He fell in love with her the very first day he saw her, but loving her is like trying to hold starlight in his hands. She loves him, leaves him, loves him again. And after she's gone for good, he might as well be gone, too.
All that remains of him...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
In my dream, I reach for her, take her slender shoulders in my hands. Her long black hair twines between my fingers. Who are you? I plead with her. She tilts her head to one side, revealing the graceful curve of her throat. I want to touch her—I want—
I wake up with a jolt, my heart racing, my head full of confusion. Why am I dreaming about a girl other than my girlfriend—a girl I don't even know?
Sitting up, I scrub my hands across my face. Jenny is coming over today. We're having lunch at my mom's house, even though Jenny and my mom can't stand each other. Ironic, since my mom helped set us up, through her girlfriend, Marianne. Jenny teaches piano to Marianne's kids. It all seemed like a good idea at the time.
I spend the morning in my workshop, trying to sand away the memory of that dream. When my doorbell rings, I sigh and run a hand through my hair and tell myself lunch will be fine.
Jenny stands on my front stoop, her arms hugged tight to her chest.
"Ready?" she says, instead of hello.
"Sure." Sometimes, I invite her in, and sometimes, she accepts. But I can never quite shake the feeling that she doesn't like being alone with me in my house. She knows the whole story—everyone in Bellisle does, pretty much, just like everyone on Fall Island does. I think Marianne must have convinced her to give me a chance. It's been months. I wonder if she will ever believe me. I suppose this is the best I can hope for.
I open the screen door, and an envelope falls from the door to the stoop.
"What is that?" Jenny snatches it up before I can grab it. She tears it open while I look on, trying to summon the energy to care about what will inevitably be inside.
"Owen," Jenny says sternly. "Another one?"
As usual, the letter is made of words cut out from magazines. It says a lot of garbage about what a monster I am and how I will wake up one night to find a knife in my chest. It doesn't make a lot of sense. They never do. They're like something a twisted little kid who watches too many scary movies would write.
I take the letter from her, ignoring her angry frown, and toss it behind me onto my kitchen table.
"Aren't you going to deal with it?" Jenny demands.
"No."
"Why not? You aren't even going to call Lacroix?"
"What's he going to do? He's got dozens of them at the station already."
We start walking, cutting through the forest to my mom's house. I know Jenny would rather be on a road than alone with me in the woods, but she won't risk being seen with me on the island. She says she doesn't like being stared at.
"I can't believe you're not going to go to the police," Jenny snaps suddenly.
"Jenny—" My tone must be annoyed, because she flinches. "Sorry," I say quietly.
