Page 13 of The Otherworld

She stares at me, her wet cheeks glistening in the light from the hallway. “I can’t go through this alone, Jackie. I need you to help me bear it.”

I shake my head. “You’re giving up on him.”

“Do you think I want to?” Her voice strangles in her tears, and she stops, pressing one hand to her chest—like her heart is breaking. “Your father says we have to accept this. Maybe he’s right.”

“Well, I won’t accept it,” I snap, jolting to my feet. “You and Dad can believe what you want, but I’ll never give up. I’ll die before I accept this. In fact, I’d rather have that, okay? I’d rather die. I’d rather die—”

“Stop it!” Mom stands to face me, tears quivering in her angry, grieving eyes. “Don’t ever let me hear you say that again.”

“I mean it, Mom. I wish it were me and not him who went down out there.”

“Jack—”

“If anyone should be here, it should be Adam. He’s worth ten of me—”

Mom slaps my face. “How dare you say that to me! Don’t you realize how much that rips my heart out? Don’t you realize you are all I have left to live for? My boys are everything—I already lost Adam, and now here you are, saying you want to die, too?”

My throat locks up, hot tears sliding down my jaw. “I can’t do it, Mom… I won’t give up on him.”

“He’s gone, Jack.” She cups my face in her hands. “Sooner or later, you’re going to have to accept that. He would want you to be strong. To help me be strong.”

My stomach tightens into a knot, my whole body going hellfire and brimstone. I shake my head firmly. “No. No—”

“Jack—”

“No!” I knock Mom’s arm away and rush out of the room. I can barely see through my tears as I storm down the hallway and out the back door, Mom’s words chasing me like demons.

He’s gone.

Choking on air, I race across the driveway and duck into the shadow of our woods. Sappy wet pine branches slap my legs, my face. I don’t know where I’m going, but I know I can’t stay in the house for one more minute with Mom’s grief hanging in the air.

He’s gone.

My hands shake uncontrollably. I squeeze them into fists. Out of breath, I stop behind the barn—where I first caught him kissing a girl, where he first caught me smoking cigarettes. There’s no place I can go to get away from his memory.

He’s gone.

Rage wells up in me like a dam about to break. I can’t hold it in any longer.

I curl my fist tight and punch the wall as hard as I can. The shock of pain actually feels good—something real to rattle me out of the black abyss of acceptance.

“Damn you, Adam!” I roar, punching the wall again and again and again. “Damn you!”

SLAM, SLAM, SLAM.

The pain is nothing compared to the war inside me.

“I hate you!” I shout over the voice in my head, his voice.

“You’re on your own, Superman.”

“I’m not Superman! I can’t do this. It’s too hard—I’m not you!”

My final blow cracks the wall. My wrist crumples, and I howl in pain, yanking my hand back. It’s covered in blood. I whimper like a wuss, cradling my hand and slumping back against the wall.

“I’m not you,” I gasp, shivering in the dark, tears running down my face. “I can’t do this…”

The demons whisper, Mom is right. Dad is right.

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