I gaze down at my shorts, now covered with mud, and even after I close my eyes and try to replace them, try to clean myself up, I remain exactly the same. Instant manifestation doesn't work in these parts.
I take a deep breath and fight to steady myself, as eager to leave as my horse, but knowing I was sent here for a reason, that there's something I'm meant to see, I resolve to stay just a little bit longer. Squinting at the scenery before me, and noticing that instead of the usual, soft, golden radiance, the sky in these parts is all murky and gray. Instead of the shimmering mist that I'm used to, there's a steady downpour that leaves the ground so muddy and wet it seems it never lets up, but if the barren plants and trees are any indication, appearing so cracked and dry it's as though they haven't been watered for years, it's not exactly a nourishing rain.
I take a step forward, determined to decipher the message, learn why I'm here, but when my foot sinks so deep the mud swallows me up to my knees, I decide to let my horse take the lead. But no matter what I coo in her ear, what commands I give, she refuses to explore any further. She has one destination in mind and that's back to where we came from, so I finally give up and give her full rein.
Glancing over my shoulder as we leave and remembering what the twins once said: "Summerland contains the possibility of all things."
And wondering if I somehow stumbled upon its other side.
"What happened to you?"
I squint, having no idea what he's referring to until I follow his pointing finger all the way down to my mud-splattered legs and the flip-flops that used to be a cute, metallic gold but are now so crusted with dirt they're more like a blech-tinged brown instead.
I frown, instantly swapping them out for a nice, new, clean version of the exact same thing, glad to know I'm back to the magical section of Summerland, which is far more preferable to the no-man's-land I visited earlier. Taking a moment to shrug on the soft lilac cardigan I also just manifested, wrapping it tightly around me as I say, "I got tired of waiting. I didn't know how long you'd be, so I went on a little-uh-field trip." I lift my shoulders like it was no big deal, like it was just your everyday, garden variety, late afternoon stroll-when the truth is with that weird, relentless rain, those barren trees, my horse's determination to get the heck out of there, it was anything but. But Jude already has enough to process without my adding a confusing new territory to the mix and I'm eager to find out what he's seen.
"But even more important than what happened to me is what happened to you?" I look him over from the top of his golden brown dreadlocks to the rubber soles of his flip-flops, noticing how on the outside he's pretty much the same as I left him, but inside, something has definitely changed. There's a shift in his energy, his demeanor. On the one hand, he seems lighter, brighter, brimming with confidence, yet he also seems distinctly edgy for someone who just visited one of the greatest wonders in all of the universe.
"Well-it was-interesting." He nods, his gaze meeting mine, but only for a moment before he quickly turns away.
And I can't believe he thinks he can get away with that. I mean, I think I deserve a little more after having brought him all the way here.
"Um, care to elaborate?" I arc my brow. "Exactly how was it interesting? What did you see, hear, learn? What did you do from the moment you entered to the moment you left? Did you get the answers I need?" Knowing I'm seconds away from peering into his mind to see for myself if he doesn't spill soon.
He takes a deep breath and turns, moving several paces away until he finally meets my gaze and says, "I'm not sure I really want to get into it just yet-it's a lot to process-I still need to make sense of it. It's all a bit-complicated-" I squint, determined to see for myself. There are very few secrets in Summerland, especially for a newbie like him who doesn't have the first clue as to how it all works, but the second I run up against that solid brick wall, I know just where he's been.
The akashic records.
Remembering how Romy once said: Not all thoughts can be read, only the ones you're permitted to see. Whatever you see in the akashic records is yours and yours to keep.
I narrow my gaze, needing to know now more than ever, moving toward him, just about to push a bit further when I feel it-that swarm of warmth, of tingle and heat his mere presence brings. Turning to find Damen, making his way down those steep marble steps, until he stops-everything stops-and our eyes meet.
And I'm just about to call out to him-urge him to join me, knowing now's my chance to explain everything, when I see what he sees-me and Jude together, enjoying a nice trip to Summerland-Damen's and my special place. And before I can do anything, say anything-he's gone. Just blinked out of existence as though he was never really there.
Except he was.
His energy lingers. I can still feel him on my skin.
And one glance at Jude is all it takes to confirm it. Seeing the way his eyes go wide, the way his lips part-the way he reaches toward me, wanting to comfort, but I pull away quickly.
Sickened by what Damen must think-how we must've appeared to his eyes.
"You should go," I say, my back turned toward him, my voice crisp and tight. "Just close your eyes, make the portal, and go.
Please."
"Ever-" he says, reaching for me again, but I'm already gone, moving on to some other place.
I walk. Walk until I've no idea how far I've gone. Walk until I'm sure Damen can no longer see me. Determined to outwalk my problems but not getting very far, finally understanding that old adage on the coffee mug my eighth-grade English teacher used to have: wherever you go-there you are.
You can't outwalk your problems. Can never run fast enough to evade them completely. This is my journey, and there's just no escaping it.
And even though Summerland provides such sweet, glorious release-its effect is only temporary at best. No matter how long I manage to stay here, I'm pretty sure things will do a one-eighty the second I return to the earth plane.
I wander farther, trying to decide between stopping by the theater to catch an old movie, or maybe even heading over to Paris to take a nice relaxing stroll along the River Seine, or even a quick hike through the ruins of Machu Picchu, or a run through the Roman Coliseum, when I come across a smattering of cottages that brings me to a halt.
The outside is plain, modest, consisting of wood shingles, small windows, and pointy, triangular roofs-but even though there's seemingly nothing special about any of them, there's one in particular that beckons to me, glowing in a way that lures me down the narrow dirt path until I'm standing just outside the door. Having no idea why I'm here but still debating whether or not I should try to go in.
"Ain't seen 'em round these parts fer weeks."
I turn to find an old man poised at the edge of the path, dressed conservatively in white shirt, black sweater, and black pants, a few wispy gray hairs brushed sideways over his shiny bald scalp, leaning on an elaborately carved cane that seems to testify more to his love of its craftsmanship than any real physical need.
I squint, unsure what to say. I don't even know why I'm here, much less whom he's referring to.
"Them two girls-the dark-haired ones. Twins they were.
Could barely tell 'em apart meself-though the missus had 'em down. The nice one-she liked chocolate, and lots of it." He chuckles, smiling at the memory. "And the other one-the quiet, stubborn one-she preferred popcorn, couldn't get enough of it. But only the stove-popped kind, none of that instant manifested stuff." He nods, looking at me, really taking me in, not the least bit shocked by my modern dress in these parts. "The missus she indulged 'em, she did. Felt sorry for
'em, worried about 'em a good bit too, I'd say. Then, after all that, after all these years, they just up and leave with nary a word." He shakes his head again, but this time he doesn't laugh or smile, just gives me a bewildered look, as though hoping I can help him make sense of it.
I swallow hard, my gaze darting between the front door and him, pulse quickening, heart racing, knowing without asking, knowing deep down inside that this is where they stayed-this is where Romy and Rayne lived for the last three hundred and some-odd years.
But still needing a verbal confirmation, just to make sure, I say, "Did-did you say the twins?" My mind reeling, as I take in the plain familiar cottage, an exact replica of the one I saw in the vision the day I first found them squatting at Ava's when I grabbed Romy's arm and watched their entire life story unfold-all of it racing toward me in a jumble of pictures-this house-their aunt-the Salem Witch Trials she was determined to shield them from-and it all led to this.
"Romy and Rayne." He nods, looking me over with cheeks so red, a nose so bulbous, and eyes so kind he seems almost manifested, fake, a lifelike replica of the quintessential jolly old Englishman on his way home from the pub. But since he doesn't waver or fade in and out, since he remains right there before me with that same friendly grin on his face, I know he's for real. Maybe living, maybe dead-can't be too sure about that, but definitely, positively, the real deal. "Them's the ones you's looking for, yes?"
I nod, even though I'm not sure. Was I looking for them? Is that why I'm here? I glance at him, wincing when he gives me a look so odd I can't help but let out a nervous giggle. Clearing my throat and attempting to pull it together when I add, "I'm just sorry to hear they're not around, I was hoping I could catch them."
He nods, nods as though he completely understands and sympathizes with my predicament. Leaning with both hands on his cane as he says, "The missus and me grew quite fond of 'em, seeing as we all arrived around the same time. What we can't decide is if they finally decided to cross the bridge and be done with it, or if they's made the trip back. What do you think?"
I press my lips together and shrug, not wanting to let on that I already know the answer to that one, and relieved when he doesn't press further, just nods and shrugs too.
"Missus swears they crossed the bridge, said the little 'uns got tired of waiting for whomever's they's waiting for. But I say different. Rayne might've gone, but she'd never convince that sister of hers, that Romy-she's a stubborn one all right."
I squint, sure I misunderstood, shaking my head as I say, "Wait-you mean Rayne's the stubborn one, right? Romy's the kinder, gentler one."
I nod, expecting him to nod too, but he just gives me that same odd look and digs his cane deeper into the dirt. "Meant what I said, I did. Well, good day to you, miss."
I stand there, watching him walk away, head up, spine straight, cane swinging happily, hardly believing he's chosen to leave it like that and wondering if my question somehow offended him.
I mean, he is kind of old, and the twins do look exactly alike, or at least they did when they lived here and wore those private-school uniforms every day, and I can only imagine how they dressed before Riley got ahold of them. But something about the way he said it, so sure, so confident, I can't help but wonder if I've got it all wrong. Or if that mean, bratty, resentful side of Rayne is reserved just for me.
Hoping he can hear me before he gets too far away, I call, "Sir-um, excuse me-but do you think it's okay if I go in and take a look? I promise I won't disturb anything."
He turns, waving his cane jauntily as he says, "Help yourself.
Ain't nothin' 'ere that can't be replaced."