Free True: An Elixir Novel by Hilary Duff

can’t pin it down. The body can’t attack it, because there is no ‘it’ to attack.”
    Sage has been quiet, taking this in, but now he speaks in a measured voice. “Of course there is. The soul is its own entity. It has a life that goes beyond the body. The three of us should know that better than anyone.”
    “Are you sure?” I ask Ben. “You really think that’s what’s causing the . . . everything?”
    “I’m not positive. It’s not like there are medicaljournals on the topic. I’m extrapolating from stories and myths. But the symptoms are pretty consistent with everything he’s going through: the sickness, the hunger, the blank spots . . . Yeah, I really think that’s what’s happening.”
    “So what can we do to change it?” I ask. “What’s the spiritual equivalent of organ rejection drugs?”
    “I haven’t found one yet, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t there. So far I’ve just found the things that can go wrong with the transfer, but I’ll keep looking. I’ve found references to other texts, at other libraries. . . . I’ll find what we need.”
    Sage watches as Ben pushes his steamed shrimp and mixed vegetables around his plate. When he speaks, his voice is soothing.
    “You already have. You know what comes next. If we don’t find an antidote.”
    “I don’t know anything for sure,” Ben tells his plate.
    “But . . .”
    “They’re old stories. And sometimes they’re allegories, so you can’t take them literally.”
    “Ben!” I say. “Stop stalling. Just tell us. Please.”
    Ben gives a long exhale, then speaks in a single breath. “The stories describe a descent into madness by the new body/soul combination, oftenincluding violence against himself and others . . . and ending in death.”
    “His own death?” I ask, my voice tinny in my ear.
    “The struggling soul rarely goes down alone. There are usually other victims. Sometimes just one . . . sometimes many.”
    I feel like the air has been sucked out of the room, but Sage is calm. He leans back in his seat. “So now we know. How long do we have?”
    “Not sure,” Ben says.
    “Then here’s what we need to do, and I’m telling you both right now, because I won’t be in a position to say it later, and because we’ve gotten into trouble with this kind of thing before. I don’t want to be here if I’m a danger to the people around me. When things get bad, one of you needs to do something about it.”
    “What are you saying?” I ask. “You think we’re going to kill you?”
    Sage’s response is simple. “Do you love me?”
    “What kind of a question is that? Of course I do! If I didn’t, I—”
    “If you love me, you won’t let me become a monster.”
    My mouth is open, ready to scream back athim, but instead I just shake my head. “I can’t.”
    “So it’s up to you,” Sage says to Ben.
    “I won’t. I can’t.” His voice cracks. “I already have blood on my hands. I can’t do it again.”
    “Okay,” Sage says. “How about this: Lock me up. When it gets to the point where I can’t control myself, have me committed. Then I can’t hurt anyone.”
    “That I can do,” Ben says.
    “Good.” They shake on it like boys making a trade in a school yard, and my head all but explodes.
    “Stop! What are you doing? This is your life we’re talking about!”
    “Yes, it is,” Sage says, as if that puts a period on the argument.
    “But Ben said he’s basing this stuff on stories that aren’t even real. He has no idea if this will happen.”
    “And I have confidence you won’t put me in a padded cell and straitjacket unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
    “You’re joking about this?”
    “No, I’m not,” he says, so matter-of-fact that I want to smack him. He holds up his wrist. The bandages are gone now, but there’s still a thickscar from where the beer bottle sliced him open. “When I got this, you know what it meant to me?”
    “That you could die?”
    “No.