41. Alistair
“I could stay.”
“There are worse places to be trapped. At least I’d have you.”
“I think I love you, Alistair.”
I want to keep her.
It hurts . This wanting.
Hurts more when I watch her leave. Crying, as she does so, because she hurts too. Letting her stay would take away the hurt for both of us.
And I want to call to her.
Stay. Pippi. Please. I don’t want to be alone again.
I love you. All of you. Your laugh and…hu- humor . Your kindness. And your dreams. Everything. I love how spending time with you feels…easy.
Stay. Please.
But I don’t say any of that.
I want to tell her other things too.
What she is.
What I am.
What the island is.
Why we’re here.
Why we can never leave.
But I can’t. The words slip when I reach for them.
I remember Sensitive now . I know what I need to say to explain it to her. But when I hold her against me and try, the words aren’t there anymore. They return when she is gone. Slip when she is near.
It’s maddening .
The curse is the reason I forget.
It’s why I know there are people I hurt—sorrow— grieve for. But they’ve slipped. Mostly. Some faces return, but no words…no names.
I try to hold the words I need for Pippi. But they slip. And holding hurts .
Not saying them hurts more.
But she leaves. And I tell her nothing.
After, I am called to feed, although I can’t eat. I move. Restlessly—un-purposefully—through the waters. Never going anywhere. Because I can’t.
But Pippi can.
I am trapped.
She is free .
So I wait for the shadow that will take her away.
I wait to see her again. For the last time.
I wait to be alone in the waters again.
I wait to hurt.
I wait to heal.
I wait to forget.
I wait.
And wait.
That is all I can do. All I will ever be able to do.
When the shadow arrives, the rune above my right eye burns, calling me to go to the surface.
Something isn’t right.
A second shadow passes over.
I lower in the waters, worried.
The burn deepens, making me hiss, and my body moves on its own, wanting to get rid of the hurt.
Something isn’t right.
I swim and the rune above my left eye burns, telling me I am too close to the shadow. But I am being called to be close to it.
I shake my head as I come above the surface. The hurt is…it’s…
Awful.
The only word I have for it.
Awful.
“Well, Alistair!” someone calls to me as I am maddened with hurt.
I hiss again.
“You’ve gotten yourself in quite the pickle, huh?”
I know the voice, the man who speaks it.
Know him.
But his word… name …has slipped.
“You don’t remember me, huh?” the man asks. “That’s…well, it’s kind of sad, but oh-so-satisfying. I’m Rune Bloodworth.”