There was a tremor at the mention of him, and then a guttural roar exploded somewhere in the darkness.

“Where did you take him?” I asked.

“To hell,” River said. “Where his ass belongs. I think you were meant to find me. We were meant to team up to take this kid out. Can I ask for a favor, medium?”

“Anything.”

“Now that I’ve had a lot more time to think about final words, I want to get a message to my mom once and for all. One that convinces her I wrote it while I was here, and she’s just finding it.”

“I can do that. What would you say?”

The first day I’m discharged from the hospital, I open my sketchpad on my desk and begin to write under an exhausted orange sunlight, which spills through the blinds and over my battered knuckles. It’s like her words are imprinted into my own mind as things I said once upon a time—instantly memorable.

Dear Mom,

It’s easier to say this in writing.

I never feel right telling the people I love the most I love them. I don’t know why. Maybe I just know you’ll always be there for me, so it’s easiest to give you the worst parts of me, knowing they’ll be forgiven.

But I’m choosing to say it now. I love you more than anything, in spite of everything happening now, and despite whatever happens later. I love you, forever.

The way you fight for me encourages me to fight for myself. I’m fighting for myself because you fought for me. I’m fighting for other people I love because you fought for me.

I know we never agreed on religion. But I believe in connections that transcend material reality too. I believe that if I lose you, or if you lose me, we’ll still be with each other. And that death is not always an ending. Sometimes it’s a beginning, and for lots of us, life continues, no matter what form your body takes.

I like to think that if I die, I’ll still be with you, even when you can’t see me. I hope we can agree to believe in that together.

Love always,

River

At one p.m., I take my bike to River’s home at 452 Dhalgren Way. There’s a beauty to the little houses behind Heritage’s colonial front. Bungalows and huts in vibrant colors—pinks and yellows—balled up in the trees like the gemstones in Ms. Josette’s shop, each with its own character and purpose.

A mosaic globe in a flowerpot sits in the middle of the lawn like a mirror ball reflecting the universe.