Page 55 of Don’t Let Me Go
It’s surreal and not a little disorienting to be sitting under the harsh fluorescent lights of the Mall at Millenia food court
when less than an hour ago, Jackson and I were being murdered in the streets of Paris. Neither of us, though, could bear the
thought of going home. His aunt and my dad would only have to take one look at our red eyes and haggard faces to know something
was wrong. And what could we possibly tell them?
I don’t even know what to tell myself.
“Do you think it was a coincidence?” Jackson asks, looking up from the cold plate of chicken teriyaki that we ordered from
Wok N Roll to share but that neither of us has touched. The mall is almost empty at this hour. Jackson and I are the only
people in the food court, but he speaks in a whisper as if he’s afraid of being overheard.
“Was what a coincidence?”
“Everything that happened last weekend with our exes.”
“With our exes?” I repeat, unable to follow his train of thought.
Jackson nods solemnly. “You and I were starting to get close, then out of the blue both of our exes suddenly appeared and
almost derailed us from getting together. Do you think that’s a coincidence or do you think it was?.?.?.?the universe? Jocasta
said it wanted to keep us apart. Do you think—I don’t know—do you think it was using our exes to steer us away from each other
so it wouldn’t have to...”
Jackson trails off, but I know what he’s saying.
So it wouldn’t have to kill us.
“I think if the universe wanted to keep us apart,” I say as my frustration rises, “it wouldn’t have let you move to Orlando
in the first place. And it certainly wouldn’t have let you move next door to one of my best friends.”
Jackson blinks in surprise. “You don’t believe Jocasta, then?”
“I don’t know what I believe,” I sigh as I throw my plastic fork down in disgust.
Ever since waking up on the floor of Jocasta’s hotel room, I’ve been ricocheting between dread and denial. I know it was only
this morning that I was the one insisting that our past lives were real. But that was when my theory was just that—a theory.
Now that I know I’m right, all I want is to be wrong. And for Jocasta to be wrong. She has to be. Otherwise...
My hands start to shake. Jackson reaches across the table and takes them in his. His touch is warm and comforting. But when
I try to smile, my mouth can’t hold the shape.
“Riley, we need to face facts,” Jackson says, looking at me with a mixture of pity and defeat. “We’ve seen ourselves die four times. And Jocasta said we’ve died at least a dozen other times. We need to consider—”
“We don’t know it’ll happen again,” I cut him off. Because I know where this conversation is going. Maybe I’m being stubborn
and unreasonable, but I’ve spent my whole life waiting for someone like Jackson. I’m not about to give him up because of a
few bad nightmares or because some scheming witch thinks the universe is out to get us.
“You aren’t worried about what’s gonna happen when you turn eighteen?” Jackson asks, his voice almost pleading.
“ Nothing is going to happen,” I insist, snatching my hands away in annoyance. “We don’t live next to a volcano. The Germans aren’t going to bomb us. Nobody’s getting the plague. We’re going to be fine .”
I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince, Jackson or myself. I don’t think it matters. Neither of us believes it.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” I announce, pushing my chair back from the table. I need to clear my head. To think. And I can’t
do that with Jackson staring at me like we’re doomed passengers aboard the Titanic . “I’ll be right back.”
Forcing myself to stay calm, I walk briskly across the deserted food court, then down the long corridor that leads to the
men’s room. There’s a sharp antiseptic smell of bleach that burns my nostrils when I step inside, but at least the bathroom
is clean. It’s quiet and empty and gleams with a polished whiteness. Like the snow-covered fields of Brattahlid.
Where I died.
Pushing the thought out of my head, I lean over one of the motion-operated sinks and splash cold water on my face. I’m hoping
the jolt will snap me out of the nightmare that I’ve found myself in. Only I’m not in a nightmare.
Jocasta, Ulfhild, my past lives—they’re all real. It’s impossible, but apparently impossible things have been happening to
Jackson and me for the past two thousand years.
But even so, we don’t know for sure that we’re going to die on my birthday. Jocasta said that none of our previous selves
were able to remember their past lives, that Jackson and I are the first. That has to mean something.
Maybe Jackson and I have been shown our past so that this time around we can learn from our mistakes. Not the way Jocasta
thinks, not so we can break up and escape whatever awful death the universe has planned for us, but so we can find some way
to escape death and stay together.
That has to be a possibility, doesn’t it?
I hear the universe’s answer before I see it—a raucous, wild laughter that echoes down the hall and makes my stomach turn.
I look up from the sink, and the bathroom door flies open as the guys from the Olympus High Thunderbolts bound inside like
a pack of hysterical hyenas.
“Barbie Boy!” one of them shouts in surprise. It’s Rex Miller. He was one of the jerks who Audrey had to rescue me from freshman
year. Only Audrey isn’t here now. No one is.
My hands start to stake again, and my body breaks into a cold sweat. Every instinct is telling me that I’m in danger, that
I should run . But the seven varsity-jacket-clad footballers are a wall of meat and testosterone between me and the door.
“What are you doing here?” Rex asks. “Trolling for some weekend mall dick?”
Keeping my head down, I try to push past him, but Rex blocks my way.
“Um, rude.” He snorts. “You can’t say hello?”
I look up from the floor so I can tell him to his face to fuck off. But when I do, my breath catches in my throat.
It’s Rex’s hair. It’s the exact same shade of orange as the boy’s hair in Paris. The one who was dragging the naked corpse
through the streets. The one who pinned my arms behind my back and ...
My blood runs cold.
Are Rex and his friends going to be the ones who kill me? Are they going to jump Jackson and me on my birthday? Is that how
we’re going to die? The victims of some fucked-up hate crime?
“Hey, Earth to Iverson.” Rex takes a step toward me. “I said—”
“Don’t touch me!”
I scramble backward, and my foot slips on the polished bathroom floor. My legs slide out from under me, and I crash against the tiled wall, banging my head against the metal casing of the paper towel dispenser.
“Holy fuck!” Rex gasps, stifling a laugh.
There’s a sharp pain on the side of my head. I touch it, and when I pull my hand away, my fingers are red with blood.
“Yo, are you okay?” one of the other boys asks.
Run , my mind is screaming. Run!
Clutching my head, I stumble toward the bathroom door. This time Rex lets me pass.
Blind with panic, I race down the corridor and into the food court, stopping only when someone steps in my path.
“Riley? What’s the matter? What happened? Are you all right?”
I throw my arms around Jackson.
“I don’t want to die,” I cry as every part of my body trembles with terror. “I don’t want to die!”