Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 113051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
“Wes?” I whisper to him.
The corner of his mouth lifts. “Hey, sweetheart,” he says quietly.
A tear rolls down his cheek.
Oh my god.
I stare down at the pictures again, my old life coming back to me in pieces, all my emotions coming first.
But so much is missing. Too much is missing.
I know…I know I…
“What happened to me?” I ask, but even as I do so, alarm creeps in. I close my eyes, my mind so desperate to remember.
“I don’t know if you’re ready to hear,” he says.
“Please don’t lie to me anymore,” I tell him, my eyes flashing open. “Please, I can’t bear it.”
He shakes his head, his mouth grim. “Later.”
“Later?” I repeat, getting to my feet. “What the fuck, Wes? What happened to me? How come I can remember everything, but…but…I don’t know what the last thing I remember is. I look at these pictures, and I remember the moments, but the moments aren’t stringing together. There’s no form. There’s no function. I remember these things, and that’s it. My life is a mosaic.”
“We need to get out of this storm first,” he says, moving for the stairs.
“No!” I yell at him, punching him in the shoulder. “Stop fucking lying to me! Why were you all lying to me?” I grab my head. “Oh my god, I can’t even think. I can’t think. I don’t know who I am.” I stare at him and scream, “I don’t know who I am!”
“Calm down,” he says, panic in his eyes.
“Fuck you!” I yell. “Don’t tell me to calm down!” I go to shove him again, and I slip on the rug.
My body lurches to the side, and out of my peripheral, I see the taped, broken corner of the dining table rushing up to meet my head.
Suddenly, Wes’ hands wrap around my arm, pulling me back just enough so that I hit the couch instead.
And that’s when it all comes back to me.
Everything slams into me in one horrible, existential moment that blows my mind apart at the seams.
All of this has happened before, and it will all happen again.
I had argued with Wes one night, here on the boat.
We were fighting.
We weren’t together anymore, but we were fighting.
Things got physical.
I pushed him, and I think he shoved me back.
Yes, he pushed me.
I fell right here.
I hit my head on the corner of the table.
And that was it.
That was where my life ended.
That was when I died.
CHAPTER 29
I lie on the couch at an awkward angle, staring up at Wes, and all I can think about is that I died.
I died.
I was dead.
And he’s the one that killed me.
“You killed me,” I manage to say, my heart wrapped in barbed wire.
He shakes his head adamantly. “No. I did not. It was an accident.”
He tries to pull me to my feet, but I wrestle out of his grasp, stumbling to the chart table, picking up the knife.
“Stay back!” I yell at him, my head pounding. “Stay the fuck where you are.”
“Sydney, please!” he barks, his palms splayed in desperation. “I did not kill you. I didn’t hurt you. It was an accident!”
But he’s wrong. I know he’s wrong. He’s lying like he’s always lied to me.
“You pushed me!”
“I didn’t! It was an accident. You slipped and fell. I tried to stop you, and I didn’t. I couldn’t. I missed.” His eyes search mine, quick and feverish. “God. Please, you have to believe me, you have to! I’m the only ally you have, the only one who can save you.”
“Save me?” I laugh bitterly. “We weren’t even together, were we? We had broken up.”
Is that why he killed me? Because he wanted to get back together and I didn’t?
Fucking hell, why can’t I remember anything?
Because you died. Whatever they did to Clayton, they did the same thing to you.
And that’s when the truth sinks into my cells, infiltrating every part of me.
I died and was brought back to life.
Not by CPR. Not by a ventilator.
But by Amanita excandesco.
And before that, before they stuck that mycelia in my brain, I was dead.
I was dead for a long fucking time.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” I mutter, my hand pressed against my mouth.
Wes takes that moment to lunge for me, but I’m quick, crying out as I instinctively slash at his arm with the knife.
He howls in pain, holding back his arm, blood pouring over his fingers, and I twist around to pick up the VHF. I press it down. “Mayday, Mayday! This is Mithrandir at the Madrona Lodge. We’re in Klaskish Inlet and—”
Wes yanks the radio out of my hand.
I quickly drop underneath the chart table, squeezing past him on my hands and knees, but then he’s on me, tackling me to the ground.
I roll over, kicking at him, getting him in the face, the crunch of bone as I break his nose. He lets out a yelp, and I scramble to my feet.