All Chapters of The Boy Who Died: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

LilyMy shoulders heave, and I feel like I’m about to puke, but no tears come out anymore. I don’t have any left. I roll over on my bed and stare at the thin streams of warm afternoon sunlight squeezing in through the gaps in my blinds.Two days ago, at this time, I was out of school early, sitting next to Theresa at her mom’s hair salon, primping for prom. I was holding her hand and laughing. I was complaining about Michaela because Ryan—The sobs take me again.He wasn’t supposed to…to…I can’t even think it yet.Someone knocks on my door. I ignore it. Either Mom will just come in, or it’s someone else, and I don’t want to see them anyway.The door creaks open. “Hon?”Mom. I don’t turn over.“Do you want some lunch?” she asks. “I got another round of condolence gifts, and there’s a platter of deli meat in here. I could make you a nice sandwich.”When she dragged me away from the scene two days ago, I was still screaming. I couldn’t stop. My own words echo in my head on a loop—stop, l

BenI tweak the colors on a photograph and check my phone. Nothing. That’s fine. I open my email and type out a quick response to a private portrait request—not right now, but maybe around Thanksgiving—then check my phone. Nothing. Great. I sip my coffee, swirl the latte around in my mouth to taste the tiny remaining flecks of cinnamon, and… check my phone.Nothing!Fuck it. I open the message thread with Marcie and read what I sent over again. Yup, it seems just as normal as it did nearly two full days ago. I can’t believe it’s already Wednesday. Half a week between the date and now, and she still hasn’t answered. Even a perfectly normal guy would start assuming he was being ignored at this point.High-pitched laughter floats over the cubicles, and I jerk my head up. Heather is finally here. If anyone knows what I did wrong, it’s going to be her. I jump out of my chair and cut across the Arkly offices to her desk. She’s in the process of setting down her backpack, and two of her frie

MarcieI stand on the front stoop of an apartment building I’ve seen once before trying to catch my racing breath. Ben texted me back right away and said he was free tonight. Maybe I should’ve expected that. Maybe I should’ve backed down when he asked to meet somewhere private because the explanation is kind of personal. Maybe I should’ve told Heather I was coming here instead of saying Dana had a late appointment open up.But I’m so close I can taste it. A bright picture unfolds in my mind. I walk upstairs, and Ben-Ryan confesses, and he’s carted off to jail where he further confesses that I never even hallucinated Ryan because he was visiting me all along. Dana apologizes and says I’m done with therapy. I change my major and get the degree in theater I wanted. Hell, I move back home, and everyone there apologizes too. I get a chance to be the person I was always meant to be, without Ben-Ryan’s interference.I buzz apartment four.“Hi, uh, I’m downstairs,” I say. “Marcie. I’m Marcie.

MarcieMy mouth drops open. He doesn’t remember anything? A whole childhood, just missing?“But you told so many stories,” I say.“Secondhand.” He shrugs. “Familiar things were supposed to help me regain my memories, so most of those first few weeks were just Mom pumping me full of stories about myself between sobbing fits.”“Fuck.” I sink back against the couch. I lost eighteen years, too, but more like if I’d lost the sweater Grandma bought me one Christmas that I absolutely hated by “accidentally” leaving it on the bus. He really lost it. I can’t imagine having so much nothing to look back on. Even just hearing about it, I feel like a boat set out to sea, lost and drifting.“The people who found you… they’re all you know about the accident?”He nods. What a stupid question. I don’t even know what I’m asking anymore.“Your life starts in the hospital,” I murmur.“Hey, don’t worry.” He smiles. “The life I don’t remember started in St. Mary Medical too. I was born there, or so I’ve be

BenI drum on the corner table at Fitzgerald’s, a little restaurant off campus Marcie and I have been going to a lot over the past three weeks of dating.Three weeks. That still feels crazy to say. Three amazing weeks of dinners out, evenings in my apartment, stolen moments after class. Well, fewer of those. She pretty much insists that we spend time in my apartment or off campus. But she has a roommate, and I don’t, so I’m fairly sure that’s normal. And things are so easy with her, even after my confession. She looks at me like I’ve grown a second head every now and again, but those moments are getting fewer and farther between. I’m hopeful they’ll disappear entirely before too long. We’re just getting used to each other, a little more every time we hang out.And she’ll be here soon. I run my hands through my hair. The wind kind of wrecked it. I really should wear a hat as the temperature drops, but somehow I only brought one from home, and I haven’t been able to find it in like a we