Xander was quiet for a minute and another tear slipped down my cheek.
"The whole thing collapsed, Eden, you know that. Flattened. When I got there, the water had receded, but there were body parts sticking up from the rubble and just . . ." He grimaced. "It looked like the depths of hell," he finished quietly. I recalled the lifeless, bloated bodies floating in the cellar. The images had haunted me for three long years. I wasn't sure they'd ever go away.
"It was," I said. "That's exactly what it was."
He squeezed my hand again, but kept looking straight ahead. "It looked hopeless. But then I heard this very small banging and I followed the sound. I pulled as much debris away as I could and there he was, half dead, shot, bloody, swollen, beaten, air-deprived, in shock, but alive, sitting in the corner where the drain was, a space barely big enough for his body. It was like a f**king miracle. He was banging a small piece of concrete against the floor, over and over again. He was mostly out of it, mumbling about springs and Elysium and you, and Mother Willa."
He lapsed into silence as we turned on to my street.
"We got him out of there and back to Kristi's friend's house. Kristi even delayed her move to help us and make sure we were okay." He paused, staring off behind me. "I was so scared of the police. After Clive . . . but now, if I had called them . . . if you had seen Calder on TV, this would have been different." He shook his head. "Kristi tried to convince me, but I wouldn't listen and Calder begged us not to, too, once he was coherent. There was so much we didn't understand then, so much that terrified us."
"Xander, I didn't call the police either. I still haven't called the police even though my mom . . . well that's another story, but, I know. I know."
He nodded and pulled behind Molly into my mom's driveway.
"He's still out there," he said.
I bit my lip. "I know." I opened my mouth to go on, but my mom swung my door open and offered me her hand, putting an umbrella over us and practically pulling me out of there. It seemed she'd been watching for us to return home. Molly must have called her from the car.
We ran through the rain into the house and after we'd dried off with a towel, Xander and I sat in the living room drinking hot tea instead of the shots we had talked about. Suddenly, I was chilled to the bone. I felt like I'd never get warm. But somewhere underneath the shock and the sadness that both our lives were so different now, there was a current of wild joy that ran through my bloodstream.
He was alive.
My mom introduced herself to Xander, but then Molly, thankfully, pulled her away so that Xander and I could talk.
I told Xander everything I'd been through since we got in Clive's police cruiser that fateful day. Xander got up and hugged me several times and my mom fluttered in and out of the room worriedly. Molly pulled her out again a few times, but I shook my head to let her know it was okay. I could see how much she needed to feel useful to me, in even the smallest of ways, and perhaps she needed to hear this as well.
Xander told me that he and Calder had been doing construction work, mostly—anything where they could get paid under the table. They'd both gotten good at it and so far hadn't been between jobs for long. It paid their bills. And I had to admit that a fierce pride flowed through me as I listened to how they'd survived.
"I worked and supported us for the first year," Xander said, his eyes darting to mine and then away. "Calder, he . . . he didn't do much other than lie around with this blank expression on his face." He ran his hand through his hair. It was a little longer now, too, and it suited him. He was quiet for a minute, seeming to be lost in the recent past. "I thought he was in shock, you know, and obviously grieving profoundly. I was, too," he said quietly, letting out a harsh exhale. "After his wounds were healed, I did what I could for him, which at the time wasn't much more than keeping him fed and hydrated." He paused again, so long I thought he wouldn't continue. Pain pulsed through me, and a lump formed in my throat, but I held the tears at bay. I felt like I'd already cried a river.
"One day, I came home from work and he wasn't there." He shook his head slightly. "I looked everywhere and all I found was a receipt for a bottle of whiskey that he'd gone to the store and bought, trying to self-medicate, I guessed. I finally found him up on the roof, at the very edge, swaying and crying." Grief flooded Xander's expression. "I talked him down, dragged him back inside, got him settled down. A few more minutes though, Eden, and . . ." He trailed off and I reached out and put my hand on his knee, gripping it. "If he hadn't jumped, he would have fallen."
"I know that pain," I said. "I know. Thank God you were there."
Xander studied me for a minute and then nodded. "He should be the one here right now," he said.
I shook my head. "No. I hated leaving him, but after everything, I'd never forgive myself if he didn't have this opportunity again. His art. His destiny," I finished on a whisper.
Xander pressed his lips together. "It saved him once, you know." He looked off over my shoulder again. "After that day on the roof, I didn't know what else to do. I went to an art supply store and spent money we didn't really have to buy every supply I could think of. I brought them home and he didn't seem interested, but the next day I came home and he'd painted something. I recognized it as part of that spring where you two always met."