Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Idon’t go back to the lighthouse. I can’t. Not today. I need time to think. To process everything I’ve just learned from Iris. I’m still in disbelief about it all. Still waiting for someone to reach out and tell me this has all been a joke.
Iris didn’t seem like she was joking, though.
Is time travel real? And have I somehow found a way back in time?
That sounds impossible. But if it is real, can I save Dylan?
You can’t change the past, my dear.
Iris’s words ring in my ears, reminding me that there might be no way to change Dylan’s fate.
But if I know what happens, and I tell him… maybe he can avoid it? And live?
And then what? Keep going back in time to visit him? Do we stay friends? Become more?
Do I even want to invite that into my life? First off, there’s no way to easily explain this to anyone. Second, I’ve got my own stuff going on right now. Trying to stay employed and pay rent and figure out how to be independent.
As I crawl into bed and pull the covers up to my chin, realization settles over me.
I have to go back. I can’t know what I know and not do something about it. Not try to save him. To somehow try to defy the odds and change the past.
I fall into a restless sleep, filled with fear, sadness, and a striped lighthouse.
I wake up the next morning, feeling even more exhausted than before I went to bed. I wrap the covers around myself like a cape and slowly make my way into the kitchen, where I can make a coffee. An instant coffee, but whatever. It’s quick and dirty, but I need the caffeine.
I keep thinking about my conversation with Iris.
It’s stuck in my head like a loop. I’m antsy and stressed and feeling every kind of emotion possible.
I’m so thankful it’s Sunday and I don’t have to work.
Thank you, Sarah, for never scheduling me on weekends since it’s so busy.
I should be offended, but right now, I’m grateful.
A benefit of having wealthy parents is that, regardless of the day, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.
But the real world works a little differently.
It’s cooler and more overcast today, so I put on a skirt with some black tights that show off my toned legs. A pair of knee-high black boots and a chunky, oversized dark green knit sweater complete the look. Very fall coded for late August.
Who knows what the temperature will be when I get inside the lighthouse, but I have a cropped T-shirt underneath just in case.
I’m nervous but ready to see him. I don’t know how I’m going to feel when I see him again, but I can’t just pretend I never met him or don’t know what happens. Happened, I guess.
I hope he believes me.
My car snakes down the winding roads to the coast, the trees getting smaller the closer I get and the ground turning rockier all around me.
When I finally see the gravel path and pull over in my usual spot, I place my hands on the wheel and lean my head onto them, taking some deep breaths before getting out.
I can do this.
I have to tell him.
He’ll believe me. I hope.
I step outside, closing the door behind me.
It’s windy out, and my loose waves whip across my face as I walk the gravel path that leads to the lighthouse.
I stand and stare up at it, noticing the windows are still cracked up top, the paint chipped, even more exposed concrete visible now.
This place looks even more rundown than when I initially discovered it.
I tilt my head to the side. How can that be?
Pulling out my phone, I scroll until I find the first photo I took of it exactly four weeks ago.
I look from the photo back to the lighthouse, confirming that it does, in fact, look even more decrepit than that day.
It’s strange, the weather hasn’t been too bad.
I don’t understand why that is happening.
Shrugging it off, I get up to the door and reach out for the gold handle, bracing myself for the shock I know to expect, and then open the door. A rush of air washes over my face as I step inside and close it behind me.
Everything is still. Quiet.
No footsteps, no sounds at all. He must be out.
I look over and notice his rubber boots are there, but there’s an empty spot beside them where another pair must have been.
There’s an empty hook where his dark green jacket usually hangs.
I walk over to the cream-coloured door, completely blending into the wall, and open it.
Stepping outside, I’m unsure what weather is about to greet me.
It’s then I hear him yell.