Page 35 of Waysider
She wore that watch now. She’d never said anything about it, and neither had he.
Cal rode the bus until there were only two other passengers. He heard the squeak of brakes as the bus prepared to stop again, and Cal turned his head to see where they were. They’d been driving down a road that was city on one side, and a rocky wall on the other. Beyond the wall, there was only dirt, darkness, and shrubbery. Up ahead, the bus stop was little more than a bench and a sign, with a single streetlight shining over them. Cal noticed a small path behind the bench. It led up into the darkness. He searched the hills above, but he didn’t see the glow of houses or distant roads.
As it drew to a halt, the bus released a low hiss into the night. Something about that narrow path had caught Cal’s attention. On impulse, he launched out of his seat and hurried down the aisle. The bus driver was already closing the door, since it was obvious no one was getting up, but Cal ran through it. He heard the door click shut behind him as he walked past the bench and headed up the night-blackened hill.
And up, and up, and up.
Cal had been in the best shape of his life when he died, but by the time he reached the top, he knew that even he would be struggling if he’d made this climb in his old body. Cal must’ve gone a mile, at least, most of it steep terrain. But then the path leveled out, and he found himself standing on a flattened part of the hill. Cal’s eyebrows rose as he absorbed the view in front of him.
It had to be the best overlook in San Francisco.
And apparently one of the city’s best-kept secrets, Cal thought, noting the absence of tire tracks. If anyone knew about this place, there would be people parked everywhere, necking, talking, filling the air with music and the smell of gasoline. But the small stretch of gravel was completely empty except for him, and it felt like the only sounds left in the world were the wind and the distant echo of sirens.
Cal walked to the edge, his shoes crunching with every step. He had nothing to be afraid of, he realized. Even if he slipped off the edge and hit every rock in the fall, nothing would happen to him. He’d just get right back up and go on his way. Cal tried to feel excited about it, about the fact that he was damn near invincible now.
But all he felt was dull, hollow loss.
He thought of those hours on the bus again—how just looking out the window had been too hard for him. It wasn’t enough, Cal’s search for the medium and his hunt for the guy that had ruined their lives. He needed more. He had to do more.
Without thinking, Cal drew his foot back and tried to kick a rock. His shoe went right through it, of course, and he stumbled. A hot rush of fury surged through Cal’s veins. He turned and glared down at the rock, his jaw set. God, he was so fucking sick of this. Sick of feeling weak and useless and stuck on the sidelines.
If you’re still in the game, you’re playing.
As Coach’s voice echoed through his head, Cal’s frustration hardened into resolve. He’d never given up before, and he sure as hell wasn’t about to now. He could do this. He could move a tiny fucking rock. He’d knocked over that candle at Laura’s, hadn’t he? Cal blew out a breath and went through his old warm-ups, bouncing on his feet and bending his arms behind his head, stretching them. Then, with the silence ringing in his ears, Cal went still and completely focused, staring at the rock as if it was a football and all those lights were shining down on the field. Hundreds of people in the stands. Green grass and a black sky.
Move, he thought.
Nothing. The rock sat there, silent and mocking.
Cal tried again, and again, and again. Move. Move. Move! But the rock didn’t so much as wobble. He felt like an idiot, or a child playing a game of make believe. Thankfully there was no one around to witness his failure, so he kept going until his head started pounding. The pain didn’t make sense, since he was fucking dead. Cal gritted his teeth and his hands clenched. Then he bellowed, his entire body shaking, sweat dripping down his temples. He stared at the rock so hard that pain shot through his eyes, the veins in his hand standing on end as he held it out.
The rock… shifted.
Cal’s chest heaved. For an instant, he wondered if he’d imagined it. If he’d just wanted it so badly that his mind had made it up.
Only one way to find out, he thought.
At the same moment Cal lifted his hand, readying himself to start anew, an explosion of terror took hold of his body and made him stagger. His arm fell and he caught his balance by flattening one hand against the ground. Cal swore and looked out at the city.
It was Cass. Again. He knew she was probably fine, but Cal would never forgive himself if something actually happened and he had ignored her call for help. It would take him at least two hours to get back, and that was if he got lucky with the buses. And if he’d actually estimated the distance correctly.
He’d run, Cal decided. He would run across the entire fucking state if he had to.
Instead of heading for the dirt path that had led him here, Cal turned his head and looked out at the city again. He admired all the bright lights, and the glint of the ocean beyond. Cal took a brief, steadying breath, his eyes narrowing in determination.
Then he ran toward the edge, and jumped.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Cass could see the roof of Old Main, the sloped edges outlined in moonlight. As she hurried across the lawn, she felt a rush of déjà vu—it had only been a few hours ago that she’d practically run into the dining hall, pale and shaken from an encounter with this dead girl who just wouldn’t leave Cass the fuck alone. She neared the edge of a crowd that had gathered in front of the building. Cass realized she was still trembling, but she couldn’t tell if it was from terror or rage.
God, she wanted to go home. Longing struck Cass like a palm against her chest, and suddenly her heart was aching. She wanted to go home, and she wanted Cal. She didn’t want to be here, in the dark, surrounded by strangers and angry souls.
“Cass! Cass, over here!”
Cass’s head jerked toward the sound of her name. It was Bradley, her roommate. He waved at her enthusiastically, grinning from ear to ear as if they were old friends. He and Finch really would be a match made in heaven, Cass thought as she approached reluctantly, her hands fisted in her jacket pockets. Bradley’s smile dimmed as she drew closer, and he searched her expression. His brown eyes darkened with concern. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a… well, you know.”
“I’m fine,” Cass muttered, keeping her face turned away. Nothing had happened so far, but the crowd seemed to be turned in one direction.
