The Sky We Seek (Love and Other Dreams #2)

Chapter 40

Noah

It's raining. Lightning and thunder dominate the surroundings. Everything is gray. Dark. And cold.

Over there, moss-covered stones are untouched by the rain. It doesn't rain in that spot.

But there's something else. I step closer.

I bend down.

I run my fingers over the soft moss.

It's damp and slippery.

Confused, I look at my fingers. There's nothing to see.

I bring them to my nose, trying to catch a scent of what it might be.

Blood.

That's blood.

Suddenly, there's a beam of light. Directly above me. It illuminates the stone and the moss. But neither is here anymore.

Julian lies before me. His face contorted in pain. Pale. Whimpering.

Blood drips from a thumbnail-sized wound on his forehead. It mixes with the rain, forming a narrow, bright red trickle running down his temple.

Help me.

I want to support him, but I can't figure out the root of his troubles .

Help me!

I try to say something, but only a feeble stutter escapes my mouth.

His body contorts. He screams out his pain. Forceful and piercing.

Then his gaze becomes fixed.

"No-o-o-o!" he cries.

A jolt runs through my body. Eyes wide open, I spring up.

Before me lies the clearing where my house stands. It's not raining; instead, the sun shines. Birds chirp. The wind tugs at my T-shirt. My back is stiff, the ground beneath me hard.

Gradually, the memories come back. I only wanted a short break before continuing with the sawing work in the workshop. I must have dozed off. How long was I gone? Absently, I reach into my pocket for my phone.

1:15 p.m. I slept for two hours, and now I feel like a freight train ran over me. Cold sweat clings to my forehead.

Did I have one of those nightmares again?

It's not hard for me to let my eyelids fall. Massaging my temples, I try to remember.

"Come on, Noah," I urge. "What did you dream about?"

It was just in my thoughts a moment ago, so it should still be there now. But I find nothing. My mind is blank.

With a sigh, I push myself up from the forest floor and brush the pine needles off my work pants. Who knows if I even have nightmares. After all, it could have been one of Elina's lies.

Elina .

A sharp pain pierces my chest. I bite my lip. She doesn't belong here. Yet she refuses to disappear.

Since I last saw her in Munich four days ago, I've been doing everything to forget her. But the opposite is happening. My thoughts are consumed by her every waking minute. Hour by hour, my longing grows more intense.

I wonder what she's doing right now. I want to know what she's thinking at this moment. And sometimes, when I run out of strength to resist, I wish she would come back to me. Despite everything she's done to me.

My God, how will I ever manage to forget this woman?

Looking around for help, I see that everything on this clearing is filled with memories. Yet I must find closure with her.

I trudge toward the house, grab a bottle of beer from the fridge, and drag myself to the porch. This table is the only place where we never sat together. Weary, I reach for the chair and pull it back.

A rustling sound reaches my ears. Instinctively, I look down and discover an envelope.

It's Elina's letter.

The one I returned unopened four days ago.

I lift it up. The envelope is crumpled and stained. It looks as if the wind had it in its clutches. Now, even the fine sawdust that clings to my fingers lands on the envelope. Should I read the letter?

Even as the question forms in my mind, my index finger slips under the edge of the adhesive on the envelope without my conscious effort. The paper tears noisily, revealing a folded sheet .

"Better leave it be," I admonish myself, but in the same moment, I feel as defenseless as ever.

There is this longing inside me, screaming so loudly for Elina that it would absorb everything it can get from her.

And this message that I now draw from the envelope is the only thing I have from her right now.

My head doesn't want it, but my heart couldn't care less. My hands unfold the paper.

Dear Noah,

I don't know where to begin. Should I start with apologizing? Should I tell you that I can't imagine a life without you? Or should I address what overshadows all of this? What is currently the most important thing?

It hurts to write these words, but I must do it. Because what matters most right now is not us or what I wish for us.

It's you.

And that alone was the reason I took you to the trauma expert. I wanted to help you shed your past. To become healthy again. To be happy.

Shaking my head, I clench my fists. The paper crumples with a loud noise. I've already heard the same thing in Munich. But even if she thought she was doing something good, it doesn't change the fact that she betrayed me.

I shouldn't continue reading, but I can't stop myself.

I think you are suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. This illness is blocking your brain, which is why you can't remember the accident. Only at night, when your consciousness is weakened, does the truth emerge in the form of nightmares. But your trauma is so strong that you even suppress it yourself.

I know I sound like an overly cautious doctor, but it's important to me that you understand this: what you're suffering from won't just disappear if you ignore it long enough.

What does she know anyway? She has no idea what it feels like inside me. However, she seems to be right about one thing. Julian's death has been weighing on me for months. And it's undeniable that my return to mountain rescue was the beginning of my health issues. It would be logical to think that the work triggered me. Blinking heavily, I lower myself onto the porch chair.

You feel lost, but you're not.

There is a way for you to leave all of this behind. I now realize that it was wrong to force you to confront your past. And it would be just as wrong for me to tell you what I've discovered about the accident.

You wouldn't believe me.

Yet I am convinced that Julian's death is not your fault. Don't be afraid to give room to your memories. It is necessary for you to let go of them once and for all.

Do you trust me, Noah? Just a little bit?

My God, I don't know. A pressure on my chest and a tightness in my throat spreads through me. I can barely breathe and, even less so, think. But the notion that I could free myself from my guilt overshadows the jumble of emotions brewing inside me .

What if she's right?

What if I really have to push myself to search within me for the truth?

Could that truly heal me? Would it finally make me feel that freedom I yearn for?

There's nothing I want more than to believe Elina. "I trust you," I whisper with a voice choked by tears.

If you do that, then embark on the search for your memory. Somewhere within you, there is something like a switch that can lead you to it. I cannot tell you where it is, but I assure you that it exists.

The key is confrontation. Be brave. Face the past.

Look at photos of Julian, talk to others about him and the accident. Walk into the gorge once more. Go precisely to the place where it happened. That might help you overcome your blockage.

If it doesn't work, my colleague Klaus is available for you in his practice in Munich. He awaits your call whenever you feel ready for it.

Just like me.

I let the letter sink onto my thighs and gaze into the distance. Immediately, I lose myself in the shimmering of the lake before the clearing. There is a deep sadness within me. Because in Elina's words, there is something final. She doesn't write that she wants me back at any cost. There is no trace of selfishness. She wrote this letter solely to help me.

It is the essence of her fighting spirit and selflessness.

A wistful smile flickers across my face. If she were here right now, I would pull her into my arms. "Thank you," I would whisper into her hair, and just by that alone, I would feel a little lighter. "Thank you for being there for me."

Nothing is ever lost as long as we don't give up on it.

I believe in you.

And I believe in us.

Elina's final words blur before my eyes. My muscles give way, and the letter slips to the ground.

I wish I could call her right now. To tell her that I want to believe too. In us and in everything she wrote to me. But I know that wouldn't be right.

Belief alone is not enough. I need to uncover the truth.

It's clear to me that there's only one way to do that. I have to do what Elina implores me to do.

Find the switch.

And I already have a sense of how I might accomplish that.