Hereafter

The coin

I saw it the second I awoke the next morning. Sitting dead center in the middle of my polished brown nightstand was a single gold coin. I reached for it, my fingers trembling, and laid it flat in the center of my palm. How had the coin gotten there? I felt like I had on every Christmas morning from the day my logic-loving, four-year-old brain had realized the improbability of Santa Claus. Every year for four years I’d tried to stay up to see how it all really happened, how those gifts appeared under the tree, but every year I dozed off and woke up with a start, amazed at the wonder of it all, but secretly angry at myself for failing, yet again, to see the truth with my own eyes.

Leaning back against my pillows, I flipped the coin over and over between my fingers, trying to keep the hovering sadness at bay, knowing I was just avoiding what the coin really meant.

Today was the day. I was going to do my first real ushering, all on my own. But instead of feeling full of purpose and light, my chest was impossibly heavy. I was going to begin my mission without Tristan.

I tromped downstairs and into the kitchen, focused on the coffee machine, but a blur of blue outside on the beach stopped me cold. It was Tristan. He was sitting on the beach behind our house, staring out at the water.

Suddenly, I could have sworn I felt the coin burning a hole in the front pocket of my jeans. I forgot all about the coffee and headed outside. Tristan didn’t turn as I approached. He had his legs pulled up, his forearms resting across his knees as he played with a bit of broken reed between his hands. The wind whistled in my ears as, out on the ocean, a rainbow-striped sail bobbed over the waves. I dropped down next to Tristan and pulled out the coin. He glanced at it.

“Today’s the day,” he said.

“Do you know who it is?” I asked.

He shook his head and pushed his legs out in front of him, poking the reed into the sand at his side, making a long, straight mark like a tally. “Not yet. But you will, soon enough.”

I swallowed hard, staring out at the water, my jaw set. “What’re you doing here?”

“I wanted to check in about yesterday—”

“Yeah. About that—” I interjected.

Tristan hesitated for a beat. “What’s up?”

“What the hell happened to my dad?” I demanded. “When he came home, it was like his memory was wiped.”

“What did you expect to happen?” he asked neutrally.

For some reason, that blasé tone got right under my skin. This was my father’s mind we were talking about. His memory. His emotions. He might be just another dead guy to Tristan and the mayor and the rest of Juniper Landing—just another visitor to keep in the dark—but he was my father. The only parent I had left.

“I don’t know,” I snapped, shoving myself up to my feet. “I thought you guys would pretend the ferry broke down or the mayor would…just convince him she’d find out what was going on with Nell.”

Tristan got up as well, still holding the small reed. The wind blew his hair back from his face, and I couldn’t help noticing how sharp his cheekbones suddenly seemed.

“What would be the point of that?” he asked calmly. “He’d only start asking more questions tomorrow.”

Like memory wiping was an obvious and not at all insidious solution. I groaned and started to walk back toward my house. Tristan, of course, followed.

“Rory, look, I’m sorry if you find the whole thing disturbing, but that’s just how it works around here,” he said. “Would you rather your father be up there right now in a panic, planning his next attempt to leave?”

I looked at the windows of my dad’s bedroom. He’d been up late working on his novel with renewed enthusiasm, now that the mayor had him convinced she could get it published. He was probably at his desk right now, editing and rearranging, muttering lines of dialogue out loud to himself.

“Of course not,” I said. “But that doesn’t make it right.” I stared past him at the sailboat, wishing I could be on it, sailing off to…well, anywhere but here. “How does it work, exactly?” I asked. “Does the mayor have special powers or something? Did she sneak in here at some point and wipe Darcy’s brain, too?”

“No. It’s not like she has to touch a person or something,” he said, his blue eyes serious. “Most of the time, the memory fix just happens on its own. Like when a visitor leaves and no one remembers them the next day. It’s automatic. Your dad was a special case. She had to place new memories in his mind, and once she did that, Darcy’s memories were changed to match his.”

I shuddered in the wind and hugged myself tightly. “How does she do that? Place new memories?”

Tristan ran his fingers through his blond hair. “It’s kind of wild, actually. She just sits with the person, looks them in the eye, and tells them a story,” he explained. “When she’s done, whatever’s she’s told them, they believe it actually happened that way.”

“So she hypnotizes people,” I said.

“In a way. But she doesn’t do it often,” Tristan said. “Only in extreme situations.”

I nodded, trying to swallow the lump in my throat. “Why can I still remember what happened?”

Tristan turned to face me fully. “Because you’re a Lifer,” he said, like it was obvious. “Our minds can’t be altered.”

“How do I know that?” I demanded. “How do I know that anything that’s happened to me is real?”

“Because,” he said, reaching out and placing his hand on my forearm, “I’m telling you. I swear to you, Rory. You’re safe here.”

I stared down at his hand, an accusation in my eyes. He quickly released me.

“Can you do that, too?” I asked, watching his hand as he pushed it into his pocket. “Implant new memories? Can I?”

Tristan sighed. He walked over to the bottom step leading up to our deck and sat down, sliding toward the railing to give me enough room to join him. “No. Only the mayor can do that.”

“So she does have special powers,” I said, sitting next to him but making sure no part of my leg touched any part of his.

“A few.” He used the reed to draw a series of vertical lines in the sand on the step. “She was sent here after the Jessica thing happened,” he said, keeping his eyes on his work. “She can tell if a Lifer with bad intentions arrives here, and if they do, she can send them straight to Oblivion.”

My throat tightened. Somehow the wind suddenly felt colder than it had a moment ago. “Well, that’s terrifying.”

“What?” he asked.

“One person having that kind of power,” I told him, wondering how he couldn’t see it. “Has that ever happened? Has she ever sent anyone there?”

Tristan nodded. “Twice. Both men. I never even found out their names. She just…dealt with them.”

“So they didn’t even get to plead their case?” I asked. “They didn’t have a chance to redeem themselves?”

Tristan looked me in the eye and shook his head. “We can’t let it happen again, what happened with Jessica. We can’t take that chance.”

It seemed so extreme. But then, I hadn’t been here when Jessica had sent their world teetering toward the brink. I couldn’t imagine what it must have been like, the visitors rising up against the Lifers. All the fear and anger and paranoia. The wind hit me with such force at that moment that I shivered.

“Are you cold?”

Tristan moved to put an arm around me, and I automatically flinched. “Don’t do that.”

He blinked. “What? I was just—”

I stood up, trembling from head to toe as goose bumps popped up all over my skin. “You can’t tell me you can’t be with me and then keep doing things like that. It’s not fair, Tristan,” I said, my voice cracking.

He stood up and faced me, so close that our bare toes touched. My chest radiated heat with each pained thump of my heart. I crossed my arms over my stomach, holding on to myself for dear life.

Focus, Rory. Focus.

“Rory—”

“No,” I said. “Please, Tristan. Just…don’t.”

He took a tiny step backward, and it was all the incentive I needed. I raced up the steps and across the deck, slamming the kitchen door behind me. Only when I was safely inside did I look back. And Tristan still stood alone in the sand at the bottom of the steps.

Watching.