the tube to make sure it really happened, but I can’t bring myself to watch any more bad news. I finish my water, set my cup on the counter, and head down the hallway to my room.
I open the door to my room, and pink flowers are everywhere inside. Cut at the stems and scattered about—on the dresser, the table, and especially on the bed. My stomach knots. Reese had come into my room while I was out and put flowers all over the place. Cut flowers. Illegal flowers. His scent is everywhere, thick on the sheets and hanging in the air.
My chest constricts as I look around. I wonder if he’s still near. Maybe even in the Botanical Haven. I stand there for at least a minute, frozen. Each flower has been arranged flawlessly, and I love them and hate them at the same time. They’ve been severed and won’t live through the night, but they’re also beautiful.
Anger bubbles inside me, and I walk toward the bed, each step causing the fury to intensify. I’m angry at Reese for violating my home, and I’m angry at myself for seeing beauty in what he’s done. I begin to scoop them together so I can trash them but stop when I see a note tucked under the pillow, sticking out just enough that an edge of the crisp white paper shows. My hands shake as I reach down and pull it out.
I tear it to shreds, and when I can’t tear the pieces any smaller, I feel the overwhelming urge to incinerate it. But my mom would flip if I started a fire. So I content myself by gathering all the flowers and the ball of paper scraps and shoving them in the compost heap, and I hope that helps resolve the conflicts in my mind.
Chapter 20
Death
Sunday night, the city council holds a press conference. The council room looks empty without my mom sitting there. The Botanical Haven feels even emptier. Councilman Rendon gets up to the podium and talks about the rescue efforts downtown and how nearly everyone was pulled from the debris of the collapsed building. He lists only fifteen casualties of the fifty people trapped. His math reminds me of the cooling gel the city uses in the misters. Ten percent allergic to the gel is acceptable. I think he figures as long as he gets the majority of the vote, he’ll win the election.
After he’s talked on and on about how well everyone responded to the emergency, the questions start.
“How many deaths were reported?” the first reporter asks. It’s always right to the worst of the worst.
Council Rendon clears his throat and uses his most serious expression. “Reports as of late afternoon are that two hundred and eighty-seven lives were lost in the ice storm.”
Two hundred and eighty-seven deaths. It’s a horrible number. I can’t help but wonder, of those two hundred and eighty-seven deaths, how many will make it to paradise.
The reporters jump on this response and begin grilling him on the details: how many died from roofs collapsing, how many died from accidents on the road. But the next question is the one everyone, including myself, has been waiting for.
“Is the disperser missile to blame for the ice storm?” the reporter asks. She stands there and stares at Rendon until he gives his reassuring smile and motions for her to sit down.
She stays standing. “We need to know, Councilman. Is it to blame?”
“Of course not,” he says. “The university has been doing tests on the missiles for months now. I’ve stated before and I’ll state again. The missiles are not the cause of the atmospheric disturbances. The missiles are helping.”
I almost laugh at his simplification of the disaster our world is in. Atmospheric disturbances. Two hundred and eighty-seven dead, and it’s a disturbance. I know he’s lying, and as I watch, I see the thick green fungus spread over his skin. Every single word coming out of his mouth is false; not even he believes them. And I think this is the kind of man who would never make it to the Elysian Fields. I watch his lies for another few minutes and then try texting my mom again. There’s still no reply, so I flip off the tube and head to bed.
When I get to school on Monday, I immediately know something’s wrong. Tension hangs in the air like black crepe at a funeral.
“Randy Conner’s dead.”
Someone whispers it in the hallway.
“What happened?” Another whisper.
“It was the ice storm.”
“The shuttle wrecked.”
“He died instantly.”
Oh my god. I had been with Randy on the shuttle. I’d talked to him just before I got off.
“Is his sister okay?” I ask. He said he was going to pick her up.
No one seems to know.
My stomach flips over, and I almost throw up. I can’t believe Randy’s really gone. Dead. And unlike Chloe, Randy will not have anyone to bring him back.
When I get to Social Sciences, I see the empty chair where Randy normally sits, and I can’t help but notice Shayne’s chair is empty, also.
Mr. Kaiser walks in and tells us what he knows. Randy Conner is dead. He’d been one of the unfortunate two hundred and eighty-seven people to die in the city this weekend. I’ll never have to worry about any more wise-cracking comments about my mom’s overprotectiveness from him. I ask about Randy’s sister, and Mr. Kaiser tells the class she is fine. She was with him when he died, and then her parents came and took her away. The funeral’s going to be held Wednesday, and anyone who wants to attend gets out of school early for the day.
I haven’t been to a funeral since sixth grade when Charlotte died.
Charlotte.
I’ve almost forgotten her.
It’s like little pieces of my time in Hell are escaping me.
And I wonder: will Randy Conner go to the Elysian Fields? Because at this moment, if I had to judge, I would say yes. He’d been taking care of his sister when he died, and if that isn’t something that deserves paradise, then I don’t know what is. I feel like that’s what the blue moss was trying to tell me.
I look again to Shayne’s chair, trying to command him to appear, but I don’t want to call his name. I want him to be there on his own. So I sit back and try to replay anything I can from the Underworld, letting it all come back to me. Mr. Kaiser lectures on everything needed to construct an underground city, but my heart’s not in the lecture. I don’t think anyone’s is.
When I leave class, I look around, hoping to spot Shayne. He’s nowhere to be found, but blood drains from my face when I see Reese, leaning against the lockers. Watching me. His head towers above the other kids milling around, and he looks like he could pick up and throw any five of them together. He looks every bit the god of war.
I can’t believe he’s the god of war.
Reese isn’t in speaking range, but he catches my eye and nods. When our eyes meet, I know he’s been standing there waiting for me. I can feel it inside me, tickling in my stomach. But he doesn’t come over to talk to me or even move for that matter. He just leans against a wall and watches.
I think of the pink flowers. He entered my room without permission. He left dying flowers as if that would impress me. But instead of the anger I should feel, all that comes to mind is the way they were arranged. They were placed one at a time by his hands, crossing over each other until a blanket had been formed. It’s like there’s a hidden side to the god of war. A side that would take the time to arrange something beautiful. It’s hard to imagine that side coexists with the one trying to take over the Underworld.
I don’t even realize a smile’s formed on my face until Reese takes a step toward me, and before my face betrays me further, I walk away. I don’t want to talk to him. Not now. Because the thought of his lips on mine is just too consuming even though I try to push it away.
I head for Study Hall. I need to talk to Chloe about everything that’s happened. She’ll help me understand what’s going on. But now that I’m thinking about it, maybe I should leave out the mention of Hell and Hades and
