The Alchemy of Forever

doors, through North Oakland’s Temescal neighborhood, squinting my eyes against the damp air, till I reach my destination: the Fireside Inn.
    Again, I stash the bike behind a Dumpster and cautiously enter the parking lot. As I approach Cyrus’s room, I am inexplicably sad for him. I imagine his last moments—the final fleeting emotions of a boy who never expected to die, who had seen so much—had witnessed such a stretch of human history, lived through wars, through the birth and death of countries. He must have been terrified. And now, where was his soul? Dissipated into the ether? Or hovering close by, watching my every move, but unable to affect the world any longer, tormented?
    I shudder. I hope he lets go, so he can be set free. As much as I hate him, I can’t wish that kind of torture upon anyone.
    Despite how much I’ve done to be rid of Cyrus, I feel lonely now that he’s gone. He was with me for six hundred years. He was the only other person on Earth who could truly understand where I came from. Who knew my mother, my father. Who was by my side through lifetimes, many more lifetimes than anyone should be able to live. I have my clean slate now, I realize. It’s what I wanted, what I needed. But it’s also overwhelming.
    You’re not alone, I remind myself as I ascend the staircase. You have Noah, Leyla. You have Kailey’s family. And now that Cyrus is dead, I might be able to get word to Charlotte, let her know I’m safe. The idea fills me with hope as I quickly pick the lock, open the door, and step inside.
    As before, I am overcome with his presence. I can smell his soap, the lingering traces of his leather briefcase. I flick on the light and see the room’s been completely scrubbed clean, emptied of all its evidence. All of Cyrus’s things, his elegant suits and polished shoes, his bulletin board—gone. I sigh. Nothing I can do about it now. I’ll just feign ignorance if the police come asking. It won’t be the first time I’ve had to put on a performance lately.
    I pull Kailey’s phone from my pocket and check the time. It’s nearly four o’clock—I need to get back. But I sit on the bed for a minute, running my hands over its scratchy, faded polyester surface. I am reminded of when I addressed Kailey’s spirit this morning as I sat on her bed.
    “Good-bye, Cyrus,” I whisper, knowing he probably can’t hear it. But it doesn’t matter. Kailey wasn’t listening, either. “I’m not sorry I left you. But I’m sorry you died like this, afraid and hurting. I hope the pure light of the planets calms you down, that the anger you always carried is released into the air and dissipates like smoke. I hated you. But I loved you once. Now that you’re gone, I am free. I hope you are too.”
    I stand and walk slowly around the room. It’s time to go. I pause in front of the desk, running my hand over its dented oak surface. It’s covered in gouges and burns, drips of candle wax and random nicks. I feel a vibration from the phone in my pocket and pull it out. There’s a message on the screen: “Words with Friends—Your move with Noah.”
    He’s up late, I think as I tap through to the game board.
    When I see the word he has played, my fingers involuntarily clench around the phone. I stare at the letters, willing them to rearrange themselves, to form any other word.
    No.
    My hand starts to shake and I drop the phone. It seems to fall to the floor in slow motion, and I close my eyes.
    Cyrus used to love to play chess. I’d lose pawn after pawn, bishops and knights, as he advanced on my king. How his pupils would dilate, his breath quicken. He was so good at laying traps. But that was a game, and this is real life, and the consequences of mistakes can be deadly. How could I have been so dumb?
    He’s not dead—He must have switched bodies. The witnesses were mistaken, or they were bribed.
    I’ve lost the game. I don’t cry, not yet. That will have to come later. The room swims and blood roars through my ears like static.
    The word on the screen is “alchemy.”