Chapter XXVII

XXVII.

JESSE FOUND MIRA shortly after he heard the shot. He stumbled to her from the brush and froze when he saw Phillip’s body. He turned his head when he first saw it, horrified, but looked again, as if to be sure of what his eyes showed him. Mira thought he was going to vomit as he leaned forward, but he put both hands on his knees. “What happened? I turned around and you were gone.”

The whispering had long since faded, ending as soon as Phillip hit the ground. The ghosts had come for him because he’d refused to see how his history, and his life, were just as entangled in the roots of this place as their own.

Mira thought of the woman. Marceline, her ancestor. Without her, she would never have known her story, the way in which she was tethered to this land. Also, without her she might never have known what Phillip had done to Celine.

“Marceline led me here.”

As Mira said her name, she felt the relief of a sigh as she called her into being. Speaking her name meant she was more than a specter, to say it meant she had existed, that like all of them she had been real. “Marceline wanted to show me,” Mira repeated, pointing to Phillip. “Phillip killed Celine.”

A splatter of Phillip’s blood had gotten on the front of her clothes. A drip of it fell down the side of her face and neck and she wiped it off in a panic.

“He did it. That’s why she went missing. He came out to the woods because Marceline let him see her, and he thought she was Celine. He was trying to finish what he started. He’d hoped to blame her murder on you.”

“Why?” Jesse asked, and his question hurt her heart. Why is the question we always ask, she thought, when we know what the answer is.

They both knew why. Phillip understood the power his whiteness held and Jesse had been the easy target. Blame Jesse and everyone would believe it.

Saying the lie would be enough to make it true. Phillip had done it for no other reason than he knew he could.

Both Jesse and Mira had spent their lives asking why, but it was a waste of a question. Instead of why, they needed to ask themselves what they should do.

“If they find us here they’ll think we both had something to do with this,” Jesse said weakly.

“There’s nowhere left to go. Maybe if we could get to the river—”

“Nothing’s at the river, Mira,” Jesse said in a mix of anger and desperation. “They’re coming, and once they find Phillip they’re going to think we murdered them both. All they’ll need to do is see it and be convinced. It doesn’t matter if it’s a lie. They’ll believe it and it’ll be enough. We can’t get out of this.”

Mira pictured the men joined together. The pounding of their footsteps grew. They licked their lips in anticipation, spittle dripping from their mouths as they jeered. They moved in lockstep, aligned with a sole interest.

Their heavy steps thundered. Their hunt had been the end all along, the culmination of what was always meant to be, but Mira held to the belief that there was another possibility. She could see the lights flashing bright between the trees, growing larger as the men closed in on them. These men had a reason for their violence now. Celine was gone. Dead. In the end that’s all that mattered. All it took. A white woman dead and gone. Her body lying host to the insects of the woods. These men would want justice, or revenge, and they wanted to be the ones to inflict it.

The men came closer, close enough for Mira to hear their calls.

“This won’t end,” Jesse said softly. “I’ve got to meet them.”

“What? No. They’ll kill you. That’s how it’ll end. They’ll string you up.”

“I know.”

“We need to find a way to lead them to the river. It’s the only way.”

“There is no other way. Never has been. I’m tired, Mira. Aren’t you?

I’m tired of all this. I can’t do this anymore.”

Weariness had aged him, but it had also changed who he was. Gone was the boy, bashful and sincere over the things he loved. The one who was self-conscious, yet daring when he needed to be, like how he’d been the one

to stick up for Celine and Mira when they were kids. He was someone who knew what he deserved, and what he deserved was a better world than this.

The boy Mira had known was still there underneath, and he’d come back to her; they just had to survive the night. Not only this one but every one after, and maybe in the midst of that, they could find a way to live.

Mira reached for his hand and clasped it. His skin felt hot. She wanted him to hold on to her for just a little longer. A little longer and maybe they would be saved.

“We just have to keep going. We have a chance.”

“No, Mira. We don’t.”

“We have to try,” she said.

“Even if we get out, even if we make it somehow, they’ll come for me anyway. They already think I killed Celine, and this is their proof. It’ll be like with Mr. Loomis. They’ll lock me up. I can’t go through it again. I can’t. They’re never going to stop. No matter what I do they’re never going to stop. At least if I meet them it’ll be my choice. That’s got to count for something.”

“You’re giving up.”

“It’s not giving up. I’m the one they want, so at least if I go, then maybe I can distract them and you can get out of here. Get out of this place and never come back. Promise me you’ll do that. Go and don’t look back.”

“No, I won’t do it. I won’t. We’re together now, don’t you see? It won’t be like before.”

“It’s not your fault what happened, or mine. It’s just—I don’t know. It’s the world. You got to let me go, Mira. Who knows, maybe I’ll make it,” he said, and he released her hand.

He smiled one last time, content in his decision, and his face showed the glimmer of the boy she’d once known—confident and optimistic, someone who believed in what could be instead of what was.

“Jesse,” Mira whispered, but before she could say anything else, could plead with him to wait a little longer, he bolted.

“I’m here,” he shouted at the air before veering in the direction of the river. He ran, screaming, hoping the noise would get their attention and they’d start after him, making way for Mira to get out of the fields and off the property for good.

“I see him! There he is!”

The mob followed Jesse. They chased after him in their wild fury, their anger fueling them onward. It looked to be a crowd of fifty, if not more.

Many carried rifles, their hands raising them high in the air as they trampled through the grass. Others held a hand on their hip as they ran, ready at any moment to aim their gun and shoot. They carried stolen lanterns taken from the plantation to light their way.

As they ran toward Jesse, one managed to get ahead of the rest, and when he’d gained enough speed, when at any moment he’d have finally caught up to Jesse, he stopped in his tracks. His hand pulled the pistol from his hip’s holster. He fired a series of reckless shots, not even trying to aim, believing he’d get his target.

The others behind him suddenly stopped too, each of them aiming and firing.

Bullets rattled in the air, one after the other. Pop, pop, pop. Like firecrackers Mira couldn’t see. Jesse ran faster, hoping with speed he’d escape the bullets, but there were too many. Pop, pop, pop, they continued, and down Jesse went, falling, falling, and as his body collided with the dirt, Mira heard their clamoring cheers.