Title: And Death Is Only The Beginning...

Author: Kristin

Distribution: List archives. Anyone else just email me to let me know where it's going.

Disclaimer: "Dawson's Creek", it's characters, and it's concepts, are owned by Kevin Williamson, the WB, and a bunch of other people. The concept of "Remember Me" is property of Christopher Pike. No disrespect intended. This is not for profit and is not intended to infringe on any copyrights. I'm a poor college student, so suing me won't do a damn thing.

Fandom: Dawson's Creek

Pairing: Pacey/Jack

Rating: Eventually R or NC-17.

Spoilers: General knowledge of series. Mention of a new character in Season 4.

Summary: A tribute to Christopher Pike's novella "Remember Me". Pacey is a ghost and left to solve the mystery of how he died. As the mystery unravels Pacey and Jack fall in love.

Timeline: This is set in a partially AU Season 4. It begins 6 months after the Season 3 finale. (AU because Jack died immediately after the finale)

Warning?: Though this is technically a death-story, that classification is misleading. Happy ending and romance in the horizon. Not a depressing fic at all, since both boys are ghosts and free to play around. <g>

***My first attempt at a fic with a "real" plot, so tell me what you think! It's a take off on Christopher Pike's novella "Remember Me", but I'm only using the basic concept and will change alot of things. Hopefully you all won't solve the mystery right away. <g>***

"Death is nothing at all; it does not count. I have only slipped away into the next room."
-Henry Scott Holland

"To die will be an awfully big adventure."
-Peter Pan

And Death Is Only The Beginning...
by Kristin

Sometimes I wonder what I could have done with my life.

I know--"Pacey Witter, town screw-up". But deep down inside I had a fire burning. And when I put my mind to it, things *happened*. I think I could have been someone; I just might have gotten out of that town. But then again, are there "might haves" and "could haves" when a black cloud is hanging over your head, just waiting to steal you out of existence? Hell, looking back, I was probably living like there was no tomorrow for a reason. I think I felt that cold presence chasing me... I think I gave up a long time ago.

But that doesn't mean this story can't have a happy ending. During life that might not been possible for me, but with the end of life comes the end of limits... Death is only the beginning.

~And Death Is Only The Beginning~

If this had been a movie, a thousand omens would have been screaming danger that morning. Dark clouds would have been hovering on the horizon and a crow would have been perched outside my window. In reality, I woke up to what I believed at the time to be the most beautiful sight in the world. She was giggling softly as she shook me awake, peering into my face with mischievous eyes. A curtain of brown hair cascaded over her shoulders, light from the window making it shine like the sun, and it tickled my face as she leaned in for a kiss.

"Come on! Let's go!"

"What you want Potter?"

She sighed in exasperation and began to tug me off the couch.

"You are *such* a lazy ass in the morning."

"Oh! Oh! You wound me with your words!"

I managed to get a laugh or two out of her with my feigned throws of agony before she finally smacked me over the head with a pillow. Let it never be said that Josephine Potter hits like a girl.

"Abuse! Abuse! Police! Where is my brother when you need him?"

Apparently I needed to work a bit on my comedic routine, because my girlfriend simply stood there with her hands on her hips, giving me the evil eye.

"Alright! Jeez, you're no fun today. I'm getting dressed, I'm getting dressed. What time is it anyway?"

"9 o'clock"

"Nine!? I will never get used to your barbaric customs. *Never*..."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Get a move on. Everyone's meeting at Dawson's at 9:30. It's a three hour drive you know..."

Oh. Right. Gotta let you in on Joey's "brilliant idea". According to Miss Potter, a weekend camping trip in the woods was the cure to all ails. Putting up tents, gathering firewood, and making smores would heal all the gaping wounds in our collective friendship. Thus Dawson, Jen, Andie, Henry, Gretchen, and of course the faithful and obedient boyfriend (ie. me) were cajoled and threatened with bodily harm until we agreed to participate. The departure time was now steadily approaching, and I was *not* looking forward to it. A group of former friends, holding onto their grudges like life preservers, all gathered in one place in the middle of nowhere. I just *knew* someone was gonna die. Of course, I didn't mean that literally. And I never guessed that someone would be me...

******

Even after all those months, Dawson's smile was still strained as we arrived hand and hand. It was quickly covered by a laugh however, and he gave Joey a warm hug then me a firm pat on the back. We were playing nice that day; so little would make Joey so happy.

Andie and Jen were packing up Dawson's dad's car, which was on loan to us for the weekend. When they caught sight of us they both ran up excitedly to bestow hugs, though Andie hung back a bit a first. She never stands too close to Dawson anymore. I always guessed that it was because of Jack, but we never talked about it.

"Nice to see you up bright and early." Dark circles still underlined her eyes, but Andie's smile was open and inviting.

"Can it McPhee. Aren't you supposed to be doing hard labor? What do you think we keep you around for?"

Jen gave me a good-natured shove. "*We* have doing hard labor for two hours! I think it's your turn now."

Never one to miss a chance at sexism, I muttered "Women" loud enough so they could hear and playfully stomped towards car. It was fun kidding around with the girls-I'd missed them a lot. Things were still so awkward since we came back; it was like being on the outside looking in.

I'd sailed away into the sunset with Joey and never looked back, but maybe I *should have*. I sure as hell wished that I had done something different, something to stop that nagging feeling that the friends I'd known for years were strangers. It was like we were all out of sync--they'd been living with death while I'd been having the time of my life, and just when I began to mourn they were moving on and letting go. So I bottled it up, crying myself to sleep at night while trying to catch up... tagging along on the outskirts... trying desperately to find that niche again.

Joey though... she never had to worry about stuff like that. Dawson Leery was the god,the fucking center of the universe. And despite any resentment he might have felt towards the two of us, Joey would always be part of Joey and Dawson. It was like a permanent "Get Out Of Jail Free" card. American Fucking Express. If only we could all be so lucky...

(2)

"All truth is parallel. All truth is untrue."
-Rozz Williams
--------------------------------------------------------------

I was strangely silent during the trip. Perhaps if I had known this was to be the last ride in my clunky truck, chasing after Dawson's van down a dusty road, I would have joined in festivities. I might have turned up the radio even louder, lending my voice to the joyous rendition of Madonna's "True Blue" and dancing in my seat. I could have stuck my head out the window, shouting teasing obscenities to the head car as they committed one driving violation after another. Or perhaps nothing would have changed... I had Jack on my mind.

It was always times like that when I missed him the most. He would have been sitting up in front right next to me, with that infuriatingly relaxed and confident manner he has, just clicking right into my mood and going with it. Jack always seemed to know when I wanted to let loose and when it was time to be silent, reving me up or joining me in
contemplation. Jack was kind just *there*, sending you good vibes from the sidelines. And I missed him like hell.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I wasn't there when it happened, no one was. Shit, that was the whole problem probably--Jack was just so sick of being alone. He had been in a really lonely place ever since "The Poem" (I can't ever think of it without capital letters), and Capeside's not the most open-minded town. If they pigeonholed Joey and me, imagine what they did to *him*. So when things with Ethan went downhill... We always assumed that he simply gave up. Yeah, you can judge all you want-call it useless and short sighted-but when you're a kid the future seems a long time away. When you're 17 *everything* is a big deal.

The official death report says "suicide", but they couldn't be sure. The dosage had rubbed off on the plastic container, but it's likely that he recalled the directions and assorted warnings. Or it could have all been a tragic mistake... Andie never told us what she believed-eerily silent on the matter-and I for one never felt comfortable bringing the subject up. I think Dawson's convinced it was an accident, but then there's Dawson for you--always afraid to see the darkness that lies in mankind. I doubt he ever really turned it over in his mind. Dawson doesn't like to think about things that aren't "pretty".

When I pictured it I would see Jack pouring the rum with shaky fingers, some spilling over the glass and onto the carpet. He'd lie back against his bed and sigh before reaching for Andie's pills. One, two, three, four... In my mind those strong, capable hands never trembled as they lifted death to his mouth. I saw his body lying prone above the comforter, one leg stretched over the side of the mattress. In my memory he always looked a strange kind of beautiful at the end, like an angel. But I never heard his thoughts. I never saw his intent. I couldn't have told you what I believed one way or another. He was gone--what more did I need to know?

When I returned with Joey, on a tide of joy, they met us at the dock with the news. It went in hard and fast, like a bullet, and I haven't been the same since. That day did something to me. The most important days of my life: the day I found out Jack died and the day of my own death.

For weeks afterward I would sit on the curb outside their house, cloaked in darkness and not making a sound. It was an attempt in understanding I think--a hope that I could soak up all my answers from the fog that drifted outside his window. Jack's dad caught me one night, bleak face searching the air for meaning. He didn't yell at me or anything, simply joined me for awhile. When I saw tears slipping down his face though, I wanted to scream. I wanted to know why in the hell he couldn't have been a little more understanding a little earlier. I wanted how someone could be that way. I wanted to shake him until his head flopped back and forth and demand some fucking answers! But Jack wouldn't have wanted it that way... So for once I thought with my mind instead of my fists.

"He knew you loved him." God, my voice was hoarse.

"I failed him." If my voice was hoarse, his was a whimper. "You *know*, don't you? You know how I treated him. I remember those looks you used to give me."

"I didn't.... I can't pass judgment on you. That's not my job. That's not my say."

"My son is *dead*. If there's any time for passing judgment it's now."

"No way man, Jack would want you to be happy. None of us wish you anything but well."

His sigh was so deep that it seemed to wrack his body. "Andie blames me."

"She *loves* you." I didn't see what else I could possibly do so I got up, brushing off my pants reflexively. It wasn't the same. Once again I couldn't play the part in this drama that everyone needed me to play. Everyone had gotten a copy of the damned script but me.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The car in front of me screeched to a sudden stop and I had to slam on the breaks in order not to backend the bastard. We had arrived at the camping ground. Cries of joy assaulted my eyes from all sides as the girls climbed out, Gretchen thumping my head gently as she passed.

"You awake there Pacey? Looks like you've been out of it the whole drive. Now *that's* a scary thought..."

I didn't answer her because a squirming ball of Joey was suddenly thrust into my lap, tugging at the collar of my shirt.

"This is going to be *so* much fun!"

"Josephine Potter, champion cynic, convinced that an event will live up to her expectations? I'm speechless."

"Trust me Pace, you're gonna to have the time of your life!"

(3)

"All changed, changed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born"
-W.B. Yeats
-------------------------------------------

Surprisingly, I don't remember much about the last day of my life. I know we set up camp rather quickly, and I'm sure that Gretchen and Dawson got into at least one pointless debate, but it's all mainly a vague blur in my mind. The only part of the daylight hours that I do remember clearly is gathering wood for the bonfire.

Maybe it sticks in my memory because the forest was so unnaturally quiet. No chirping of birds, no rustling in the bushes-just pure, disconcerting silence. The only sound to be heard was the shuffling of my feet, sending small pebbles and a thin cloud of dirt in my wake. The lack of noise was getting to me, becoming a maddening buzz in my ear, so I began to hum softly as I worked; nothing in particular, just random notes. I might know the words and tune of every Backstreet Boys song, but hell if I'd give the world proof-alone in the forest or not!

I was just finishing up my errand when I heard the two voices cutting through the air like knives. Yeah, I know... "curiousity killed the cat". And I was *going* to turn around and hurry in the opposite direction-I swear!-but then I heard the siren song of my name. I had to know. So I crept behind a tree and stayed.

Dawson was pacing back and forth, shooting piercing glances at his companion. When his dad paces it's like watching a panther prowl, all barely contained power and deadly grace, but when Dawson paces it's like watching a stork. Don't get me wrong, Dawson was my best friend for most of my life and I'll some part of me will always love him. But jeez... I wonder, has he ever *looked* at himself when he does that? Mirrors are our friends. Learn it. Live it. Love it.

Anyway, Dawson was jerking back and forth while Joey stood there with an exasperated yet affectionate twist to her features. I had come in mid-rant, but it wasn't too difficult to figure out the topic of conversation. I was so bitter then. A lot of things hurt me then that can't hurt me now...

"...and then there's Pacey!"

"What *about* him Dawson?"

"I just... How can I act like it doesn't bother me? Like my best friend didn't pursue, and catch I might add, the girl that I've been in love with as long as I can remember. I can't pretend it doesn't hurt Joey. How come everyone acts like I'm supposed to forget all that and be best buddies again? I'm not the villain here!"

"I'm so *sick* of having this conversation with you!"

"Well, we're going to keep having it. Because nothing changes Joey, can't you see that? It's just one big circle where the end always comes back to me losing you one way or another."

"Dawson..." And she was crying again, I could sense it. My hiding place was too far away to see the tears, but the shudders in her shoulders and the catch in her voice were clearly evident. "We've... we've..." She took a deep breath and looked imploringly into his eyes. "We have to stick together now. After Jack..." The words trailed off, as she was unable to voice her thoughts.

"Joey. Oh Jo, I'm so sorry..." And then she was in his arms, sobbing, as he tenderly stroked her hair.

Part of me wanted to storm over there and rip her out of his arms, caveman style, but a more rational part stilled all attempts at movement. Joey was crying, finally letting it out, and if it had to be Dawson... so be it. I'd never seen her cry since we returned; she seemed so damn cold. It had unnerved me, honestly, the lack of feeling she displayed for Jack's death. Seeing her breakdown in Dawson's arms like that helped quiet the little voices that had been whispering in the back of my mind...

My warring emotions didn't leave me much choice but to return back to the campsite. I had been lucky so far, but it was only a matter of time until they noticed my presence. And we really didn't need any more awkward tension during this trip than there already was.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The only other clear moment that stands out in my memory is eating smores by the campfire. I remember how it crackled and danced in the night, warming my face as I leaned over to toast marshmallows. If I close my eyes I can see it even now. Smokes blew in my direction every so often, causing my eyes to water in irritation, but it was a small price to pay. The warm light played across our faces, accenting every twist of our mouths and every crease in our foreheads. Cups of thick hot chocolate warmed our stomachs. It's little things like that I find myself missing these days: the feeling of hot soothing liquid pouring down my throat, chocolate melting in my mouth, the sun's heat shining down on my face... the simple details of being *alive*. Not that everything was perfection and smiles though--underneath the pleasant exterior a thousand landmines of tension lay in wait.

Joey sat on the ground to my right, deep in conversation. Andie was talking a mile a minute, gesturing wildly as Joey nodded in agreement. The topic of conversation was college-of course-so I tuned out the words, content to merely watch Andie's face lit up in joy. It was so rare in those days to see her like that; it brought a smile to my lips just to witness the miracle. And only further adding to my overwhelming happiness was the fact that, on my left, Gretchen had Dawson cornered.

"Look Dawson, you have to understand the difference between *real* music and just plain commercialism."

"No...I do...but-"

"You don't have the slightest idea!"

"Now wait a second! I may be not the foremost expert on pop culture..."

"Listen. Dawson. Honey... Wake up and smell the Spice Girls! Everything happens underground. You're never going to find cutting edge on the radio!"

"Not everything commercial is necessarily bad. Take Steven Speilburg for instance..."

"Oh Lord! *Save* us from the Speilburg obsession!"

That, of course, was the cue for the rest of the group to join in. He was asking for it, really. Even Jen tore herself out of the strange little funk she'd been in all day in order to throw a few barbs. Knowing when to give up, Dawson stood and gave a little bow. He even threw me a smile, which warmed my insides more than coffee ever did. Hey-like I said before-bitterness and jealousy be damned, I loved the guy with all my heart. Right there, in that moment, I was full of love. Looking around at all the smiling faces, something just let go inside of me. I was finally at peace.

(4)

"In my end is my beginning."
-Mary, Queen of Scotts

"By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes."
-Shakespeare, from Macbeth
--------------------

I've never been able to explain what woke me that night. Perhaps it was a squirrel scurrying through the brush nearby. Perhaps it was mumbling from Henry in his sleep. Or perhaps Death was calling me, long ebony clock rippling around him and silver scythe whispering as it cut through the air. All I know is that I awoke suddenly, and adrenaline was pulsing through my body.

On the alert, my eyes darted around the tent yet found nothing out of the ordinary. Henry was scrunched up in his sleeping bag, arms tucked underneath his chest and breathing deep. Backpacks, boots, and absolutely filthy socks cluttered the small space. A musty smell was in the air and I breathed it in, tasting it. Restless now, I shifted impatiently until I could escape from the twisted confines of my sleeping bag. My back arched painfully, and my left elbow hit hard
ground with a crack, but I managed to pull myself into an awkward crouch. Not wanting to be the cause of any alarm, I hissed at my tent-mate.

"Henry... Henry..."

The kid didn't move a muscle though. I snorted in disgust, muttering about comas and the possible consequences his sleeping habits could result in if there happened to be a fire or a blood-thirsty bear attack, but ended up just shrugging my shoulders and hoping I'd return before anyone noticed that I had been gone.

The night air was surprisingly warm for the season, and my thick cotton sweats made the late night stroll quite pleasant. A path took off through the woods and I followed it. The moon's light was my only flashlight, but it was enough to avoid walking into dangling branches or tripping over rocks. I wouldn't have turned back anyway...

I had a nervous energy built up inside me, pushing me to explore. I got like that sometimes. I think it was Jack--no, not really *Jack* but the lack of him. Seventeen is really too young to die, and the reminder of him tugged at me under my skin; I wandered because didn't want to be sitting around as my life slipped away. You'd think that the irony would frustrate and infuriate me, but it doesn't. Nothing can touch me now. I'm the gentle direction of the wind, the faint shadow in the clouds, the unbearable lightness of being. And I know how it came to pass, why it came to pass, why it shouldn't have, and why it was meant to be.

I stopped when I came to a small lake. It was too cold for swimming, but a light breeze was blowing over the water and ripples danced across its surface. I must admit that I wasn't the most cultured person (how many seventeen old boys are?) but every once and awhile the beauty of nature would make me linger. The flattest large rock became my chair, and I gazed out at the bluish black before me. A few minutes passed before I was completely relaxed, but then a cool calm spread across my body. I leaned back and closed my eyes. Drifting from thoughts to pleasant day-dreams, it took quite awhile until I noticed that I was all but dozing. Realizing that perhaps us super-human Witters needed at least half as much sleep as the common man, I stood up and stretched in preparation for the long walk back to camp.

And then I was flying...

My feet left the safe solid haven of rock and were air borne, as I seemed to almost float suspended in air. Then a wall of water rushed up and hit me, knocking my already exhausted body nearly unconscious. Thick pain rushed through my lungs, burning and writhing, as I struggled to surface. Fear. Terror like I had never experienced swallowed me whole. The thoughts you think in those last minutes are nothing like vivid moments of your life flashing before your eyes. Memories have substance, meaning. Those thoughts were nothing that close to sane at all. Pure instinct was rushing through my veins, and I fought with primal abandon against fate--a fate that was manifested in a firm grip that pulled at my ankle. But it was no matter; the strength of a seven year old could have held me under in my weakened state. Water had already infected my lungs, spreading, blotting out what was Pacey and replacing it with dull flesh.

And so I was gone. Absurdly quick really; nine months to make me and less than five minutes to erase any shred of me from the material plane. Because I'm *not* there, you see--that body isn't me. It's just a vehicle, a vehicle that stalled before the finish line. That chapter had closed. And another had just begun...

(5)

"What we call the beginning is often the end
And to make an end is to make a beginning
The end is where we start from."
-T.S. Eliot
-------------------------

I wasn't surprised to wake up on my brother's couch. I simply pulled myself up onto my elbows and rubbed my eyes like I always did. After a shake of my head to kick my brain into action, I began my morning. It seemed that Doug was still sleeping, because the house was silent as a tomb and the smell of hairspray had yet to clog the air. That was normal; he often woke up after me. What threw me, I think, was that I usually ate immediately after waking but that morning I didn't feel hungry at all. It was disconcerting and made me pause. I began to think back on last night, hypothesizing that perhaps I'd eaten a huge snack before going to bed. But the camping trip seemed a blur in my memory, and I hadn't the slightest clue about what I'd done after my late night walk. Well, it seemed obvious that I'd gone back to the camp and finished my sleep... but what did we do the next morning? Did we leave for home right away? The only explanation that I could come up with was that I had been *much* more tired than I thought I was. The only logical conclusion was that I slept the entire car ride back.

Shrugging my shoulders, and deciding to catch Joey after class to fill in the blanks, I made my way to the refrigerator. It wouldn't open. I silently cursed Doug, muttering that if he used *half* the money he spent on his CD collection on the house then perhaps things wouldn't always be breaking. Sure, on one level I knew that he was doing me a favor by letting me stay there, but what can I say? I can be a real ass sometimes...

I seriously considered storming into Doug's bedroom and acquainting him with the consequences of having a younger brother deprived of his morning glass of orange juice, but common sense and a serious fear of Dougie bed hair won out. A quick glance at the clock revealed that school was about to start anyway, and I really wanted to see Joey before homeroom. Thus, the search for my backpack for born. I crept along the floor on my belly, peering under the couch, the table, and chairs. Every nook and cranny was scoured. I climbed up onto the table for a bird's eye view, but no luck. And the goddamned couch wouldn't budge no matter how hard I shoved. Finally giving up, I was about to yank open the door and stomp my way to school when Jack stepped through it.

I want to say that he looked like an angel, soft golden halo and wings of silk, but he just looked like Jack. Loosely tossled brown hair, nose curved downward, full pink lips, proud cheekbones, crooked smile, thick powerful arms, eyes sparkling with private humor... No flowing white robes, just a black t-shirt and jeans. In an instant it all came rushing back, and it was like he never left.

"Long time no see."

"Oh shit! I'm tripping!? This is *wild*. One of them must have slipped me something. Real funny guys--Not! Dawson and Andie are a couple of goody two shoes... Maybe it was Henry. Who knows what the hell that kid is getting up to away at school..."

"Ummm... No." Jack was grinning that little grin he has--smug but friendly, like you're both in on the joke... even if you're not.

"I'm not drugged out of my mind?"

"I don't *think* that's possible..."

"Jack, you're dead." It hurt to say it, every sound scratching at my throat.

"Glad to see we're on the same page. I'm dead and I still can't do shit with floral arrangements. Pretty standard."

"Ummm... Okay... Gonna ignore your random floral comment and just demand to know how the *FUCK* you're here if you're dead!!"

"I'm here a lot Pacey. Trust me, it's nothing new. It's just that you can see me now."

"But... I went to your funeral. I saw you in your fucking coffin and you were *dead* man!" Tears had begun running down my face and I was shaking so hard I could barely stand. "You were all white and cold. You were *gone*!"

Strong arms encircled me and held on tight, as I wondered how a figment of my imagination could feel so real. I tucked my head into his neck and let loose all the anger and pain that I'd kept locked these last few months, snuggling closer as hands smoothed calm strokes down my spine. His touch grounded me, wiping away all thoughts of LSD, coffins, death, orange juice, and backpacks from my mind. The skin of his neck was like silk, and I rubbed my cheek against it without questioning the impulse. Everything was fine now. Except... something teased at my mind.

He didn't smell.

It was the weirdest thing, and it made me check my senses. It wasn't just Jack; I couldn't smell anything. The couch wasn't giving off its lingering scent of sweat and mold. There wasn't a hint of Doug's air freshener. And I could hear the breaths Jack was taking; yet I couldn't feel the air that should be passing through his lips. In fact, the air surrounding us was completely still, despite the sea breeze that should have been spilling in from the open windows. I bolted away from him in a flash.

"What the hell is going on here?"

Jack sighed, the smile sliding off his face. He looked at his hands, as if the answer was written in the lines of his palms, and avoided my eyes.

"It's better if you figure it out for yourself."

"Don't FUCK with me man!"

Before he could answer the phone let out a shrill ring, prompting Doug to stumble out from his bedroom. He bumped into the wall and barely managed a grasp at the receiver, so I was just about to hurry over there and grab the phone out of his hand when Jack stopped me. A strong grip pulled me back and soft voice whispered in my ear.

"Don't waste you time Pace. Just listen and watch."

And so I stood there helpless as my brother turned white and collapsed sobbing against the kitchen counter.

(6)

"If a man will begin with certainties, he shall end in doubts; but if he
will be content to begin with doubts, he shall end in certainties."
-Francis Bacon
------------------------------


It's strange how calm I was during the car ride. I simply sat in silence watching my brother, my hand clasped tightly in Jack's lukewarm one for support. Doug still looked so pale and shell-shocked, and I was torn between aching for him and feeling a sort of awe. When imagining my death, I had always pictured Doug just shrugging and moving on without much comment. The very idea that he would miss me rocked the very foundation of my beliefs. I try not to regret aspects of my mortal life, but sometimes... sometimes I wish we'd had more time. I'd like to think that one of us would have broken down the walls eventually. I'll never know...

I knew by then that I was dead. It had hit me in the same instant that my brother's knees hit the ground. But I couldn't say it; I couldn't put it into being with words just yet. I simply let Jack pull me along by the arm after Doug, chasing after his determined stride out the door. Jack passed effortlessly through the passenger door, yanking me along after him. Passing through didn't feel like anything, not even a slight tingle or the feeling of rushing wind. Nothing.

I kinda crammed myself on top of Jack's lap, sitting sideways to keep my eyes fixed on Doug. It was strangely comfortable, and I didn't object when Jack slid his hand over mine. The smooth strokes of his fingers were comforting--it made me feel real. I was really running on automatic, just letting Jack gently guide me. Shock had set in, an eerie calm that comes when the worst possible thing has already happened... so there's nowhere else to go, nothing to look forward to and nothing to dread.

We headed back to the campsite, Doug's squad car pushing 100 on the luckily deserted highway. Two hours passed, and I felt like I should say something-reassure Jack that I was handling this alright... but I wasn't sure that I *was*... So I just kept quiet. I didn't even take my eyes off my brother when we came to a stop in the woods, watching as he climbed out of the car and approached a couple of uniformed officers in the clearing. When they began to head out into the woods I scrambled off Jack and through the door without thinking, not even pausing to see if he was following me.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I'm glad it was covered by the time that we got to the lake--a large black bag, nestled on the hard earth between weeds and stone. I don't think that I could have taken that, for fear of loosing myself in the cold dead eyes of a body that was mine... yet wasn't. A swarm of officers decorated the lakeside, some armed with cameras and others with note pads. And off to the side were the rest of my camping party, huddled tightly together in a small circle and flanked by a balding detective. There was a kind of nervous energy in the air, crackling with urgency. But then the faint pressure of a hand sank into my shoulder and the world slowed to a halt. Jack slid the hand down to my clenched fists, gently separating my fingers and slipping inside. Despite the circumstances I felt a smile ghost over my lips, before being wiped clean away by the sound of interrogation.

"And who first discovered that the victim was missing?" The detective whipped his head around to stare accusingly at each pale face.

"I did sir." Henry stepped forward, unwrapping his arm from around Jen's waist. "I woke up and he was gone. I called his name but..." The boy shrugged his shoulders, eyes straying to the black bag being carted away by a solemn forensics team.

The detective made a few scratches with his pen and then returned his eyes to the group. "What woke you up?"

"I don't know. I just woke up." Another shrug, as Henry studied his no longer white shoes. They were caked in mud, and he rubbed them in the grass in a futile effort to salvage their dignity.

"Sooo... You woke up and the victim was gone. What prompted you to wake up the others?"

Gretchen broke in angrily. "What? He can't be worried about a friend?!"

"Of course he can," the detective replied, nonplussed. "I simply want to know what made him begin to worry enough to disturb his friends' sleep..."

"Well, it was the middle of the night and it was cold. I didn't think that Pacey should be wandering out there all alone. I mean, we had just gotten there. We didn't know the surroundings. I went looking for him a bit in the area that's right around the campground, but I didn't see him anywhere. So I decided to wake up the girls and ask them what they thought."

The detective's attention shifted to Jen, Joey, and Gretchen. "So you girls were all sharing a tent? So Dawson-correct?... that would leave you sleeping alone... Why didn't you just share with-" He quickly flipped back a few pages in his notepad. "-Henry and Pacey?"

"I felt more comfortable in my own tent."

"Is that so? Were you having personal problems with either Henry here or the victim?"

"That's none of your business." Dawson met his eyes firmly, without flinching.

"Excuse me son, but a young man is dead. That makes it very *much* my business."

"A few bad feelings between them wouldn't drive Pacey to *drown* himself!" Jen's voice nearly cracked in outrage. Taking two large steps, she planted herself between Dawson and the older man.

"You think this was a suicide?"

Now Jen looked markedly uneasy. "I didn't... I don't know. Do you think it was an accident?"

"I can't say Miss. The lab will let us know for sure when they've finished their examination of the body." He paused for a moment, as if in thought, and then sent out a friendly smile towards the girls. "So Henry woke you all up and expressed his concerns. Did you immediately wake up Dawson, or did you search around the campground some more?"

Jen, looking less hostile yet still mistrusting, became the voice for the group. "Joey went right over to Dawson's tent to wake him up and bring him over to our tent. Then we decided to split up on the two trails in order to look for Pacey. Dawson went with Joey and Gretchen, and they took the trail that... They ended up using Gretchen's cell phone to call the police. Me, Henry, and Andie took the southern trail and kinda got lost a little in the woods. We didn't come back until you guys were already here."

"UmmmmHmmmm..." The detective's fingers clutched his pen tightly as he scribbled at lightening speed. "And how did you find the victim?"

Silence. When it had stretched out to over a minute, Dawson finally took the initiative. "He was face down in the lake. Just... floating, you know?"

"And you then immediately contacted the police?"

"Yes."

"Alright..." He made a few more notes and closed his notepad. "That's all I need from you right now. When we get the results back I may or may not have to contact you again. I'm sorry for your loss. Have a safe drive home."

They turned to leave.

"Oh. Just one more thing." He let out a brilliant smile towards the group, and then settled on Dawson. "Just curious, really... How did your group find the lake so fast while the other group got lost? Have any of you been camping here before?"

Dawson's eyebrows rose in surprise. "No, like Henry said, we've never been to this campsite before. But it's not that hard to follow the trail-it's pretty well defined. I don't know how the other guys managed to get so turned around. Guess they were just really tired."

"Alright then. Thanks." The detective turned around in dismissal, letting his gaze return to the tranquil waters behind them.

And Pacey let himself lean back into Jack's strong frame, unable to stand tall as his friends left the scene behind and began to put back together their shattered lives...closing the wound... closing him out forever.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

end part 6

TBC