Chapter 33

CHAPTER 33

"Good morning, sunshine."

I blink, waking up to the sun streaming in through the window of the hatch.

"Sun," I croak, shielding my eyes. "My god."

It's been a week since we sailed away from Madrona Lodge, and there hadn't been a single day of sunshine on the entire journey from the Brooks Peninsula all the way down to Tofino. To say the sun feels like heaven shining down on me right now is an understatement.

The trip down the west coast only took a few days, with Wes steering the boat day and night and taking shifts with Janet, who has some sailing experience, while the rest of us braved the rough seas. It was a crowded couple of days, with fourteen people on a fifty-foot yacht, everyone sleeping on every available surface, but eventually, we pulled into the surfer town of Tofino, the biggest community on the coast, and kissed the ground the moment we all stumbled onto shore.

After that, we had a day or two to get our heads on straight and enjoy being in civilization. The students frequented coffee shops, bars, bookstores, taco trucks, conversing with locals and tourists who had nothing to do with Madrona. Wes generously put everyone up at the local hotels. I opted to stay back on the boat with him, taking the time—and the quiet—to not only piece together the missing parts but to get to know each other in a whole new way.

I had to get to know myself better, too.

To reconcile who I was with who I am.

To think about death and dying.

Wes asked me one night, if I had remembered what dying was like.

I wish I did.

I was dead for months and yet I don't remember any of it. It doesn't make me more afraid or less afraid of it. I still believe in an afterlife—that's deeply ingrained by my grandmother—I just don't remember if I went there.

I think some things are meant to be forgotten.

At the very least, I think my death is what connected me to Farida. I was able to see her as a ghost and she was able to see me, because I had already passed to the other side and back. I think at first she tried to scare me, payback for what I had done, but then was trying to show me what I was, the truth of what I had become.

That's what I tell myself, anyway.

After a few days had passed, it was time for all of us to decide together as a group what to do. The burning of the lodge still hadn't made the news, and we hadn't heard from anyone there. We don't know what happened to Everly, only that she's probably alive. Michael is for sure dead, having been shot by Wes. David is most likely dead as well, possibly shot, too. I try to feel an ounce of remorse over that, but I can't seem to conjure it.

Wes, of course, is taking it hard, but in his own stoic way. Some nights, I'll catch him staring out across the water with a look of dread on his face. I know he's thinking about how they died. I know he blames himself. But then I catch him looking at me, and I see the joy and relief return to his face, and I know he tells himself it was worth it.

Some of the group—Janet and Hernandez and a few other students, Natasha, Patrick, and Rav—wanted to bring Madrona to justice. The other students just wanted to forget about the whole thing and go back home. I couldn't blame them. I'd do the same thing if I were in their shoes.

Wes and I, well, I'd definitely like to take Everly and Madrona to court. I'm not sure exactly how since there are some things that shouldn't come to light. For example, none of us can ever tell the truth about what was done to me. The world is not ready for a person to be resurrected over and over again. If anyone learned the truth about me, I would be subjected to tests and scrutiny for the rest of my life.

Of course, we didn't make anyone sign an NDA. If someone wants to blab one day, they can. No one will ever believe them.

But what we can do is bring Everly to trial over illegal and unethical experiments on the local wildlife. Those poor creatures are still out there in the woods. They are our proof. I am sure we could get the natives involved in this, too, since it occurred on their land; same goes for the provincial government.

The only issue is the NDAs. But if we get a good lawyer, we can prove them to be void.

Wes also paid for everyone's flights back when we reached Tofino, making good with his Madrona salary. Everyone agreed to keep in touch, especially with regard to any legal action. It was especially hard to say goodbye to Lauren, Munawar, and Janet, but at least Lauren lives in the city of Victoria, which isn't too far from here, and Munawar lives in Vancouver. I'll be able to see both of them again soon.

As for Janet, though she flew back to Toronto, I think it's for the best we don't see each other much. She was my friend, but she also represents Madrona. Right now, the only tie I want to that place is Wes, and that's because we're tied so deeply to each other that Madrona doesn't even count. When I remember me and Wes together, I remember him, not the lodge.

As for my own memory, some things are still slow to return. The harder it is to come to terms with, the more likely the memory wants to stay away. I don't want to know what a horrible person I was, though I suppose it serves me right to remember. If I don't, how do I know history won't repeat itself?

I do know, however, that my morals did come through at the last minute, even though they led to my eventual death.

Two things happened in succession. First, I realized what was happening to the natives. I had been under the impression that they were getting a percentage of the stock options from Madrona, as well as being paid flat out. I learned they were getting screwed over when I went onto their land to forage for excandesco . The man I saw in the forest, Samson, was the one who confronted me with the truth, assuming I knew more than I did.

Then, I discovered the body of a student in the lab, a girl, Kim, whom I had known well. I knew she wasn't suicidal; I knew she wasn't on any drugs. But she was made to look like she'd overdosed. It was then that I realized what was happening, that Everly and Michael had murdered her and caused another suicide prior, a guy called Jack.

After that, I was so irate and damn scared I blew up at Everly. I told her I was going to take her ass to jail. She neither confirmed nor denied anything but once again mentioned the fucking NDAs. After that, I went to see Wes, thinking he had something to do with it, or at the very least, that he knew and didn't tell me. At least Everly had made it seem that way. We started fighting, not only over the murders and the natives being fucked over, but the reason we broke up, Everly's manipulation of me.

It was a huge blowout.

It got physical.

I slapped him.

I shoved Wes, hard.

I went to shove him again, but he moved out of the way.

I started to fall forward. I overcorrected myself so that I slipped on the rug and then started to fall backward.

Wes reached out to catch me.

But he didn't grab me in time.

I hit my head on the corner of the table, at just the right—or wrong—spot.

And died.

Wes has asked, many times, if I wanted to see the footage because he does have the accident recorded. But I always say no. I remember now. I don't want to see my actual death. I have a hard enough time coming to terms with what happened to me; I don't need to see it with my own eyes.

"Here," Wes says, handing me my coffee.

I sit up in the berth and take the coffee from him, having a long sip. Him bringing me coffee on the boat is the best part of the morning, maybe even the day. Well, aside from the sex, of course.

"Thank you," I tell him, peering at him over the mug. He used to have a mushroom one on the boat, one that Munawar appreciated, but I made him toss out everything fungi related. Suffice to say, I'm not sure being a mycologist is the right career choice for me anymore. "You made it extra strong."

"We have a big day ahead of us," he explains. Once slack tide hits later and the current around the marina stops being so vicious, we're heading back out, deciding to continue sailing to the town of Ucluelet, then spend a few weeks bumming around the islands of Barkley Sound while we figure life out.

There's so much to figure out.

So much to think about.

And so many things I don't want to think about too deeply.

"Before we get ready, though, I have a present for you," Wes says. He reaches into the bottom of one of the cupboards that surround the berth and takes out a shoebox.

"More Polaroids?" I ask. I've spent so much time going through the photos and jogging my memory until I'm certain the memories are there to stay. Wes thinks eventually my own neural circuits will override the mycelia, until one day my brain is completely back to normal and the mycelia are rendered moot. At least he's the right person to help me with that.

"No," he says, placing the box in front of me. He gives me a steady look. "Now, you don't have to do anything with these. You can throw them away if you want. Or I can put them back, and you can decide to do something with it a few years from now. We can decide to do it together. But I wanted you to know."

He lifts off the top of the box.

I look inside.

Papers. There are hundreds of scattered papers, some typed and printed, some in my chicken scratch handwriting. "What is this?" I ask, but as I see a few words and formulas, I realize the truth.

This is all the research on Amanita excandesco , the research needed for Alzheimer's and other neurological diseases.

"I'm not sure if it's complete," he says. "And of course, we don't have the fungi either anymore. But it's a step in the right direction. You always kept this on the boat; I guess some part of you was worried it would be taken. So when Everly burned everything down, she didn't burn this. If you want, if one day you're ready, we can tackle this together. We can find another way towards a cure."

My lower lip starts to tremble, a rush of emotions flushing through me.

For one, the fact that I was smart enough, good enough to actually help with this research, the very reason I wanted to join Madrona to begin with.

For two…it's hope. Even without the ingredients for this to work, it's the right start. And hope is such a powerful thing.

"Come here," Wes says, taking the coffee from my hand and placing it on the shelf before pulling me toward him. He wraps his arms around me, and I cry. I haven't cried much since everything happened, but it's all coming to a head now.

"One day, your work is going to save the world," Wes says. "But I'll let you choose when that day comes."

I cry into his embrace, and he soothes me.

He holds me until that feeling of being loved, of being worthy, of being enough for this world, sinks deep into my bones. He makes me believe it.

Then I push the box aside and kiss him.

He climbs onto the bed, and we fall back into it, our clothes coming off in seconds, our bodies tangled in the sheets.

He's gentle and soft with me this morning as the sun streams through, lightly restraining me at times, whispering that I'm his pet, that I'm his forever, that he will always take care of me.

That his soul will always find mine.

I surrender to him like I always do.

I surrender to the moment.

I surrender to tomorrow.

I have no idea what the future will bring for us. I just know we have to keep moving forward, one foot in front of the other.

"The past is past," as Wes always says. "We only have now and tomorrow."