Chapter Seven

Caiden wasn’t much of a talker on the road, it turned out. This disappointed me. Most of the time he had headphones on, and I was unable to ask or say anything to him. Not that I had anything particularly interesting or witty to say.

He was even more beautiful in the daytime. His dark hair glinted in the sunlight, and he walked with graceful confidence. He was always gripping the edges of his backpack, or had his hands shoved into his pockets. My pockets were too small for my hands, so they hung uselessly at my sides as we walked, and for some reason I felt foolish. I had nothing to carry; and even if I offered to carry something of his I wouldn’t be able to.

But he was nice, despite his silence. Whenever we took breaks—unnecessary, but taken anyway—he would attempt to teach me how to touch or hold something.

“It may be a waste of time, but believe you will take this water container from me,” he instructed. My hand always went through. Caiden never expressed disappointment or frustration or disdain. He merely put the jug away and turned his music back on, laying back on the grass. It was times like these that I most wanted to talk to each other again. His detachment confused me. Of course, he could be put off by my obvious tender age. If I had to guess, I would say that he was about seventeen. Four years. It wasn’t that much, was it?

Part of me missed staying in hotels, and sleeping. Though not being able to dream was, at time, disconcerting, it was a way to forget. While sleeping, I was unaware of the world moving on around me, and the bare facts of my state. I didn’t like knowing that I was dead, and, most likely, always would be.

Caiden didn’t seem to be upset or resentful of his condition. I admired that about him. He was always the same: Calm, steady, and easygoing. He took death as it was, and didn’t harp about it, as I so often did privately. But then again, he had had much more time than I to grow used to the idea. Would I ever be as okay about it as he was?

We traveled together for six days before we really spoke to one another again. It was, if anything, odd. Nothing coaxed him to turn to me. Nothing appeared that would give him inspiration or desire. We were walking on a road somewhere in Nevada, and the scenery was the same as it had been for two days: hills, grass, blue sky. Nothing out of the ordinary. Then Caiden pulled off his headphones, and looked at me.

“You like Three Days Grace?” he asked me. I stared at him blankly.

“What?”

“Three Days Grace,” he said again, with ease. “Do you like them?”

I hadn’t been completely socially isolated when I was alive, and I actually did know who the band was, and I thanked the divine powers that I did. “What I’ve heard of their songs,” I answered nervously; I was afraid I would bore him and he would put the headphones back on.

“I went to one of their concerts the night I died,” he told me, as if we were discussing the weather. “The mosh pit was insane. Me and my buddy Wes had had a few drinks, and we were just as nuts as the rest of the people there. It was the stupidest thing, the way I died. Really, just the lamest way to die. Someone threw their bottle into the pit, and I was hit in the head. I guess some of the glass embedded in my skull, and I passed out. Someone else stepped—or stomped would be a better word—on my neck. Then I was gone, going through that tunnel.”

He smiled to himself, and I noticed he had a dimple in his left cheek. I didn’t know how to respond to him. I’m sorry? Hey, that’s cool?

I was shocked at what did actually pop out of my mouth. “My death was lamer,” I blurted. He looked at me, eyebrows raised.

“Oh, yeah? How’d you die?” He was still grinning.

The beginning of a smile was tugging at the corners of my own mouth. “I got hit by a bus,” I admitted, and he laughed.

“Nah, my death still holds the record for lame. I mean, there are some crazy ones out there. Some kid back in San Diego, Jesse, was crushed by a vending machine.”

“Really?” I laughed with him. He nodded, shifting his backpack. A truck thundered past us, and I jumped a little.

“I hope you’ll be able to touch things soon, Hope,” Caiden said to me, with a hint of teasing. “That way we can jump on one of the trucks or cars driving by and get to where we want to go faster.”

His words startled me. He was staying with me, even though it meant I was drastically slowing him down? He could leave anytime he wanted, and yet he walked with me?

Caiden seemed to guess my thoughts. “Hey, don’t worry about it,” he said. “I like the exercise. Besides, someone needs to save those animals you attack in the middle of the night.”

I smiled, but I was still unsure. How long until he grew tired of my company and left? I’d realized, above everything else, that being alone was the thing I feared most in my death.

Caiden smiled back, and then slid his headphones back into place.