Page 122 of The Whispering Night
This, Winnie decides, must be the sleeping spirit. Not an eye nor even a heart, but a silver glow like the full-moon Ferris wheel surrounded by lapping waves and dry ice.
A mist floats here too. An ethereal fog that lacks the talons of usual mist. It’s not hot, nor even warm. It’s simply vapor that Winnie scrambles through.
More hot water rains onto her head.
The light brightens. There’s a greenish tint that swirls through like two paints being mixed upon a palette.Forest green,reads one tube.Full moon silver,reads the other.And all Winnie has to do is dab her brush in, then smear, swipe, create whatever nightmare her mind’s eye can imagine.
Brighter, brighter. Winnie has to screw her eyes to almost shut. Erica is losing definition, becoming a silhouette. Backlit, like Jay’s song—a title Winnie still doesn’t understand, even though she asked him about it nine days ago.I miss you more now. Now that it’s been so long.
She does miss him. And if Jay isn’t here, if Winnie can’t save him or Erica now that she’s literallyat the bottom of the Big Lake,then what was the point of everything? Of Dad’s clues or a stolen swan boat or a ruined maze and a derailed Hummer?
Erica stops moving. It’s sudden. One moment, she’s prostrate. The next, she’s rising, pivoting, as if invisible hands have scooped her up.There, there, little witch. Let’s get you back on your feet.
The water still prods at Winnie from behind, shepherding her forward. She is a fish in a net, pushed along toward doom. Until she too reaches the greenish, throbbing light, where a second silhouette awaits. A figure she has drawn and redrawn more times than she can remember. He fills her sketchbooks, he saturates her thoughts. And his song—it continues to sing, controlling her just like a possession as described by the Compendium.
“Jay?”she asked him nine days ago as they lay on Winnie’s bed, her body tucked against his. Her fingers reveling in the shape of this boy she’d lost for so many years.
“Yes, Winnie?”
“Why’s your song called ‘Backlit’? You never say that word in the lyrics.”
“Not all song titles have to be in the lyrics, Win. I’m anartistelike that.”
“You mean, you’re a dork.”
“A cute one?”
“Averycute one.”
“Do cute dorks get kisses?”
“Not until they answer my question. Why ‘Backlit’—what does it mean?”
“It means…”
“Stop squirming. Answer the question.”
“Fine. It means ‘I don’t know.’ I just… heard the tune, and for whatever reason, that title was there. ‘Backlit.’ It felt important. Like I needed to write it down. I didn’t have lyrics yet—just the tune and the title.”
“But then why make the song about me?”
“Because…”
“You don’t need to blush like that, Jay. I promise I won’t laugh.”
“I’m not worried you’ll laugh. It just doesn’t make sense, is all. When I heard that tune, I saw you. There was all this light radiating off you, like you’d stepped out of a star. And… yeah, yeah. I know how weird that sounds. But once I saw you like that… well, there wasn’t anyone else I could possibly write the song for.
“There, are you happy now, Win? Does that satisfy your ladyship?”
“Stepped out of a star?”
“I knew you’d laugh.”
“I’mnotlaughing, Jay. I promise. It’s just… hard to imagine myself like that.”
“Not for me it isn’t. Now can this dork have his kisses?”
Well, Winnie can imagine the light of a star now. Holy hellions and banshees, can she imagine it. Jay wasn’t just having some weird dream about her; he wasseeingwhat would come. He was seeing this moment, right here.
