Chapter Eighteen What’s done cannot be undone
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
What’s done cannot be undone
WHEN FINALLY WE EMERGED FROM the other side of the room, Kasem released his hold on me. We stumbled outside and into a garden that hadn’t been tended to in years.
The greenery was wilted, the shrubs skeletons of roots and branches.
A small pond that had once been at the center of the garden had completely dried up.
Bones of fish lay in ruins there, and the grounds were cracked and decrepit.
Another exit loomed ahead. Westfield was a never-ending maze of courtyards and corridors, exits and entrances.
“You do realize this is your fault,” Kasem said.
I stared at him in disbelief. “I saved your life.”
“I’m sorry, was that what just happened back there?”
“I’m talking about in the alleyway,” I snapped. “I found you bleeding out before the ambulance came. If I hadn’t done that, none of this would be happening. I never would’ve come to Westfield.”
Kasem laughed, his eyes dark in recognition.
“You know, if you’d accepted my offer in the pawnshop, I would have given you the money anyway.”
The meaning beneath his words cut through me.
“You think I robbed you after the attack?”
“Isn’t that what happened?”
“No. I mean, I know it looks like that. But I saved your life.”
“You left me for dead,” he said. “You don’t think I saw you grab handfuls of my money before you bolted when the ambulance came?”
Shame burned against my cheeks. It tore at me and so too did seeing Kasem look at me like I was an interloper. But that’s what I was. A stranger. And even if I had been the reason the ambulance had been able to find him, I’d taken his money and abandoned him in the alleyway.
“I had a good reason.”
“Yeah,” Kasem said, “and so did my attackers.”
His tone was biting, and I recoiled at the intensity of his disdain. If I could truly apologize for how the night had unfolded, I would. But no words could express the guilt I felt.
“I brought the money with me,” I explained, “and your bracelet too. You can have everything back, but I want to make things right. I think we’re linked. I don’t know how, but we are. And if we work together, we can help each other.”
Kasem watched me, pausing for a beat at my words. His brow furrowed, and for a second, concern gleamed in his eyes. He hesitated.
“Explain,” he said.
So, I did. I told him how I’d found the bracelet in Jojo’s car, and how I’d seen a vision of the future where Kasem succeeded in inheriting the estate.
I even told him about how I’d attempted to use my powers on the bracelet to no avail.
Here I was at Westfield, asking for his help, just like he had asked for mine back then, so that I could figure out how to unlink our bond.
All of it came spilling from me, everything except the part about me lying in his arms, unconscious.
“Am I missing something?” he said. “You found my bracelet in my brother’s car, after a stabbing that I was too unconscious to witness.” Anger churned in his eyes. “And, somehow, my brother’s not involved in all of this?”
Of course, when he said it like that, it didn’t sound great.
“I’m not trying to defend him.” I was angry too, furious at Jojo for all the lies and secrets.
But I couldn’t bring myself to condemn him completely.
It was as if I hadn’t only lost control of my powers after that night—I’d lost Jojo too.
All of his secrets and lies were one thing, but the thought that he might be part of the attack that night, that he might be connected to what happened to Kasem—that was painful in a way that made my migraines and nosebleeds almost bearable.
I wanted to find out the truth so I could control my powers again and so the pain would stop.
But I also wanted to prove that the Jojo I loved wasn’t capable of what I’d seen that night.
“Jojo’s lied to me enough about who he is,” I continued. “But I saw the attackers. Jojo wasn’t one of them. I can help you find them.”
It took a moment for Kasem to piece together the meaning in my words, but when he did, his eyes lit up. There was a mixture of fear in his expression, and awe too.
“You know because of your powers.”
I nodded. “You said I was marked earlier. After I used my powers on you, something changed. I can’t control my visions like I used to. I think—I think we’re bound, somehow, by an invisible thread. If I help you find your attackers, maybe you can help me break the bond. Deal?”
I waited for him to speak. But whatever questions were churning in his mind, Kasem seemed trapped in his search for answers.
“You saved me, I saved you,” he said simply.
My heart leaped, hope fluttering in my chest. “Okay, great,” I said. “So I think we should start with the bracelet. Maybe it’s the key to all of this?”
But Kasem didn’t meet my gaze. In fact, he wouldn’t look at me at all anymore.
“What I mean is, if you’re somehow bonded to me, that’s not something I can help with. And my problems are none of your concern.”
For a second, I thought I’d misheard him. But then it hit me.
He’d said no. He wasn’t going to help me.
“But you’re the one who came to me at Gus’s shop,” I said. “Why go through that trouble if you’re just going to change your mind? Why involve me in any of this if you know how dangerous it is?”
“I’ve done enough, and so have you. Whatever situation you’re in because of my brother and your powers, it has nothing to do with me.”
In my mind, I’d imagined what our reunion would be like.
But the man standing before me wasn’t the same as the one I’d saved in the alleyway.
Somewhere along the line, I’d imagined a version of him that didn’t exist. And if I’d conjured a false image of Kasem by saving him, now I was witnessing that mirage die.
Before the events in the maze and the woodshop, he’d told me there was something strange happening at Westfield, that there were accidents.
He’d known how dangerous it might be. And still, he had come to me.
He’d asked me to help predict his death.
But now he was walking it back like it had just been a minor mix-up, and that was infuriating.
Unless there was something he was hiding, something that would link to the attack that he didn’t want me to know? My mind raced with possibilities. And then, the answer came.
“You know already,” I whispered. “The people who attacked you. You already know who they are. That’s why when I claimed Alaster was part of it, you let him deny it.”
“It’s not that simple,” Kasem said.
“Yes, it is.” I pulled my phone from my pocket and held it toward him. “You told Honey I was your stalker when, really, I’m here because of you. So which is it? Why have you changed since that night? What are you hiding?”
He wouldn’t look at me. “What was I supposed to say?” he whispered. “That I asked a ‘psychic’ to come to Westfield?”
“That would have been the truth.”
“The Board has enough reason to question my inheritance,” he said. “I don’t need them to add concerns about my sanity as another reason why I can’t claim it.”
He was maddening; never answering questions directly, tiptoeing about everything that mattered.
“Look,” I said, trying to gather myself to keep from shaking some sense into him. “Just tell me the truth. Don’t I deserve that, at least?” I could use my powers on him. I would if it came down to it. But part of me was afraid of what I’d find if I looked into his lifeline again.
For a long moment, Kasem and I faced each other in silence, waiting for the other to break.
“You’re right,” he said. Finally. “I know who the attackers were, from the alleyway and even the maze. But they won’t be charged for it. You’re just wasting your time.”
“Why?” I said. “Because they’re rich white kids from Westfield?”
Kasem laughed, irony lacing his words. “Yeah,” he said. “That and the fact that two of them were already expelled from Westfield, and the other one is dead.”
If he’d meant it as a joke, I wasn’t laughing. But neither was he.
“You can’t be serious,” I said.
Instead of answering, Kasem took my phone.
He typed something in the search bar and then an article appeared online in the archived results.
It showed three Westfield students grinning in front of a fencing mat.
Two of them I recognized from the day in the pawnshop.
They’d been with Kasem, jeering him on to ask me out.
But the third figure, a man with a buzz cut and bright green eyes, looked familiar yet different.
Slowly, it sank in. From the curve of his round face and the close-cut trim of his hair to his hardened features. In the photo, he was dressed in a gray hoodie and a Westfield blazer.
This was the man without eyes.
He, or some version of him, had been there in the maze, and just moments before, in the tunnels under campus. Except that wasn’t completely possible. Not according to the article.
TRAGEDY AT WESTFIELD: STAR ATHLETE AND AWARD-WINNING SCHOLARSHIP STUDENT FOUND JIGSAWED IN SCHOOL WOODSHOP DURING INSTRUCTION SESSION. TWO OTHERS QUESTIONED IN CONNECTION WITH THE DEATH.
Beneath the photo, it listed the names of the fencing students depicted from left to right: Nathan Rowhouse, Jayson Dafophne, and Peter Tomfry.
The article was dated a year ago.
Everything came into focus. Honey and Joseph reminiscing about covering for another resident assistant last minute.
Vivian’s story about the upped security system at Westfield and how Poppy House’s former RA had died in a tragic accident.
And then there were Alaster’s comments about Nathan, and how he’d gotten entangled in the wrong circles.
It was all connected.