Vera nodded. “It’s like the town is cursed.”

A wind gushed, carrying the tinkling toy sound of the ice cream truck moving on to its next location. Downstream another girl dropped, her body kicking and flailing, her scream wild. Their classmates cheered as she fell.

“Are you going to stay away from us now, like your mom said?”

Vera looked into Maxwell’s eyes, and her response was simple. “No.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The Crash

Filling every seat in a cobalt-blue Honda Accord, five teenagers leave the banks of a muddy creek. The gathering is an annual tradition, marking the last swimmable day before the trees put on their colorful show and yank the town toward the winds of winter.

A sixteen-year-old boy sits behind the wheel, the radio blaring to drown out the din of his friends’ shouts. They’re arguing. All of them. He’s been impolite. He caused a scene. They needed to leave. He ruined their fun.

Their wasted words batter against him.

Meaningless.

His girlfriend grabs his arm, stretching from the passenger seat and jerking his hand from the wheel. He likes how that feels, letting go, losing control. She squawks like the birds overhead. Yap, yap-yap-yap! Yap, yap-yap-yap! He imagines her with a yellow beak. He pictures her tiny, unevolved brain.

He didn’t push her; he released her. He gave her a glimpse of what’s to come.

Soon.

The end is already reaching for a hug.

He rolls down the windows to let it in, hot wind blasting his face. Tangy sea salt hits his tongue as he traces a bird’s path in the air, its wings flapping with enviable chaos. In the back, a girl cries for silence. She reaches between the seats for the radio, and he swats her hand, stinging her wrist.

She is not in control. None of them are. Not even him. He knows this. He knows the truth.

He adjusts the brim of his canary hat, turning it backward as he pumps his shoulders to a thumping rhythm.

The guys in the back join in, howling at the music, the wind.

They feel alive.

For now.

He smiles.

Life is fleeting. Death is forever.

He presses on the pedal, the double yellow line curving, bright in places, covered in tar in others. It blurs. Life blurs.

He feels resistance against his foot, the pedal pressed to its maximum.

The girlfriend shouts. Shriller this time. Slow down. Please. Slow down.

The boys in the back continue hooting, whooping, and cheering. The wind rushes at them, spinning and spiraling. A bird swoops at the windshield.

The car is powerful. It is unstoppable.

So is he. He is following the teachings.

The girlfriend reaches for his arm, pulling, crying. He drops both hands to his lap. Challenge accepted.

He smiles wide as his eyes focus on the item atop the dash. The Angel of Tears.

He thinks of his father. His mother’s leg. Their pain is temporary.

He just needs to ascend.

The girlfriend lies across him, grabbing the wheel, her body spread on his lap. He likes how that feels. She strains, and his foot presses harder. Friends lean from the rear, grasping for the wheel, vying for control. It is pointless. Don’t they see?