All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons,

living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Figment

© 2012 by Alloy Entertainment

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or

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The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for

author or third-party websites or their content.

“Hallelujah” by Leonard Cohen (Sony/ATV Songs LLC). All rights reserved.

“Fine Romance” by Dorothy Fields, Jerome Kern (Aldi Music Company, Universal

Polygram International Publishing, Inc.). All rights reserved.

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First edition November 2012

Design by Liz Dresner

ISBN 978-0-985026-10-0 (Nook)

ISBN 978-0-985026-11-7 (Kindle)

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SIX

Every day, Davis and I were out in London. He’d wait for me in our spot by our building,

and we’d get our coffee and pastry from Harold, the gap-toothed vendor with the green

awning. We ambled every street we could find, sometimes strolling randomly, sometimes

studying the Tube map and picking some neighborhood with an interesting name, like

Bromley, and riding there on the train. I didn’t dare sneak out at night again, but when I

lay in my bed and pictured Davis one floor above me, I was comforted.

If it wasn’t for the nightmares, I’d have been perfectly happy. But each night when I

closed my eyes, they claimed me, sending me back to that slick black road over and over

again. Each time, I watched Davis with one hand on the wheel, and the curve of the road

looming ahead. He would talk to me emphatically, gesturing, but I could never

understand his words—just an infuriating gibberish. Then the crash, the impact, tumbling

down the hill again and again. Always, I woke up as the car hit the dirt with a thud.

Davis had been in London for four days when I kissed him good-bye in his empty flat

upstairs one evening. Behind us, a gray blanket I’d snuck up was mussed, evidence of our

long, sensuous afternoon. I tried to comb my hair with my fingers and rubbed at my

chafed lips. “How do I look?” I asked.

He leaned over to kiss me one last time. “Like a girl who’s spent the whole afternoon

alone with her boyfriend.”

“My parents will love that.” I made a face at him and wrapped my hair in a bun. “I

hate leaving you, but I swore I’d have dinner with them. They miss me since I’ve been

hanging out with ‘Oliver.’”

“Should I be jealous?” he teased. He held my hand firmly as I stood up.

“Probably. My parents know his parents. I’m sure my mother’s practically got me

married off.” I laughed at his mock puppy-dog face and extracted my hand from his

grasp. “See you tomorrow.” I bent to kiss his forehead.

I limped down the service stairs and, humming to myself, opened the door of the flat.

“I’m home!” I called in. I could smell roast chicken.

“Zoe, please come in here,” my father said from the kitchen. His voice sounded stony,

and with my palms suddenly sweaty, I walked slowly toward the back of the flat.

In the doorway of the kitchen, my heart dropped with a thud. Sitting at the table

beside my parents was Oliver. No one was smiling.

“Hi,” I said carefully. “Um, Oliver . . . ”

“Sit down,” my mother cut in. “I believe you owe us an explanation.”

I perched at the edge of my chair. A chicken thigh and a pile of green beans were

growing cold on my plate. “Mom, listen . . . ”

“Since Dad and I have to be at that embassy meeting tomorrow, I wanted us to have a

nice dinner together tonight. Imagine my surprise when I dropped a note at Oliver’s flat,

inviting him also, only to have Oliver himself open the door.” My mother’s nose was

white around the nostrils. “I thought he was with you today.”

“Oh.” I clasped my hands together under the table, trying to think of how to get

myself out of this.

“The thing is, um, Zoe and I were out today,” Oliver broke in hurriedly. “I came

home just for a bit . . . ” His voice trailed off. I gave him a grateful glance, but neither of

my parents looked at him. Everyone could tell he was trying to cover for me.

“We trusted you, Zoe. And you lied to us.” My mother set her fork and knife down on

her plate, hard.

“Maybe I had a good reason,” I mumbled. Under the table, I felt Oliver’s foot press

against mine. The gesture was dimly comforting.

“What?” My father almost spat the word, like an apple seed, across the table. “What

did you say?”

I looked up, feeling pressure building inside me. “I said, maybe I had a good reason.”

“Oh?” My father threw his napkin onto the table, then pushed back his chair with a

scrape. “And what reason is that?”

“Charles, calm down,” my mother broke in. “Please.” She cut her eyes over to Oliver,

who got quickly to his feet.

“I should probably go.” He cast me a sympathetic glance. “Sorry,” he mouthed.

I had the urge to catch at his sleeve and beg him not to leave me alone with my

parents, but I just managed a watery smile, and then he was out the door.

“Where were you today?” My father’s voice cut like a blade through the icy silence.

“Who were you with?”

I stared at his hard face, the glasses low on the tip of his nose, and murderous rage

built up in me. I wanted to hurt him as badly as he’d hurt me. And in that moment, I

didn’t care what the consequences were. “I was with Davis!” I yelled, my voice cracking.

I relished the look of astonishment on their faces. It felt good to say it, to hurt them and to

declare that they hadn’t brought me down, even though they’d tried their hardest. I drove

the knife in deeper. “He’s here, you know. He came back to me, even though you tried

everything to keep us apart. You flew me all the way across the ocean, but he followed

me.” I was panting. The words pouring out of me felt like the bursting of an abscess. “If I

were you, I’d be happy my daughter’s found someone she loves. Why can’t you just give

him a chance?”

I was expecting them to grow even angrier, but instead they just looked at each other

and then at me, sadness and pain written across their faces. They said nothing.

“What?” I glanced from my father to my mother and back again, suddenly confused.

“What is it?”

My mother reached across the table, took both my hands in hers, and squeezed them

tightly. She cast an inquiring glance at my father, who nodded.

“Tell her, Mary.”

“Tell me what?” I demanded.

“Zoe.” Mom seemed to gather herself, then spoke gently. “We can’t give Davis a

chance, because Davis no longer exists.”

My father leaned across the table and looked into my eyes. “Davis died in the car

crash.”

I stared at them blankly as the seconds ticked on, spelled out by the yellow clock on

the wall. My fingers left my mom’s and clutched Davis’s infinity charm, which always

lived in my pocket. I became aware of a buzzing in my ears, growing steadily louder, as

my father’s words repeated themselves over and over in my mind: “died in the car crash,

died in the car crash, died in the car crash.”

I became aware that they were both watching me tensely, as if I were a bomb about to

go off. Which, in a sense, I was. “How can you do this?” I whispered. Then my voice

rose uncontrollably. “How can you do this?” I was screaming now. “How can you be so

warped, so twisted . . . ” I sobbed, unable to say more.

“We kept telling you when you woke up in the hospital,” Mom said. She scooted her

chair around closer to me. “It never registered. Your mind just couldn’t accept the news.”

I saw her shoot a questioning glance at my father over my head. He nodded.

“We hoped that if we got you away from everything, got you into a new environment,

you could come to terms with his death in your own time.” Dad took his glasses off and

rubbed his eyes, as if suddenly tired. “But clearly that has not happened.”

I felt wetness in my palms. I was clenching my fists so tightly, my fingernails were

biting into my skin. Blood seeped around the gouges. “I can’t believe it . . . I can’t

believe it,” I repeated.

“It’s true, darling.” My mother tried to take my hand. I jerked it away and leapt up

from the table, knocking over my chair with a bang.

“I can’t believe you guys would actually be this crazy to keep us apart. You’re such

liars!” Fury claimed me then. I snatched a wineglass from the table and hurled it against

the far wall. Pinot noir splattered the white curtains like blood as shards of crystal flew

everywhere. “God damn you!” I screamed, and I ran from the kitchen.

I slammed the door to my bedroom and locked it, then leaned both fists on my

dresser, staring at my wild-eyed self in the mirror. They were monsters to tell me he was

dead. I shivered, suddenly chilled, and grabbed a sweater from my closet, wrapping it

around my shoulders as I crouched on my bed, rocking back and forth.

I had to see him. I couldn’t be alone right now. But I couldn’t bear the thought of

walking past my parents, probably still sitting in the kitchen. A sudden thought struck

me, and I ran to my window. I almost laughed when I saw the black stairs of the fire

escape rising to the roof. Of course.

With difficulty, I tugged open the sash and cautiously stepped out onto the rusty iron

steps. The metal groaned underneath me, and, for a moment, I held my breath. Then,

quickly, I scurried upward, clinging to the narrow railing and trying not to look down.

On the penthouse landing, I stopped to catch my breath. Hopefully, Davis would be

able to open the window. I leaned forward and peered through the glass. There was our

corner, with a few soda cans and a water bottle strewn about. But Davis wasn’t there.

And both his backpack and the gray blanket were gone, too. It was as if he’d never even

been there at all.