Age: 16

Name: Jason Koryn

Case #67 - Missing Child

In the fall of 1986, sixteen-year-old Jason Koryn fell into a coma of unknown causes. Cared for by the Westlake Pediatric Center, he survived on life support for three weeks until being officially pronounced brain dead. Less than twenty-four hours from that point, he was reported missing by both the hospital staff and his parents. Jason’s case was under investigation for several months before being left unresolved. Making Jason’s case even more curious is that his is one of six known instances in United States hospitals in which the patients (all in near-fatal condition) have disappeared from their rooms.

I glance up from the book on my lap, chewing the inside of my cheek. How could a kid in a coma just disappear from a hospital? Despite having spent the last three hours reading and rereading Mr. Blackwood’s Other Unsolved Mysteries, this is one of the few cases I keep gravitating back to.

Something about it reminds me of what Enzo was describing. The way he’d been on the brink of death, yet still technically alive, when he felt the pull come for him. Could that be what happened to this boy? Am I just reading too much into these stories, trying to find a connection that isn’t there?

The only other cases that have caught my attention as much as this one are the four Sudden Unexplained Deaths recorded here. Four individuals, all different ages and all in different parts of the world—Houston, Montreal, Kiev, and Kampala. Each of them went to sleep perfectly healthy, and never woke up the next day.

What are we not seeing here? Why doesn’t anyone have solid answers? I shake my head, running a hand through the strands of my hair as the frustration builds inside me. Case after case, page after page, all I’m left with are more questions. Of all the subjects philosophers, scientists, religions, and the like have tackled, the question of what exactly happens to us after life remains the biggest and most contradicting of all. If not even Death himself understands it, how can I expect to make any progress?

I set the book down, placing it beside A New Dimension—the other book I’ve been racking my brain over all day—and push myself up from the sofa. I pace in Mr. Blackwood’s living room, back and forth, back and forth. Think, think, think.

Okay, well, clearly Mr. Blackwood’s on the right track, vague as it still is. With his research and my own recent experiences combined, I’m convinced of his dimension theory; that other dimensions exist right on top of ours. There are a few kinks I haven’t smoothed out, but still. I’ve seen it, felt it, the way I can step right into the dark void no matter where I seem to be, and at any given time. It’s like an invisible world existing right where we stand, with the beating of our hearts and the pumping of our blood being the only thing separating us from it.

So my question is, if a person can be dragged into that world while they’re still technically alive, can they be brought back into this one and survive it? I need to talk to Mr. Blackwood about this. I need to tell him everything. Where the hell is he? Why wasn’t he home when I arrived today?

Shaking the thought away, I think back to Death—Enzo, Lou. It’s Enzo—and the way his heart has started to beat again. That has to count for something, right? I’m not an idiot; I’ve noticed that his heartbeat, his presence here, only seems to get stronger as mine fades away. I’ve put the pieces together—what I can find, anyway—and I know he seems to believe if he stops coming here, to this world, it will somehow save me.

Yes, maybe that could have worked at one point, before we spent so much time together. Before he became such a solid part of this world. But now? Now the blood’s already beginning to run through him again. He’s already gained a stable heartbeat, far more stable than mine, and isn’t it only a matter of time before he finds himself needing to sleep, to eat? Needing warmth, a home.

I know the truth now . . . that I’m too far gone. I feel the way my chest rings only of silence regardless of whether he’s here or not. The way I become more and more a part of that world and less a part of this one with every moment that passes. I’ve seen how that place can get through to me, to my mind, within seconds of existing there. And how are his memories staying intact now, even as he continues to return to that dark place? Spending as much time there as he is? There’s only one explanation I can come up with—because he’s now more a part of this world than he is of that one. The darkness wouldn’t have the same control over him it once did, would it?

Not in the way it now controls me.

Enslaves me.

I pull in a shaky breath, the fear seeping in more and more as reality sets in, overtaking the frustration. I don’t even know when I started biting my nails, but my thumbnail is suddenly between my teeth, so apparently it’s a new habit of mine.

I don’t want to go back there. I can’t go back to that. What will it be like? Eternal numbness? Eternal darkness? What would happen to me? Would I evolve there like he did, acclimating enough to somehow survive it forever? Or would it break me, sucking my soul and mind dry until there’s nothing left?

My muscles tense, palms sweating as I rub them together. Turns out the idea of eternal enslavement gives me anxiety. Shit, shit, shit. I can’t do it. I’m not brave by nature. Do I even have a choice? Am I being ridiculous by focusing what are likely my final moments on trying to save someone else, when I could be focusing on trying to save myself? On trying to survive? Should I listen to Enzo without a second thought, let him go back to that place and stay locked away so I have a chance?

What about Enzo? What about his chance?

I try to imagine what it must have been like for him when the darkness first took over. He didn’t have a warning, or the time to mentally prepare himself. He had a piece of metal lodged inside him, an explosion just waiting to take him, and on top of that, a lifetime of pain, suffering, and loss he’d already endured just to meet such an end. The one person he’d loved with all of himself, who’d loved him back unconditionally, had been killed before they’d even reached adulthood.

I wipe the tear from my eye, only to have more fall in its place. I haven’t had the best life. Haven’t had my family with me as much as I wanted. Haven’t done half the things I’ve always thought of one day doing. Haven’t done anything memorable, really. Anything to make a difference here, to make my mark, or give me a sense of pride.

But I’ve had the choice. I’ve been given a life, and with it the free will to make my own path. I’ve been loved. By a mother who gave her heart to me before she’d even met me. By a father who’d held on for eight long years just for me, after he’d already crumbled inside. By a grandmother who’d risked everything, given everything, to give my mother and I a chance at a good life. By Jamie, by Bobby, by Claire.

I’ve been loved.

I’ve been free.

I’ve been me.

I’ve had everything Enzo hasn’t, and what have I done with it? Am I really so selfish I’d allow him, someone who’s already been through more pain than I could imagine, to stay in that horrible, soul-sucking place for . . . for how long exactly? An eternity? Someone who’s strong and good and so selfless that he’d sacrifice the one chance he may ever have at a real life, for me?

And then what? Say it works, his plan, and I get my life back. What kind of life would it be, knowing what I’d done? I’m not so blind to think I’m not in love with him. Not after the way my heart tore when he walked away. If Grams, Mom, and Dad taught me anything, it’s the way love makes you strong and selfless in ways nothing else can.

No. When the backs of my hands are too damp from wiping the constant stream of tears, I switch to my sleeve. No, I won’t let him do it. How could I? Maybe this is what I’m meant to do. Maybe this is my mark, the difference I’m supposed to make. Fate. I snort aloud, shaking my head. I’m probably just stuffing lies in my brain as a form of comfort, but I’ll take what I can.

Letting out a long, uneven breath, I return to the sofa and snatch up A New Dimension again, flipping straight to the epilogue and scanning over its contents with revitalized determination.

Third paragraph down:

So yes, in short, what I’m getting at could be summed up in one, tiny, six-lettered word: glitch. A wrinkle in the afterlife, a kink in the system—call it what you will, it all boils down to the same thing. Not everything is the clean line we think it up to be. Even in the afterlife, mistakes are made, and I’m just one of countless individuals to have witnessed proof to this very fact.

The question remains: is there a solution? Is there a means of solving such an enormous and vaguely understood issue? The answer lies in the very definition of the word. Glitch: a sudden malfunction or irregularity. How does one get something to function properly that, scientifically speaking, doesn’t even exist in the first place? Simple—you don’t. You’ve got to get a grasp on it first.

I pause, my finger going back to the six-letter word. Glitch. Well that’s a polite way to say we’re fucked, isn’t it?