“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.