The Echo Between Us

People say that a special bond exists between twins from birth. Some call it intuition. Others, nonsense. Yet Elia and Rowan realized the truth. The strings made a sound that only they were able to hear.

They already had a sense of rhythm when they were young. Should Rowan get a scraped knee on the playground, Elia would feel instant sympathy. If Elia were hot from a fever, Rowan would wake from sleep, covered in sweat. When they were twelve, both children dreamed of falling through ice and woke up with their heartbeats synchronized.

Everyone else just went on with their day. Dana, their mother, would flash a curious look when her kids finished each other's phrases, but she didn't ask them any questions. At the age of seven, their father left them. Maybe he kept the questions in his mind when he left.

They understood each other so well by their seventeenth birthday that it was more like a language. Silent, coded. They were often in the back of the classroom, sending each other whole tales with a look. Elia called it "the thread." Rowan called it "the echo." It didn't matter which. Things were fine until the summer when it all broke apart.

That summer felt sluggish and unpleasant, just as every August in upstate Vermont usually is. I could smell pine sap and tar as I walked in. With the river level lower, the rocks and bicycle bones in the riverbed were now visible. The girls would spend hours throwing stones across the lake and drawing moths near the edges of their books. Rowan was quieter than usual. Elia thought the situation was caused by excitement because they were both headed to different colleges in the fall. They would no longer share a wall, which they had always done before.

One night, Elia said, "I'd like to write," as she peeled a nectarine in the kitchen. Drops of juice trickled to the end of her wrist.

Rowan was leaning back against the counter, folding his arms. "We don't need to."

Elia paused. "Don't need to what?"

"Write. Talk. Whatever. We'll still feel it. Right?" Rowan's voice was too even.

Elia nodded. "Yeah. Of course."

But doubt started pressing on her chest, making her feel down.

The week before they were set to leave, Rowan started sleeping in lots of different places around the house and often woke up somewhere else without remembering how he got there. Elia would find her in the hallway late at night, always looking at the front door. Her lips moved as if she were talking to someone she could only see in her mind. When Elia touched her shoulder, Rowan would blink and look away, but then she would smile and smile like it didn't matter.

On Thursday night, Rowan didn't show up at home.

Dana thought she was at Finn's because they had been going out for a while, and she considered him her boyfriend. Elia thought so, too until Finn called way after midnight.

"She never showed up," he said, his voice hoarse. "I thought you two were together."

Panic doesn't start loud. It starts slow—you might notice a slight shaking in your arm or leg. Elia checked her phone. No texts. She tried not to think about the river, the woods, or the road part where the guardrail wasn't together.

At 12:47 a.m., it hit her.

Not fear. Not instinct.

Pain.

Searing, sudden, not her own. A fire behind her ribs. Her vision went blurry for a moment, and then she found herself standing in a ditch with wet leaves sticking to her arms. She was shaking. Her hands were bleeding.

And she wasn't alone.

Rowan was there. Curled sideways on the gravel, her legs were bent incorrectly. Blood in her hair.

Elia dropped to her knees. "Rowan—" Her voice suddenly sounded different to her.

Rowan's eyes fluttered open. "You came."

"You called me." Elia was sobbing now. "What happened? What—where are we?"

But Rowan's eyes looked off into the distance. "I don't know. I just—remember trees. A curve in the road. I felt the car tip."

Elia looked around. She could sense the chilling air and the sharp pain she didn't expect from her leg. Her bedroom was where she was at the moment. Rowan was gone.

She screamed.

Dana called the police. As time passed, the loud sirens, many phone calls, and a gradual feeling of horror without a name made the hours a hazy experience.

The car was found early the next morning, some twenty miles beyond town. There was a deer that jumped into my way on the road. The vehicle turned and fell off the side of the embankment. The paramedics thought it was a miracle that she was still breathing when they arrived on the scene.

She didn't let her friends know how she had discovered the location.

Just standing there, she was in shock as they lifted her sister into the ambulance. Rowan watched Rowena as Rowena's fingers tugged against Elia's, creating a gentle contact.

For the first time in many hours, Elia experienced warmth.

The hospital looked after Rowan for many weeks. A broken femur. A mild concussion. He came every day, even after their last hours were up, and sat with his sister on her bed. They didn't talk much. They didn't need to.

The doctors called it "lucky." It is clear from the recording that a witness on site called in about the plane crash. It happened at an unusual time, but it was still possible.

Tears ran down Dana's face when they announced Rowan would be able to walk again.

Elia stayed quiet.

Simply put, she could relate to those feelings.

A few weeks passed, and Rowan was lying in bed, covered by blankets and medicine. Elia brought a deck of cards to keep her company.

I remember how fun it was for us to do this back then. Elia asked. "One card at a time. You'd try to guess which."

Rowan smiled faintly. You should treat it only like a game. I always knew better."

Elia flipped the top card.

Before it moved, Rowan said, "Queen of spades."

It was.

Elia swallowed. "Do you think things will keep happening this way?"

Rowan stared at the ceiling. "Maybe. Or maybe it'll fade."

The silence continued for a bit, but it didn't feel empty.

Finally, Rowan said, "I didn't call you because I didn't want to worry you." I didn't even know where I was."

"I know," Elia said. "But I felt it anyway."

Rowan reached for her hand. "That's the echo."

And Elia knew she had guessed right.