EverWorld (Book 3 of the Down World Series)

Chapter Thirty-Three

I knew as soon as he pushed the door aside to let me enter the room that it was Adam's childhood bedroom. Two shelves full of ancient wresting trophies, their gold paint chipping to reveal the rusted tin beneath, took up most of the high wall above his bed. A worn quilt and depleted blue teddy bear, most of its stuffing long gone, had been arranged on the small bed like a shrine.

Pictures of Adam as a child peeked out through the dust in the slightly askew frames that dotted the walls. Adam wrestling. Adam in a formal family portrait as a teenager, his arms crossed in defiance, standing a few inches away from his equally intimidating brothers. And, finally, Adam as a toddler sitting on his dad's shoulders, a red balloon tethered to a string in his little hand.

And on the bookshelf, one last picture in a frame, a pair of dog tags dangling over it like a wreath. I had to walk closer to the picture because I couldn't process what I was looking at.

"He enlisted in officer's training," the younger man said behind me, staying put in the doorframe and letting me explore the room on my own. "He didn't have to. He was already in his thirties and could have opted out. But he followed that crazy friend of his. Dad's never gotten over it."

I stepped closer to the picture, gently placing the dog tags on the shelf so I could pick the frame up in my hands.

"This can't be right," I said.

"Wish it weren't. I feel like Uncle Adam dying was what pushed my dad over the edge. He's been angry ever since. Angry at the people in the dome, at Adam, at that friend of his who didn't try to talk him out of it. At least the friend died too. My dad considered that only fair."

I wiped a smudge of dust off the picture, feeling a fresh surge of tears form in my eyes. In the picture, Adam wore military fatigues, his arm around a tall blond man as they both smiled for the camera.

And the man was Kieren.

He was about thirty years old, tan and hardened, his blue eyes flashing in the sunlight.

"There's some of his things in that drawer there. Personal effects and such. Mostly letters he wrote to some woman from the battlefield, but he never sent them. I don't know if it was your mom, but..."

"Do you mind?" I asked, my hand already reaching for the drawer handle.

"No, it's fine. I'll, uh...I'll wait outside."

"Thank you."

The letters were in simple white envelopes with a military insignia on the flap, yellowed with time. But they had no address written on them. Several of them weren't even sealed, and I pulled out the crinkling papers to read them, my eyes scanning quickly over Adam's messy handwriting.

So weird not to have cell phones. Haven't held a pen in a while so excuse my writing...

They say we'll get to have tech again when the war is over. So you won't have to deal with my chicken scratch...

Marina, I don't know why I still write these letters. I know I'll never send them. Not like you'll ever read them. It just helps me somehow. It's like I can still talk to you...

I hear you're happy in your life. That's good. It's all I wanted. Sometimes I wish we could go back in time. I wish the doors were still there. Because if we could, I would do it all differently...

I don't think I'll ever see you again, so I might as well tell you now. I love you. I loved you the whole time. I know you thought I left you because I didn't, but I left you because I did. I couldn't explain it at the time. Not doing such a great job now, to be honest. But maybe someday you'll read this and you'll know. All I ever wanted was for you to be safe.