Serena
Mom worked hard to keep my name out of the paper, despite this nosy reporter, Carrie Sanderson, poking around.
With a little help from Johnson Green, the story that eventually ran was that Milo had taken a boat out on the lake and been attacked by a gator. No mention of any companion, the cabin or anything else.
I spent the first month after our misadventure grounded, but Mom’s relief at having me home, in one piece, outweighed her anger, and finally I was allowed out again. Not that I had anywhere to go or anyone to see.
Despite repeated requests to visit Milo while he recovered in hospital – even turning up at reception and begging – I was told time and time again that Milo didn’t want to see me.
I didn’t believe it. I knew it was his mom, working hard to keep me away from him.
But I couldn’t do anything about it. I sent cards, dropped off notes at reception. All were returned.
Month after month went by. Milo remained in hospital.
He was lucky, people kept saying. Cracked ribs, concussion, torn ligaments.
The biggest damage was to his left leg. The gator took a hefty chunk out of it.
Doctors had managed to save most of the limb, but he would always bear the scars and walk with a limp.
I spent a lot of time alone, either at the library or down by the lake, thinking about that night.
Not just what we found at the cabin, but what we did.
What it meant, if anything. I kept seeing Milo just before he fell into the water.
His eyes snapping shut, like someone had pulled a switch.
I saw him disappear beneath the water’s surface.
And each time, I thought, I should have saved him.
Or maybe I should have listened to him when he wanted to find that tunnel.
We could have escaped. Should have escaped.
It was almost four months after the attack when Mom told me she’d got a call from the hospital. Milo wanted to see me. His mom had relented. I was happy, but also kind of nervous. Things had changed, for both of us, and I didn’t know how it was going to go.
Mom wasn’t wild about the visit. She blamed Milo for us being out on the boat, even though I had told her time and time again that we’d come up with the idea together.
‘But,’ she had acquiesced. ‘If it stops you moping around like a lost soul all the time, then I suppose it’s fine.’ She had eyed me critically. ‘Maybe you could even change out of those awful baggy shirts you’ve been wearing. And a hair wash never hurt either.’
I didn’t change out of the shirt, but I did wash my hair. I also bought some of Milo’s favourite chocolate and a Batman comic.
Milo wasn’t in bed. He was sitting up in a high-backed chair, wearing a pair of striped pyjamas and reading a book.
He looked even thinner, if that was possible, and his long hair had been shorn short.
I felt mean for thinking it, after all he had gone through, but it didn’t suit him. Then he smiled and he was Milo again.
‘Serena!’
He closed the book and slid it down the side of his chair.
‘Hey!’ I walked forward feeling strangely awkward. ‘I brought you these.’ I held out the chocolates and comic.
‘Thanks.’ He took them and put them on the tray table by his chair. ‘Sit down.’ He gestured to the bed.
I perched on the end. ‘I wanted to come and see you before, but your mom wouldn’t let me. She kept saying you wouldn’t see me. I mean, I knew it was bullshit—’
He shook his head. ‘No, it’s true. I didn’t want to see you.’
My smile faltered. ‘Why?’
He sighed. ‘Well, to start with, I didn’t want you to see me in here. I mean, I was a mess, hooked up to all sorts of stuff. My leg was like raw meat.’
‘I wouldn’t have cared.’
‘It’s not pretty.’
‘I don’t care.’
‘You say that, but—’
‘Milo, you are my best friend. Nothing will change that. Not this. Not what happened that night at—’
He frowned. ‘I don’t remember that night.’
It was like a gut punch. ‘None of it?’
A small shrug. ‘I remember we had this crazy plan to find Harold’s cabin, and I vaguely remember stealing the boat, but after that … it’s a blank. The next thing I remember is being in the water.’
‘Nothing in between?’
He shook his head again. ‘Doctors say it might be a brain injury, or maybe the trauma.’
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Well, I guess there’s some stuff I need to fill you in on—’
‘No!’ He held up a hand. ‘I don’t want to know.’
I just stared at him. ‘What? Why don’t you want to know?’
A sigh. ‘I think maybe I’m not supposed to know.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘It’s like God is giving me a clean slate – a fresh start.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘You don’t believe that crap.’
‘It’s not crap.’
His chin was set in that stubborn way I recognized, when he had an idea so firmly cemented in his mind nothing would shake it.
‘You’re not serious?’
He leaned forward again. ‘When I was in the water, I died, Serena. That’s what the doctors told me. I died, and I remember that it was dark, and so cold. I didn’t feel peace or calm. Just terror. And then I saw them.’
‘Who?’
‘The lost souls.’
‘The what?’
‘Lost souls, trapped down there in hell. And they were hideous – devils with protruding eyeballs, flesh hanging off them. And their hands were all reaching up, trying to grab me and drag me down. But then there was a light—’
‘Yes,’ I interrupted, patience fraying. ‘That was the sheriff’s searchlight, dumbo. He rescued you.’
‘I know what I saw. I saw where I was going if I didn’t change my ways. God gave me a second chance. I’ve had time in here to reflect.’ He reached to his side and pulled out the book he was reading. The Bible. ‘Father Purefoy brought this.’
‘Milo,’ I pleaded. ‘God didn’t save you. Sheriff Hatchett did. My mom realized I hadn’t come home and alerted the sheriff. Then the hotel found out a boat was missing. They were looking for us and saw the kayak. Sheriff Hatchett shot the gator.’
‘And all of that was God’s will. Don’t you see?’
I searched his face, for a trace of the Milo I knew. But I couldn’t find it. His eyes had an odd, flat light in them. A vacancy. Like he was stoned or drugged up. Maybe that was it. Maybe the hospital had him on some really strong drugs.
I tried to smile. ‘I’m just glad you’re alive.’
‘And I’m glad you’re here.’ He smiled back, at least. ‘There’s something else I wanted to tell you.’
Yeah, I thought. Me too. But this wasn’t going how I thought it would.
‘What is it?’ I asked.
‘I’ve decided that when I finish school I’m going to train to be a priest alongside Father Purefoy.’
‘Wow. That’s … unexpected.’
‘I know. But it feels right.’
I cleared my throat. ‘Milo, there’s something I have to tell you.’
I opened my mouth. I saw the words spilling out, could almost feel them on my tongue.
‘Serena?’ Milo frowned. He bent towards me. I saw something glint beneath his pyjama top. A large crucifix on a chain.
I swallowed: ‘Nothing. It’s nothing. You know, I can’t stay very long. I need to go.’
‘Right away?’
‘Sorry. I’ll come back. Tomorrow, maybe.’
I smiled, then I turned and walked out of the ward. A familiar figure strolled down the corridor towards me, clad in a shapeless dress, a blue scarf around her head, brown sandals on her crusty feet. Milo’s mom. Great.
She smiled. ‘Serena. Leaving already?’
‘I have to be somewhere.’
She nodded. ‘He made his choice, didn’t he?’
‘What?’
‘He’s not yours any more. He belongs to God now.’
I glared at her. ‘What did you do to him?’
‘We saved him, honey.’ She patted me on the arm. ‘Only the righteous will survive the Flood. You might want to think about that.’