"Let's skip the ledge tonight," Otis says, picking up my hand.

"You want to break tradition now?" I ask, smirking.

"I figured we should be more comfortable," Otis says, shrugging. "For the end."

"Now who's jumping the gun?" I raise my eyebrow.

Otis pulls me behind him. We follow the small incline around to the far side of the quarry –the side in front of the towering pine trees. A small patch of grass sits right at the top of the precipice. The lush green is untouched by the snow and looks like a fluffy comforter.

Otis sits down first and pulls me into him. I lean back with my head against his shoulder and breathe in his cologne. Smells just like he did that first day I re-met him.

It's a painful memory now –thinking about how I met him again for the first time as a 17-year-old. I think of all the time we could have had together –actually alive.

"And I brought the goods," Otis says. He unzips his navy backpack and pulls out an assortment of snacks and sodas.

"You know we don't eat here," I laugh, rolling my eyes.

"Doesn't mean we can't eat here," he says like duh. "And last but definitely not least..."

Otis pauses for dramatic effect. His hands emerges from his pack clutching a 1990s one-disc CD player and a set of tattered headphones. He holds up a CD and the grin on his face is infectious.

"Can I interest you in a sad emo mix tape?" Otis asks, laughing.

"AKA the soundtrack to our life," I tease.

"Hey, don't knock emo," Otis says, nudging my shoulder. "Just trying to set the mood."

"It's already set," I say.

Otis holds the headphones up in the dead space between us. My ears are flooded with the first notes of an early 2000's song. Really was melancholy at its finest.

I close my eyes and it takes me back. I'm almost not sitting at the desolate quarry waiting for my death. I'm sitting in the back of my mom's car, next to Hazel. We're driving to my aunt's house for the holidays. I stare out the window and watch the world fly by in blurry colors. I could be sitting in the center of my old bed, music blaring inside as it rains down heavy on the outside. Maybe I'm walking the dead streets of town with Otis, hand in hand.

Otis is right. This is a mood.

"Think it will hurt? I mean, it didn't really hurt the first time, did it?" I ask. I play with the ends of my murky brown hair. Otis smiles at me.

"No, it didn't. More of a mentally taxing trauma, I'd say." Otis grins.

"Which part? The white room? The mind games? The ghostly imprint of yourself?" I joke.

"Take your pick." Otis shrugs.

"Fair." I roll my eyes. "It's different than I always thought it'd be. If this Fold is just lost soul limbo, then what's next?"

"Hopefully more," Otis says, muted. He is stoic again, placid. I feel him shift behind me.

"What if there's not more?" My voice catches. No tears, Quinn.

"Hey, don't act like this is it." He shakes his head softly. "This isn't it. There's more out there."

"You say it like you're sure." I frown.

Otis takes my hand in his and faces me. We are closer now than we've ever been before. In more ways than one.

"I am sure, Quinn. This has been an adventure and it can't be over yet." Otis tries to drop my hand, but I squeeze tighter. He looks down at me, startled. I push myself onto my tiptoes until my lips find his. It's brief and sweet and I'm not sure why I did it.

"What was that for?" Otis asks, the corners of his lips turning up.

"The adventure." I nod.

We sit on the edge of the quarry and wait. Otis places a hand around my shoulder and pulls me into him. I lean my head against him, breathing in the smells of his hoodie and cologne.

The night sky is fading and dawn is almost on the horizon. The last bits of purple and blue meld into pinks and golds. I can't say how, but I know this is it. The countdown is clear in my head and I'm seeing the last few minutes now. I'm living my last few minutes now.

I feel the end is near, but I'm not scared anymore. Somehow I am ready. As I look up at Otis, I know why.

So maybe I don't come back after all. Maybe I'm not making it out of the Fold, but I know that wherever we end up, we will end up together. That's the last thought I have as I watch daylight break over the ridge.

All the sudden everything glows. It's like the doors to all the white rooms, only it's everything. It's the air. It consumes me.

Then comes the sensation of falling forward –the one you get right before you jerk yourself awake.

...

My head feels heavy –stiff like it's been years since it's moved. Maybe it has. My mind is hazy, like I'm waking up and trying to recall a long dream.

What's going on? I start to panic, searching for signs of my parents or my sister or anyone I know. I blink furiously trying to bring the room into focus. My right arm is home to several tubes; a hard white gown extends past my knees, and a large beeping machine is plugged in behind me. Dim fluorescent lights hang above my hospital bed.

Why am I in a hospital?

There's a window to my right. It's either late dusk or early dawn. The sky is a mixture of dark and light. Probably morning and that's why no one is here at this hour.

I turn my neck to loosen the atrophied muscles. No doctors or nurses. The only other person in here is the patient sharing my room.

A paper-thin curtain hangs down the center of the room, dividing it into semi-private spaces. It's not pulled to the edge and I can just make out the person in the bed next to mine.

I vaguely recognize him from school, but I don't think we've ever spoken. He turns his head to face me. Our eyes meet.

Images of a dream start rushing back, flooding the pool of my mind. I feel the icy water piercing my lungs. I see a room and a chalkboard and telephone and a wall of outdated TVs. I see the quarry and the sunrise. I see him.

"Hey." He watches me, waiting. "Just wake up?"

I nod. My throat is dry as parchment and I wonder how long it's been since I've spoken.

"Me too," he says hoarsely.

He looks at me and, with an ambiguous expression, extends his hand. It reaches halfway between our beds. I recognize he is waiting for me to reach out –to touch his hand.

The boy smiles, encouraging me. I start moving my left hand without even thinking. My fingertips graze his and it's like a mini electric pulse recharges all my neurons. Life surges through my veins. I close my eyes and soak it all up.

I blink and smile over at the boy in the bed.

"Otis," I choke out.

"Q." His eyes focus on mine. "I told you it wasn't over yet."

THE END