Wren nodded. “And… it’s different than I thought it’d be. I thought…” he paused too, searching for the words. What had he thought? The memories he’d had of Chapel’s village, and the way people had treated him then. The feeling that Wren had been part of their community. That he belonged, even if just for a little while. That was gone, too. “I guess it was stupid of me to think it could ever be like it had been before.”
“It’s not sss-stupid, Wren,” Painter said. “It’s human.”
Wren wished that made him feel better. Instead, he kept thinking about Lil sitting with that little girl, Thani. He wasn’t jealous, not really. But it bothered Wren for some reason, just the same. Like he’d been replaced. Like maybe all the memories he had of that time had been a lie.
“I just wanted th-th-things to be like before too. You know?” Painter said after a few moments. “I kept thinking maybe if I juh, just did nnn-normal things. Maybe normal things would mmm-make me feel normal again. And maybe… people would treat me like I was nnn-normal.”
He said people but Wren picked up what he’d left unsaid. His sister, Snow.
“But then… when I c-c-came in that room, and I th-thought they were hurting you… I got angry. And…” He paused. And then, “…I felt alive. Alive, Wren.” Painter turned and looked over at Wren then. “That’s tuh, tuh… that’s terrible, isn’t it?”
A sharp electric chill raced down Wren’s spine, and he shivered once, but violently. “No, it’s not terrible,” he said, but even as he said it, Wren felt that maybe it might be something very terrible indeed. Painter continued to look at him for a long moment. Wren sat very still. Then Painter finally returned his gaze to the ceiling.
“Before…” Painter said. “You know, when I was sssss-still a… you know. I only remember bits and puh, pieces. Little shattered memories. But one thing I remember, I had a p-p-p…” he stopped and shook his head, “a purpose.”
Wren got the feeling that Painter was building up to something. Or rather was trying to confess something, without actually having to say it.
“It’s not like I… don’t… I’m not ssss-saying I want to go back or anything. But, you know, sometimes… parts of it… I miss having a purpose.”
Wren didn’t say anything. But he felt something at work in his mind. Something just behind his conscious thought was nagging at him, threatening to find some kind of hidden connection between Painter’s words that Wren couldn’t identify — but even so, he knew he didn’t want to make.
“It’s unbearable, to have no purpose…” Painter said quietly. “And no hope.”
Against his will, something in Wren’s subconscious put the pieces together, and a sudden black thought erupted to the front of his mind.
“Painter…” he said slowly, fearing he knew the answer, and dreading even more the thought of hearing it confirmed as true. “Where did you bury your sister?”
Painter looked at him sharply. “What? What mmm-made you think of that?”
“I don’t know,” Wren said. He scooted forward on the bed, so he could put his feet on the floor. “Where did you bury her?”
“Why are you asking mmmmm-me this?” Painter leaned up on an elbow.
“Where is Snow?”
“I t-t-t-told you. Outside. In our sss-secret place.” He said it forcefully as he sat up fully, but his eyes gave him away. Painter wasn’t angered by the question. He was scared by it.
“Oh no, Painter…” Wren said. “Painter, no…” He stood up and took a couple of steps towards the door, though he didn’t really know why. “Please tell me you didn’t leave her out there for the Weir.”
Painter opened his mouth to answer, but after a moment his eyes softened and he dropped his gaze to the floor. Wren felt sick, and he put his hand over his mouth. He backed up and leaned against the door.
“How did you know?” Painter asked, practically whispering.
“I didn’t,” Wren said.
“But you understand, d-d-don’t you?” Painter said, looking back up at him. “If you had a ch-chance, no matter how small… what if you c-c-could bring your friends back? Wouldn’t you try?”
Wren shook his head. He didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to even let the smallest hint of that idea into his head, it seemed so terrible.
“She’s your sister, Painter,” Wren said.
“Exactly,” he said. “My baby sister. I would do anything ffff-for her, Wren. I know it’s a luh, a long shhhh-shot. But what if, Wren? What if? If I could ffff-find her again, you’d bring her back, wouldn’t you?”
Wren stared back at his friend. His poor broken friend, who had lost so much. Who had lost everything. But as terrible as it all seemed, almost too horrible to comprehend, Wren found he couldn’t lie to Painter or to himself.
“I can’t promise that,” he said. He saw Painter’s expression change, and realized Painter thought Wren was just refusing outright. How could he explain that if Snow had been dead for days before she’d been taken, there was no chance that he’d be able to help her find her way back? He didn’t even know if that was completely true himself, no matter how much he suspected it. And Wren remembered all too well what it was like to live a life without hope. “I would try, Painter. But…” Wren trailed off.
“That’s all I c-c-could ask, Wren,” Painter said.
There was a light knock at the door, and Wren jerked away from it, with his heart hammering. Then, muffled through the door, he heard his mama gently call his name.
“My mom,” Wren said.
“You won’t tuh, tell anyone, will you?”
Wren just stood there, the words not really registering with him.
“D-d-don’t tell anyone, OK? Please?”
“I won’t,” Wren answered before he had time to think it through.
“You undersss-, understand, right?”
The knock came again, a little louder this time.
“I have to go,” Wren said. He turned around and opened the door. The light from the hallway dazzled his eyes, and he had to squint against the glare. The lights in the hall weren’t that bright, but his eyes struggled to adjust after sitting in the dark for so long.
“Hey, baby,” Cass said. “Hi, Painter.”
“Hi, Miss Cass,” Painter said. “Everything going OK?”
He wasn’t usually one to make conversation, and Wren couldn’t help but feel that Painter was doing his best to change the subject as quickly as possible.
“For now,” she answered, with a slight smile. Wren could tell something was off from the look on her face. She looked down at him. “Did you sleep?”
Wren shook his head. Her expression changed. He never really could hide anything from his mama.
“Are you OK?” Cass asked.
“Just tired,” he said. “I want to go to bed now.”
“Alright,” she said. She looked back up at Painter. “Thanks for letting him stay with you, Painter. I appreciate it.”
“Ssssh-sure, no problem,” he replied.
“Good night,” said Cass.
“Night,” Painter said.
Wren started across the hall, but Cass stopped him with a light hand on his shoulder. He glanced back at Painter, who was staring out of that dark room at him with those eyes. Wren found it was hard to think of him as a friend just then. “Good night, Painter.”
Wren crossed the hall and went into his own room, followed closely by his mother. She flicked on the light. He went straight to his bed and started taking off his shoes.
“Are you sure you’re OK, Wren?” Cass asked.
He nodded without looking at her. There was nothing he wanted more than to just crawl into his bed and hide his face from the world. He’d never wanted things to be like this.