“I’m trying.”
We sit quietly for a second, both sniffling. Then Monroe clears his throat and picks up his medical journal, placing it back in his jacket pocket. He pulls out a bottle of pills and shakes two into his hand. He tosses them into his mouth and swallows them dry. After he puts the bottle away, he turns to me, his face solid and serious. “There’s nothing wrong with you,” he says. “At least, not in the way that you think.”
I’m partly relieved, but I know it can’t be true. “I don’t understand,” I say. “It’s not just the gold under my skin. I’m compelled to talk to people I’ve never met. Know things about them. It’s creepy.”
“You’re helping them,” he says.
“You know about that?” My heart rate explodes. Does Monroe know about everything? How can he know? “Are you like me?” I’m suddenly hopeful, but then Monroe shakes his head.
“No, sweetheart. I’m not. You . . . you’re so much more.”
I want to start crying again. My head is killing me and my legs are so sore I want to curl up and die. But I hold the tears back as Monroe watches me. “Stop being so cryptic and tell me what’s wrong with me,” I plead.
He presses his lips together. “I’ll tell you what I can. But I’m confused about something—how, after all this time, you still don’t know what you are. Has the answer never come to you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I murmur.
He leans forward on the couch, putting his elbows on his knees. “Usually by now you would have known. Felt the answer in your heart, maybe?” He looks away as if considering the thought. “Unless . . . you wouldn’t believe?” Monroe seems content with talking to himself but I’m completely lost in the conversation. I can’t figure out what he knows about the Need.
“Monroe, please. I don’t understand. Do you know what this is or not?”
“I do,” he says softly. “And I knew the minute I treated you nearly ten years ago. I saw that you were different when I X-rayed your arm.”
“Wait,” I say. “Is it cancer?” Mercy’s mother died of breast cancer a few years ago and it was awful. Traumatizing. I nearly crumble at the idea of Mercy having to go through something similar with me. In fact, when I was a kid, Monroe used to test my blood for all sorts of things. He said my bones were weak. Is this why?
“No, no,” Monroe says. “You’re not sick.”
“Then what did you see in my bones?”
He smiles to himself. “I wasn’t sure I’d recognize it again—I thought I’d lost the sight. But when your X-ray came back, it showed the break—the light seeping from it. And I knew you.” He pauses. “Not you exactly. But your kind.”
A hot streak of terror races through me. “My kind? What the hell does that mean?”
“It’s okay,” Monroe soothes. “You’re not dying, Charlotte. You’re just . . . changing.”
I grab on to the counter again, holding myself up. “Changing into what?”
“The Forgotten.”
I stare at him, anger and fear welling up inside me. “What is that?”
“You have a destiny, Charlotte. A purpose. The Forgotten save people, they save souls. You’re like a gift to Earth.”
I can feel the color draining from my face. “There’s no such thing.”
Monroe winces. “Forgive me,” he murmurs. “I’m usually much better prepared.” He rubs roughly at his hair, darting his gaze around the room. “I thought it’d be easier than this,” he says, as if I know what he’s talking about. “I thought since we were close . . .”
“I don’t understand.”
He nods. “I know. But listen to me, this is a wonderful blessing.”
“I don’t feel very blessed.”
“A blessing for us. Because you’ve come.” He adjusts his position on the couch to better face me, but I’m barely staying on the stool. I feel like I might pass out. “The Forgotten,” he says. “They lead us toward the light, toward the good. You’re unconditional love, forgiveness. Guidance. You’re here to help.”
“But . . . it’s killing me,” I stammer. “I’m in pain. And now my skin—”
“I’ll help you through the pain and loss. I’ve been helping your kind my entire life, Charlotte. I’ve traveled the world looking for them, studying them, helping them cross over. I’m a Seer. I’m here to lead you home,” he whispers, bowing his head.
“No,” I say, suddenly overcome with loss. I’ve always thought Monroe could solve anything. He takes care of my cuts and broken bones, he helps with my research papers when Mercy has to work late. But now he’s just letting me go when I need him.
I jump down from the stool and dash over, dropping at Monroe’s feet. “Please, help me.” I clench my hands in front of me. “Please.”
His face scrunches with sadness as he reaches out and puts his hands over mine. “It’s your destiny,” he says. “I’m sorry, but I can’t stop it.”
I suck in a breath and wipe at my tears. Monroe knew all along that I was different, but never told me. It makes me wonder what else he doesn’t tell me. It makes me wonder about him.
I’m not sure what to believe anymore. Still on the floor, I slide back from him. I wrap my arms around my knees and stare, feeling devastated. “What does this mean? Is more of my skin going to fall off?” I ask.
“Yes.”
I whimper, the horror of it nearly too much. “What else? What else is going to happen to me?”
Monroe pauses. “The Forgotten are sent from the light to live among us. And as you save people, continuing your destiny, this body will wear away. The energy will build inside you until you’re gone completely—a brilliant burst of light that’s more beautiful that anything you can ever imagine. You’ll leave us all with your love.”
I gasp. “It is going to kill me.”
He shakes his head. “No. It’s going to set you free. It’ll let you go from this form so that you can spread your light, your love. You save lives.”
“I don’t want to save anybody,” I say. “You’re wrong. It’s not true.” And suddenly I just want him to leave. To leave me alone so that I can lie down, rest my body. Everything hurts, but it only reminds me of how much I want to keep my skin. Forget the light. I won’t go.