one morning to a drizzling rain. The clouds hover low over our island, wisps of cotton fog reaching like fingers through the evergreen treetops. Seagulls cry, and waves crash. Our world turns, ever the same.

Despite the dreary weather, I go for a walk, Lucius trotting by my side, panting giddily and spraying sand underfoot. I pull my cloak hood up over my head as I inhale the scent of wet green earth. The spicy aroma of pine, the salty tang of kelp washed ashore, the sweetness of the rain as it falls, darkening the trees and blooming new patches of moss in its wake.

I walk because I can’t bear to be in the house any longer. I can’t bear the effort it takes to be around Papa. To talk about the weather and the crops and all the things we used to talk about before Adam.

Now, everything is different.

I’m afraid of what I might say to Papa if I let my heart control my mouth. And though the words may be true, where will they lead me? I have no option but to carry on and live my life. I have no choice but to obey my father.

“Come on, Lucius!” I call to the damp mongrel, who is burrowing his nose into the sand in search of something. He glances up at the sound of his name and romps over, following me up the rocky slope and into the forest.

I let my fingertips brush over tree branches as I pass them, cool raindrops splashing on my skin. It feels like only yesterday I was out searching these woods for Adam. Scouting the ground for footprints, examining every broken spider’s web. Looking for evidence that I was not alone in my world.

Now, I need no evidence. I am very, very much alone. The cold, encompassing weight of loneliness surrounds me like a starless night.

I continue through the forest, the dripping pines thinning out as I near the cove where Papa likes to fish. I know every tree, every bush, and every rock like the back of my hand. That’s why today, I stop short when I glimpse something unfamiliar ahead.

A streak of red through the woods.

My breath catches. Lucius stands at attention, glancing around.

“It can’t be…”

I rush forward, weaving through the trees and dodging gnarled roots as I race toward the cove. Flashes of bright red beckon me onward until I finally stumble out of the forest and onto the sandy shore of the cove.

And there, parked on the water, is Adam’s plane.

32

Mission Impossible

JACK

Enough of this shit.

I’m done listening to Adam’s baseless arguments about Orca. I’m done hearing him defend her father like he’s some hero for shielding his daughter from the big, bad world. I’m done debating because no matter how I say it, Adam doesn’t get it.

He can’t put himself in Orca’s shoes. He’s too old and complacent. He’ll leave the whole thing alone and gallantly step out of Orca’s life—to “respect her father’s wishes.”

But if he thinks I’m going to do the same, he’s got another think coming.

I drop the subject for a couple of days, and Adam seems relieved, as if he thinks I’ve forgotten about Orca, just like that.

Not a chance, bro.

I let Adam believe that because I don’t want him to know what I’m planning. I don’t want him to try to stop me. If no one else is going to step up and help Orca, I’m going to have to do it myself. Without anyone’s say-so.

I wait for the right moment. Aka: a moment when Adam isn’t around. He’s off pilot duty for the next three weeks, which means he’ll be spending all his time in his hangar at the port, restoring his disaster of a de Havilland Beaver. If I’m going to sneak off in his other plane, I’ll have to wait for a day when he’s not around. So I bide my time, impatient and restless.

Meanwhile, Mom gets annoyed with me hanging around the house—annoyed enough for Dad to find me a summer job at the marina, which he says will be a good “learning opportunity” for me. The only upside is that it’s part-time, so he can always pull strings if I really don’t want to be there. (One of the perks of living in a small town.)

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