The Alchemy of Forever

cranes and jump?” Kailey doesn’t answer me.
    The choice to die had been easy when my body was falling apart around me. If I follow the same course now, I will be actively killing a human body. But if I don’t follow through on my plan, where will I go? I have no ties to the world, no real skills. Cyrus always made sure I was dependent on him for everything.
    I tear my gaze away from the mirror. The most important thing now, other than the bag, is Cyrus. By now he knows I’m gone. But will he accept my letter at face value or will he wonder if I am still out there, on my own, away from him? He knows me so well—he used to even be able to predict my dreams. Will he somehow instinctively know what happened? Will he feel my presence and come searching for me? Will he read a news report about an accident and wonder if, in a misguided attempt to save a teenage girl, I switched into her body? With Cyrus, anything is possible, and being dragged back to the coven is the worst thing that can possibly happen. I’d be under constant surveillance. And Cyrus would make me very, very sorry for tricking him.
    On the desk is a laptop computer. I swipe my finger over the track pad and the blank screen is replaced with an Internet browser window. I pull up the San Francisco Chronicle website. There were plenty of murders and car accidents reported in Oakland over the weekend, but thankfully, nothing about Kailey’s incident.
    I click back to Google and type “jack london car accident,” which brings a slew of results. Narrowing by date, all but one disappears.
    It’s a hit on the police blotter page on the Oakland Tribune ’s site. “October 16th, 12:38 AM , Alice and Second Streets, Oakland: Police were called after a Berkeley minor was involved in an injury accident. No fatalities and no arrests were made.” I let out the breath I had been holding—the report wasn’t too bad and didn’t stand out among all the other incidents in the area.
    Google Maps tells me it’s only two miles from the Morgans’ house to the downtown Berkeley BART station, and then a straight shot to downtown Oakland. Studying the map, I realize that Berkeley High School is right next to the BART station.
    Kailey’s backpack is slouched on her desk, next to her purse. I take a rapid inventory of their contents, keeping her wallet and cell phone, but disabling the GPS. I add a change of clothes and, on impulse, a slouchy hat and oversize sunglasses.
    A knock at the door startles me—I barely have time to dart to the bed before Kailey’s father comes in, carrying a tray. He still looks tired, but he doesn’t have the same anxious expression that he did in the hospital. He doesn’t know his daughter is dead; he thinks everything will be okay.
    “Your mom wanted me to bring you dinner. Tortilla soup, your favorite.”
    “Oh . . . thank you,” I say cautiously, wondering what the real Kailey’s response would have been.
    “Listen, kiddo.” He sits down next to me on the bed. “Don’t worry about explaining where you were last night. I told your mom to leave it alone. If you’ve got a boyfriend or something . . . well . . . you can tell us later.” He gives me a hug, his voice cracking with emotion. “We’re just glad you’re okay.”
    My heart twists painfully in my chest. Of everything I’ve done over the years, this is the worst. Kailey’s death would have destroyed this family, but at least they would have the finality of knowing she was dead. And when I disappear tonight, will they think their daughter ran away? That Kailey killed herself? Either of those options feels so much worse than a tragic car accident.
    I ask myself, for what feels like the millionth time since I woke up in the hospital, what was I thinking? I knew CPR would be fruitless. Why did I try, when the risk was so great? I should have let nature take its course. Did I interfere because, as an Incarnate, I have learned that nature’s course can be altered? Or was there some small, unconscious part of myself that still wanted to live?
    I turn away from Mr. Morgan to hide the tears in my eyes. “I am so, so sorry for making you guys worry. I feel terrible.”
    “Hey, I’m a dad. Worrying is my job. See you in the morning, kiddo.” Mr. Morgan gives me a small smile before closing the door with a soft click, leaving me alone with my guilt and sadness.

eleven
     
    I wait several hours until the house is swathed in silence and the darkness outside is thick.