The last thing I see are Rian’s teary eyes staring back at me. I let the paper fall from my fingers and I take off running toward Mr. Parson’s land. I leap over the chain-link fence behind Donna Sanders’s house and land on my feet. And I just keep running, past the neighborhood and the church and the old factory at the end of the street. I run faster than I’ve ever run in my life. By car it would take two minutes longer to reach the pasture than running straight through the woods. I can hardly breathe I press on so hard. My heart pounds against my rib cage, trying to burst through it. My calves are as hard as stone, my shoes hitting the ground so fast and so hard that I feel every shock sensation rush into the tips of my toes and up the back of my calf muscles.

I don’t stop running.

Leaping over a small wooden fence, I run past an old shed, and the darkness of the deep woods swallows me whole. I keep on the path, jumping over the same rocks I’ve jumped over since I was a kid. Small low-lying limbs snap me in the face as I run past, not stopping long enough to push them out of my way. The song of the crickets and the frogs and the cicadas rises louder in my ears as if they’re singing to me, urging me on, telling me to hurry.

Tears burn the backs of my eyes and down into my throat. I part my lips and breathe in sharply, forcing the tears back and letting anger and fear and determination push me forward. Because I know that the tears will only slow me down; they’ll rock me to my core and bring me to my knees.

I trip and fall over debris in the forest bed, feeling my ankle twist painfully beneath me. But I pick myself up and keep running. I can feel the solitude of the pasture out ahead. I can faintly smell the stagnant water that always lingers around the bank of the pond. I’m so close. So close. I push myself even harder, veering left and off the path toward the edge of the field. I can see it through a break in the trees. I can see the light of the moon spilling out over the clearing until finally I burst through the last bit of trees and find myself on the outskirts. The water in the pond glistens in the distance. I keep on running toward it, my heart tearing to shreds the closer I get. And then when I finally get there, I stop dead in my tracks as if inches from running into a brick wall.

I feel like I can’t move any part of my body anymore, yet somehow my feet move around in a circle. I see behind me and beside me and the stars above me as if I’m spinning, but I don’t know how I’m moving at all.

My heart has stopped beating. Only my brain is keeping me alive, my mind, frantic with fear and confusion, is frozen in time.

“No…,” I say aloud, yet I don’t recall ever moving my lips.

I step forward. “No…”

My gaze falls downward and for a moment all I can see is the dried grass around my running shoes. But then my head jerks back up and I look at the pond again, at the figure floating on the top of it.

WHY CAN’T I MOVE?! WHY CAN’T I FUCKING MOVE?!

I scream something unintelligible even to me into the night and finally break free from my frozen imprisonment, willing my legs to push forward. My feet hit the water with tremendous force, and my shoes taking on the weight of it nearly knocks me down. Tears pour from my eyes. My hands and legs shake and tremble uncontrollably. My stomach swims in a sickening, churning lake of bile. My mind still frantically searches for my heartbeat but never finds it.

I force my body through the water, pushing myself through foot by foot, feeling all the while as if dozens of hands are grabbing at me from below, trying to pull me under.

“Bray! Brayelle! No! NO!” I cry out.

I’ve never felt so much pain. My body has never endured so much torment. I know this is what Hell must be like.

I nearly collapse.

When I finally make it to her, I grab her, pulling her limp body into my arms. “Bray, no! Please wake up! Please wake up!” I slap her cheeks, squeeze them in my fingers. I close my mouth over hers and exhale deeply several times, but I don’t know CPR. I can’t see through my tears. I can’t breathe, my lungs feel like cement blocks.

Her arms float atop the water out beside her. Her long, soaked hair, seemingly black, moves atop the surface like seaweed. Her face is white and lifeless and hollow. Her eyes are closed, as though she’s only sleeping. I cry out her name again, over and over, errupting with painful, burning sobs, pulling her body closer to mine and crushing her against me.

“God damn it, no!” I wail.

I hear voices shouting somewhere behind me in the pasture, but they’re muffled behind this glass wall my mind has put up around us. I see flashes of bright light bouncing through the darkness and coming toward me, but I can’t look at anything other than Bray lying limp and lifeless in my arms.

I don’t know how I managed and I don’t remember doing it, but I find myself sitting on my knees on the bank of the pond with Bray still clutched against me, her legs splayed out, still floating in the water. I cry into her heavy, wet hair and I squeeze her so tight that I imagine it’ll hurt her and she’ll wake up and tell me to stop.

“Why? Why did you do this? Why did you do this?” I cry out, rocking her back and forth within my arms.

The bouncing dots of light moving toward me become brighter; the shouting voices, louder.

I don’t want to let her go. The voices are telling me to let her go. But I can’t. I just want to die with her.

But then amid the shouts and the chaos and the light I hear someone say, “She has a heartbeat.”

She has a heartbeat.

I fall against the soaked earth and look up into the night sky. Slowly my heart begins to beat again and breath finds its way back into my lungs. But I’m paralyzed. All this time I’m thinking Bray is still wrapped in my arms; that we’re looking up at the stars together. But then I realize I’m lying on my side and I am alone. How long have I been here like this? Seconds? Minutes? Hours? Days? I don’t know the difference. I look out into the pasture with my cheek pressed against the wet ground. A single blade of grass stands upright near the corner of my eye and somehow I reach out and move it away. The dark horizon is black on blue, meeting with the earth in the far-off distance. I see tiny green-yellow blinking lights flash off and on lazily in the night. One gets closer. Off. On. Never in the same spot. Off. On.

“Elias?” I hear a man’s voice say with a country accent. “Elias Kline?”

The little firefly floats away.

I turn over onto my back to see Mr. Parson kneeling beside me in his brown boots and plaid short-sleeved shirt tucked into his old-man Levi’s.

“Elias? We have to go now. Can you come with me?” His voice is calm and gruff. The smell of Old Spice fills the space around us.

“We got to go to the hospital,” he says.

I feel trapped within myself. I hear him speaking, but at first I can’t respond. I can’t move from this spot. All I want to do is lie here and die.

“Lemme help you up,” I hear him say, and then I feel his arms fitting underneath mine.

I don’t protest. I don’t have the strength to.

Minutes later I’m in the front seat of Mr. Parson’s old Chevy truck, my head pressed against the glass of the passenger’s-side window. It smells of old, worn-out leather and oil and metal in here.

“Y’know,” I hear him say, but I’m still too weak to raise my head, “I always knew ’bout you and Brayelle Bates sneakin’ into my pond when you were growin’ up. ’Course, I never minded much. Only when I had’ta go out there sometimes an’ pick up after yas.”

I watch the dirt road change to gravel and then to asphalt. All I can think about is Bray. The only face I can see is hers staring back at me. And when I see her lifeless face, her eyes closed, pond water streaming over her eyelids and lips, I force myself to look at her, punishing myself for not being there sooner.