When she was young she asked her mom why bad things happen to people.

“Sometimes it’s because they did something wrong,” her mom had replied, “And sometimes it’s to make way for better things.” It was one of those defining moments people occasionally experience, something that imprinted itself on Corey’s mind so that now, after the accident and the surgeries and the days of drug-induced slumber, waking bleary-eyed and supine in a hospital bed, she recalled her mother’s words and wondered what wrong she’d committed to forever lose the use of her legs, for surely no good could ever eclipse this horror.

She was a pretty girl, though she did not think herself beautiful, with green eyes, a pale complexion, and dirty blond hair typically tied back in a ponytail. She preferred sports to fashion, and while boys hadn’t exactly escaped her eye, she’d had no boyfriends yet. She had been asked to the fall dance, but of course she'd missed that.

In the long, lonesome hours in the recovery ward she felt trapped and useless. It was difficult to straighten the covers over her motionless legs, painful to adjust her position, too much effort to reach the light. If the television remote fell out of reach, she couldn't retrieve it. For the rest of her life she would associate infomercials with helplessness.

She was on the cusp of sleep when she heard her door open. Eyes closed, she listened as someone was wheeled in and moved to the neighboring bed. Corey likely would have drifted off entirely if something strange hadn't happened. Almost like the heat of a lamp she felt the other patient's gaze on her and, though her eyes were firmly closed, an image of her companion materialized in her mind: a boy, black, approximately her age—maybe as old as fifteen—with short hair and a good-humored smirk. And from the looks of it, he had no use of his limbs below the neck.

When she opened her eyes she let out a startled breath because the vision had been so accurate. Somehow she’d seen him with her mind instead of her eyes. She considered whether she should ask the nurse to adjust her medication.

“They'll just think you're crazy,” the boy said slyly.

A shiver ran down Corey's spine that stalled out at her waist. The boy closed his eyes and fell instantly asleep. She watched him for a long time, trying to understand what exactly had just happened.

Thomas. His name is Thomas.

He was gone the next morning, as if he’d never been there.

*     *     *
On day one of physical therapy she told anyone and everyone that of course she would walk again. By day three, her spirit had broken. It was on a particularly miserable day that she saw Thomas again. As before, she was nodding off to sleep when she heard her door bump open. She barely took notice at first, but when she heard the wheelchair she opened her eyes.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her tone less polite than it could have been.

“I was bored. No one comes to see me.”

“Too many people come to see me,” Corey responded, secretly wishing that were still true.

“I can leave if you want.”

“No, don’t!”

He grinned and she realized he’d called her bluff.

“So you get a lot of visitors?” he prodded.

“Well, not so much anymore.” She rolled clumsily onto her side and propped her head in her hand. “My parents were here all the time at first, but they had to go back to work. They still come to see me for a couple hours every day.”

“They sound nice.”

Her mouth twisted. “I think mom’s more concerned about having to move the furniture around for my wheelchair.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Maybe not.”

Her parents definitely loved her, but they were fussy about change and Corey felt like an annoyance to them.

“Honestly, all I can think about is that I can’t play basketball anymore.”

She immediately realized how shallow she must seem, but Thomas just laughed.

“I never did get the hang of basketball. I had an accident when I was six, haven’t been able to move since.”

“I’m sorry,” she responded quietly. She felt like the universe had plopped this kid before her as if to say: See? Be thankful. It could have been a lot worse.

“Everyone’s got their problems. You know what I would do if I could?”

She shook her head.

“There are these guys who jump into canyons and out of planes and stuff. They don’t use parachutes or anything, just these wingsuits that make them look kind of like flying squirrels. They call themselves birdmen.” As he talked he seemed to draw nearer. Indeed, Corey was certain the nurse had left his wheelchair against the wall.

“Birdmen,” she repeated, coming out of her thoughts.

“Yep. That’s what I would do. Can you imagine what it would feel like to fly above everything?”

“It sounds wonderful.”

*     *     *
The next time she saw Thomas he looked ill. His skin had lost its luster and his eyes were yellowed and weary.

“Are you okay?” she asked, wishing she could go to him.

His response was trance-like. “You want to see something special?”

She nodded, desperate to see his crooked, roguish smile.

“Later,” he mumbled and his eyes fell closed.

“Thomas?” she asked sharply. She reached for him but he was too far away. “Thomas?”

Still no response.

“I’m calling a nurse.” She fumbled for the call button and then felt his gaze on her, hot and forceful. He treated her to the smile she liked.

“Corey,” he admonished. “They don’t even know I’m here.”

Then he fell asleep right in his chair, leaving Corey to wonder about his statement until eventually she, too, fell deeply asleep. She dreamed of spring, of track, of running sprints so hard her shins hurt, the loud clap of shoes on pavement, the burn of her lungs as she cleared endless hurdles.

She awoke to the gentle clatter of a woman setting down a dinner tray. Thomas was still sleeping in the corner, though he was now cloaked in evening shadow, nearly invisible. The worker seemed to wholly ignore him.

They don’t even know I’m here ...

Corey had a little plastic basketball her dad had given her. It went to a hoop hung on the back of her door. She didn’t shoot it much because she had no way to retrieve it when she was alone. Remembering Thomas’s words, Corey dropped the basketball so it made a light thwap on the ground and rolled under his wheelchair. The worker, who was almost out the door, glanced back, saw what had happened, and with a sympathetic smile went to retrieve the lost ball. Corey watched as she stooped and fished it out from beneath the wheelchair. It was all very shocking, for there was some hint in her mannerism, some clue in the way she carelessly used the wheelchair for support, that indicated she was entirely indifferent to Thomas’s presence. She treated him like a piece of furniture that was in her way, as if she truly couldn’t see him.

It’s my imagination, Corey thought. Of course she sees him. He’s not invisible.

The woman handed Corey the ball. “You should put a string on this,” she suggested with a smile, then left.

Corey gripped the ball and stared at Thomas. In the shadows as he was, she couldn’t really make out details. If not for the metal rims of his wheels catching the light she might have been able to convince herself there was no one there at all.

“Told ya,” he groaned suddenly, and she felt a chill.

Now she could see the whites of his eyes, visible through narrow slits.

“I don’t want to scare you,” he said, his voice cracked and forced. The gleam on his wheels intensified as they rotated and the chair edged closer to Corey’s bed. Corey withdrew and the wheels stopped.

“It’s just me,” he assured her. “Do you still want to see something special?”

She couldn’t speak or move. After a moment he closed his eyes. Nothing happened.

“Thomas?”

Suddenly Thomas’s head jerked upright. Corey squealed. His thin chest snapped forward. His shoulders followed. Then his hips rose from the chair and, in one motion, he was standing. But something was horribly wrong. His legs—emaciated things that they were—were bowed at funny angles, his feet seeming to dangle on the floor, ankles turned inward. His arms hung limply at his sides. He looked like a scarecrow propped up with an invisible pole. Then with a great shudder his shoulders rolled back like a soldier coming to attention. His fingers flexed spasmodically and his whole body lifted once, twice, and on the third try he landed with his feet flat on the ground.

“Ta-daa,” he whispered weakly.

Corey let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Thomas was standing. When he walked to her, his gait was exaggerated like that of a marionette. “It’s not perfect,” he admitted, reaching out a hand. She took it, found it was stiff. He squeezed and the act was as unnatural as if she’d been grasped by a mannequin. She was impressed all the same.

“How are you doing this?”

“You can do it, too,” Thomas whispered. “I could sense you when you first came in. Most people have a spark inside them. But you ....” He extended a finger and touched her forehead, right between her eyes. “You have a bolt of lightning.” And then he was in her mind, and it was the sensation of hair raising on the back of her neck. Her heart beat so hard her shirt fluttered. She felt an incredible release as he tinkered with her mind, removed invisible barriers. All at once, the two of them were alone in infinite space. In this place she felt saturated with unknown power and potential. And in this place she knew she would heal.

*     *     *
Corey had always been a fast learner. When Coach had lined them up to practice layups, she was the first to master the 1-2 step. She could out-dribble anyone on the court, and her free-throws weren’t half bad either. This was really no different. With Thomas as her coach, her own natural talent drove her to success. On her first night of training, she was able to make her basketball float from the floor to her hand.

Like sports, this was mostly mental. Thomas started her out with meditation and deep breathing exercises. With his help, she could see the world behind the world, a universe of lines and waves of interconnected energy. She had only to trace a path from her mind to the basketball to make it rise with a thought. It was much the same way her brain fired commands to different parts of her body. The way she figured, if she could just reconnect the path to her legs, everything would be fine.

She spent her days in physical therapy and her nights with Thomas. She grew closer to him than to any other person in the world. He’d been in her mind. He had seen her through the worst days of her life and was now ushering in the best. One night she asked him if he would like to meet her parents. His expression was uncharacteristically disturbed.

“Nevermind. I’m sorry I asked.”

“You know I can’t.”

“Why not?”

He frowned and stared off into space. Finally he said, “Because I’m not supposed to be here.”

He didn’t show up the next night. Or the night after that.

*     *     *
Without Thomas, it was all too easy to believe everything had been a dream. She didn’t want to return to the real world where she’d have to face all the changes: a new life full of grab bars and ramps and wheelchair-accessible toilets. He didn’t turn up again until the third night, when her mom was going home after a visit. She kissed Corey goodbye and left the room, pulling the door shut behind her. All at once Thomas was there, in the shadows, looking haggard and pale.

Corey gasped, then said crossly, “Where have you been?”

“Let’s get to work,” he said.

“Thomas, you’ve been gone for two days.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

That was all he was going to say on the matter. She didn’t like the direction things were going; she missed their long discussions, the laughter and angst unique to the teenage experience. All he wanted to talk about these days was her progress. He could be so infuriating.

“I want to stand tonight,” she said insolently.

Thomas closed his eyes and granted her a thin smile.

“I don't think you're ready for that.”

She felt herself flush angrily, felt his gaze. Heard him sigh.

“You’re too focused on doing things the way you used to,” he began, drawing nearer. “Don't try to move your legs—they don’t work anymore.” She felt his voice slide into her mind and she closed her eyes to better concentrate, to follow his guidance. He helped her see the web of energy that permeated the world, that surrounded and penetrated her body. Turning her gaze inward, she tried to follow the path from brain to legs, but it was, of course, broken. Instead, she tried to imagine manipulating her body from the outside, tugging on the strings of the web that would pull her to her feet like a puppet.

She felt herself begin to rise.

“That's it,” Thomas encouraged.

Sweat broke out on her forehead and chest. She felt winded. But she maintained her focus and when she opened her eyes she was vertical.

“Congratulations,” Thomas said.

Corey didn't know what to think. On the one hand, she was certainly not lying down anymore; but on the other, she wasn’t really standing so much as balancing. Her legs weren’t doing anything at all. She felt underwhelmed. Instinctively she tried to take a step.

“Not like that!” Thomas cried, and it was strange to see such an animated expression on a head that didn't flinch. Then she was falling, her legs crumpling beneath her. Just before she hit the floor, she felt a force grip her, slow her fall, then raise her up again. She realized that force had been present the entire time; Thomas, helping her along, the psychokinetic equivalent of training wheels.

“I told you your legs don’t work anymore,” he said with a weary smile.

He started to lower her gently to her bed, but it was too soon so she resisted, her own mind butting up against his and her body was like a rag doll between them. Then, boldly, while still focusing on steadying herself, she reached out with another part of her mind and nudged Thomas from behind. He was visibly surprised.

She waited impatiently as he drew himself up. They were the same height. Thomas swallowed hard as she reached out and took his hands. She felt unbelievably close to him. Closer than bodies touching.

“You're getting good at this fast.”

“I had a good teacher.”

He took shaky, deliberate steps as she coaxed him to her. Their roles were reversed and she liked it.

“You're better at this stuff than I am,” Thomas admitted.

“What stuff?”

“The physical stuff. Walking, moving things. It took you a tenth as long as it took me.”

“But you helped me cheat,” she whispered. “You had to find all the answers yourself.”

“I don't have all the answers.”

She shushed him and put her head on his shoulder. Together they swayed lightly, as though moved by an unfelt breeze.

The door flew open and someone entered with a dinner tray. Corey stiffened in surprise, but Thomas gripped her more tightly. The worker maneuvered around them, positioned the tray by the bed, and walked over to the window. She peeked outside and made a face; it was sleeting out. She returned to the bed and began straightening the covers. Corey giggled.

“Are you making us invisible?”

“Not exactly,” Thomas explained. “It’s just easy to trick people into not questioning things. I’ll teach you.”

“Let’s just master walking right now, okay?”

He responded by putting his mouth on hers. It was her first kiss.

The worker felt an urgent desire to make herself scarce. The kiss lasted a long time, and when it broke Corey asked, her head on his shoulder, “What are we going to do when I go home?”

*     *     *
On the eve of her check-out, her parents stayed late playing board games. Corey was agitated the whole time, wanting them to leave so she could see Thomas. She tried to tell herself nothing had to change. They could see one another as often as they liked. But somehow she knew that tonight would be the last time she’d ever see him.

The TV remote was out of reach, but with a casual flick of her wrist it hopped into her hand. She switched off the television and closed her eyes. She drifted for a while and once again had the dream of running, only this time she didn't jump over hurdles, she floated over them. And this time she wasn't running for the joy of it—she ran because she was being chased.

She awoke with a start and sat up. Her heart was racing. Her skin was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. The room was dark and shadowy tendrils of her dream were still clutching at her. It had been a long time since she'd been afraid of the dark, but now she wanted light more than anything. With forced calm, she concentrated and the drapes flew open so the room was awash with the light of the moon. She gasped; Thomas was there, sitting in the corner, staring at her.

He didn't move, didn't even blink. She wasn't entirely sure he was breathing.

“Thomas?”

She flung the covers off herself. Her legs were awkward and twisted. She willed them to flop over the side of the bed and she eased herself to the floor, summoned the strength to crawl to him.

She reached out to touch him and his hand snatched her wrist. She shrieked. Bony fingers dug painfully into her flesh.

“Thomas, what are you doing?”

He stared at her emptily for a moment, then his eyes appeared to register her presence and he released her. He gazed around as if he didn't recognize his surroundings. Then his expression sank and he slumped back into himself. He blinked a few times and stated thickly, “You leave tomorrow.”

She dismissed his statement with a quick nod, still wondering if he was okay.

“I'm sorry I frightened you.”

She was still lying on the floor, so she pulled herself up by the bedpost.

“You should use your mind, not your arms.”

She paused, thinking him irritated with her, then completed the action that left her propped against her bed. She sat like that for a long time, wanting to adjust her legs, which were tangled in curious ways, but petulantly not wanting to use her power to do it.

Thomas looked depressed. “I watched an old man die today. His kids and grandkids were in the other room. And his wife wanted to be alone with him. They’d been married for over seventy years. Can you imagine? You know what they talked about?”

She shook her head.

“Nothing at all. They just had a chat. It was amazing. They must've had five thousand conversations over the years and now they just wanted to have one more before it was too late. What could she possibly have told him that would matter? He can’t take her words with him.”

“You don’t know that.”

She saw his fingers groping mechanically for her. “Want to see something special?”

She nodded, blinking away tears, and when she took his hand it felt like completing a circuit. He flashed his sly smile and the room began to dim. Or maybe it was just that their bodies were beginning to glow. Her pores were leaking light, white light too bright to look at, but when she closed her eyes she could still see it. And then for a stretch of time she couldn't breathe and there was the terrifying sensation of falling a long distance and just when she wanted to scream she came to a halt as abrupt as the end of a roller coaster ride. The dizziness cleared, the light faded, and she could breathe again.

She found herself floating alongside Thomas.

“Thomas! Oh my God, Thomas, I don't like this!”

He pulled her close and shushed her. Could he do that without arms? Without features? What exactly was she seeing? For they had transcended physical form, leaving their bodies behind, slumped and lifeless. Thomas, without flesh, blood, or bone, still looked like himself—the same dark skin, the same crooked grin—but he also looked entirely different. He looked more complete.

She asked, “Are we ghosts?”

“I don't know what we are. Come on!”

He pulled her, over her protests, across the room and through the wall and into the hallway. Then he was tugging her up through ceiling and floor and ceiling again and eventually through roof and finally up into open sky.

“I've never been up this high before,” he exclaimed.

“Come on,” she said, exhilaration beating away fear. “Let’s fly.”

They flew, racing across the sky, through wind and rain. They soared through towering thunderheads and saw lightning bolts blast from cloud to cloud. They made their way to distant cities and buzzed the streets through pedestrians. They saw Niagara Falls, Times Square, the Eiffel Tower, the Grand Canyon; they stood at the summit of Everest, felt the dry burn of the Sahara, witnessed icebergs collapsing in the Antarctic. It was happening so fast, almost simultaneously. Through it all was the sensation of flying, always flying above everything and everyone, higher and faster than airplanes or hang gliders or birdmen could hope to reach. And then when they’d seen enough, they came to a gentle halt, hovering above a mountainous evergreen forest, lost in some secluded place in the world, the moon ever-bright and reflecting endlessly into a great lake below, time and space folding together.

“I've never done this before,” Thomas said. “I mean, I leave my body all the time, but this ...” he gestured, “I was always too afraid. I never could have done any of this if I hadn’t found you.”

“Then I’m glad you found me.”

He smiled, but there was sadness there. She could tell he wanted to say something, but the words weren’t coming.

“Tell me,” she whispered.

“You're the most beautiful person I've ever met, Corey. Outside and in.”

“If I had skin right now, I'd blush.”

But he didn't laugh. “Stay with me,” he said. “Here.”

She was confused and she sank to the forest floor. “What do you mean? We can't stay here.”

“Why not? We can do anything!” He drew her closer, so close they might have been one. “Do you really want to go back there? Do you really want to stumble around like you're walking on stilts for the rest of your life?”

“Thomas ...” She tried to pull away, but he held her tighter.

“How can you go back when you’ve experienced this? This is what it was all about, Corey. Getting you here, to this point. Where we can be free. Everything else is just parlour tricks.”

She looked at him sadly. “Thomas, what about my life?”

“This could be your life.”

“This isn’t a life. This is an experience. An amazing one, but ...”

“You really don’t want to stay here?”

“I want to stay with you,” she said.

“But not here.”

Her initial fear at leaving her body returned. “We can still go back, can’t we?”

He hesitated.

“Thomas,” she said hoarsely. “Take me back now, please.”

“Just one more minute,” he begged.

She separated from him, concentrated, peered through the world and saw the webs of energy, the ebb and flow, the pulsing. But in the distance she sensed a gathering darkness. Empty spots. Malignancies in spacetime. She remembered her dream of being chased.

“Thomas.”

“Just one more minute!”

“Why are you pushing so hard?” she asked angrily.

“Because I'm afraid,” he shouted. “You want to know how I learned all this? I've been immobile since I was six. I've had a lot of damn practice. And I don't have family that cares about me, not once they realized what a burden I was. After the money ran out ... I had to make everyone forget about me. I was alone for years, learning, practicing my gift, lurking in the hospital, tricking them into keeping me alive. Then I met you. And I knew you were just like me. That all you needed was a push. So I came to you. I thought maybe if I could show you this place, you’d come with me and I wouldn’t have to go it alone. I’m so tired of being alone.” He took her hand, held it between his like he was praying. “You must have guessed my body is dying. I'm not gonna make it another day. I might not make it another hour. Stay here with me. Please just stay.”

She was crushed, but of course she'd known he was terminal, had known from the first time they met, just like she'd known what he looked like before she'd ever seen him. She took him in her arms, felt the electric tingle of his aura brushing against her own.

She murmured, “What happens if you're out here and your body dies?”

“Stay with me and find out.”

Now she couldn't help but cry.

“I love you,” she said and she knew it was true. “But you know I can't stay.”

They held one another in silence for a very long time. Then Thomas drew away and she saw his smile and somehow it was worse.

“You're right,” he said wistfully, touching her cheek. “It’s too much to ask. I’ve already made you risk too much.”

“Thomas,” she started, but suddenly the world was swirling with dark, formless shadows that blotted out the ethereal glow of the world like the darkest of sunspots. She shrank away as they drew closer and closer, whirling and rippling, a blackness laden with the weight of infinity. Thomas gazed upon the encroaching void and his expression was solemn.

“Thomas!”

Then she felt a tug on her midsection, a sinking feeling like she'd stretched a bungee cord to its max, and she was rocketing back across the world, through trees, over snow-covered mountains, between buildings and over cars. Then free-falling through the hospital, gliding smoothly over waxed linoleum floors, and she saw her own face fly at her and then she saw stars, as though she'd stood up too fast, but she wasn't standing: she was a tangled pile of limbs on the floor. Her lungs took air and it felt strange and clumsy, like trying to walk after wearing rollerblades for a long time. She felt ensnared by her rigid body. She was dizzy and trying to clear the spots when she heard words ripple across her mind, slide over and through it as though trying to catch up to her and then scrambling for purchase before skidding off. The words were Thomas's. He'd called after her, “I love you, too.”

“Thomas,” she gasped, and looked up. His body was in the corner, and to the unobservant eye he looked the same as always; small, crooked, his head leaning against its headrest. But his eyes were closed, his skin ashen. She reached for his body, and when her palm touched his delicate chest she felt no heartbeat, no warmth.

Fighting back tears, she tried to draw the nurse's call button to her hand, but her mind was racing and she couldn’t focus. She had no choice but to drag herself back to her bed, to the button, a journey that took eons. When the nurse came at last she found Corey on the ground sobbing softly to herself. The nurse checked Thomas's pulse, then called a doctor, but Corey knew it was far too late.

“Who is he?” someone asked.

“His name was Thomas,” Corey said. “He was my friend.”

*     *     *
Without Thomas’s guidance her powers fell away almost to nothing. The two of them had formed a unit that improved both of their abilities. It was weeks before she could move objects with her mind again and months before she could bring herself to a crude imitation of standing, though it was a trick she preferred to keep private. Over the years her powers branched out and grew and eventually she could do more than see the hidden world around her: she could feel it. The glass on the counter, the static on the television. She could sense the presence of others, taste what they ate, feel what they touched. And while she never truly walked again, she felt the trade-off of her legs for her gift was a fair one.

But she could never figure out how to leave her body again. That gift had been Thomas's alone. Sometimes she wondered if he was still out there, playfully outwitting death. She remembered the dark spots that swarmed around them that night, the terrifying emptiness, and she wondered if someday the world would go dark for him, if it goes dark for everyone. And whenever she found Thomas was on her mind, she longed for just one more conversation.