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The tension in Scott’s shoulders loosened at the feeling of Kira’s fingers running through his hair, his head in her lap. “So, tell me about the different states.”
“In which kind of Bardo?”
“What was the one you told us about, before?”
“Tibetan Buddhism."
“That one.”
“Okay,” Kira smiled. “Tibetan Buddhism has six different stages of Bardo. It’s a little death-y, so it’s kind of depressing…”
“I don’t mind,” Scott said softly. “I like meditating with you.”
“Usually we have life on the mind, not death,” Kira said. “And I’ve never been on this end of a guided meditation before, so… I might not be the best at explaining.”
“That’s alright. I trust you.”
He felt Kira relax. “Okay, the first stage is the Bardo of This Life. This is basically the stage you’re alive, from your birth to your death.”
“I’ve had a couple of those.”
“Don’t joke about that,” Kira said indignantly.
“Sorry.” Scott winced. “Carry on.”
“This is the stage before death. The span of your waking life. You’re alive, now, in this moment. You feel your existence.”
Scott closed his eyes, taking deep breaths and drinking in his surroundings.
Kira—her body heat, the edges of her hair tickling his face, her soft hands on his head.
The cool stone beneath him. The rush of clear water nearby. An ant, crawling on his bare ankle.
Crickets chirping.
The scent of fresh grass and wet earth. Mossy in his lungs.
Warm sun on his skin.
“From your moment of birth…”
Bees humming, ready to return to their hives and turn their pollen into honey. One landed on Kira, and he swatted it away before she could startle.
His mother’s voice, singing him to sleep. The flowery shampoo she used, the harsh chemical scent of her scrubs. Scott could feel her arms around him, lifting him up off the ground. Like he was a kid again. Patching up his scraped knee.
Peter’s teeth in his side. Blood, trickling into his sink as he treated the wound the way she’d taught him.
The itching in his gums. Scott ran his tongue over his teeth. Over the phantom fangs.
His eyes, flashing yellow for the first time.
“To the moment of your death.”
Kate, placing the skins on him. The taste of dead bear, the strange slippery grip of the bones.
A hollow ache.
No. Don’t think about that. Scott shoved it back down, where he’d locked it away.
“They call it Kyenay Bardo. Your consciousness, your every day.”
There was a dream-like quality in Kira’s voice now. Or was that him, growing drowsy?
“Your body is temporary. Your life is temporary. Picture your daily life.”
Each thought swam into the next.
Buttery popcorn wafting through the kitchen, every movie-night Sunday—his mom’s days off.
Sneaking into the damp tunnels after school with Stiles, skateboards tucked under their arms.
The lookout point, with Allison, chemosignals tart with the anxiety of being caught. Wind ruffling her scarf, her hands worming their way into his pockets.
Stiles’ flannels crumpled on the end of his bed.
The buzzing of the floodlights at lacrosse practice, the creaking of the Jeep’s engine, the fuzzy brown carpet in his room.
Kira’s fingers slowed in his hair.
“The next one is the Bardo of Dreaming. Think of your dreams, your nightmares.”
The images rose to the front of his mind unbidden. The bus. Blood splattered everywhere. Mauling Allison.
The terror on her face.
Mr Myers being wheeled out by the paramedics. The way he had screamed when Scott touched him.
His lungs tightened. Scott blinked it away, only to be met with more.
Looking up at Kira’s mom.
It might feel like you're dreaming.
“Technically during Kyenay, but when you’re in an unconscious state.”
Good dreams, or bad?
Soft flesh beneath his. Liam.
So easy to rip into.
He could feel his eyes flaring under the lids. Deep breaths, he reminded himself.
In.
Out.
Kira’s thumb brushed against his temple gently. “Focus on in the between. Transforming, from awake to asleep. From one stage to the next.”
Evolving.
Let me help you. Let me show you how.
Scott shook his head like he could shake off the thoughts.
Out.
“The third is the Bardo of Meditation,” Kira continued. “The best one, right?”
Scott could hear the smile in her voice, and it made his lips tug upwards. The crashing tide of his pulse ebbed.
“Obviously.”
“The ultimate mental discipline.”
The others inside the classroom. Peter in his head.
Wanting it.
His hand reaching towards the key in the lock, even as he fought against it.
A puppet on a string.
Scott’s arm jerked against the blanket spread out beneath them.
“Let your mind go quiet,” Kira murmured, as if she could hear the thoughts racing in Scott’s head.
Her hand was still in his hair.
Deep breaths.
In.
Out.
Yoga in Kira’s garden. Lotus position. Scott could almost hear the Zen music Noshiko liked to play in the background.
Keep your mind blank.
The pond so still you could drop a pebble and see it reach the bottom.
“That’s it,” Kira breathed. “You know, when I went to Kyoto I meditated in a temple with my parents. Although, it didn’t really work like this. Sorry, I’m probably ruining the experience.”
“No, don’t apologise,” Scott said, opening his eyes for a moment to look at her.
A smile flashed on her face, and melted away just as quickly. “Okay. Um. The fourth stage is the Bardo of Death.”
“Oh,” Scott said.
The edges of his fingers tingled.
Kira stroked his cheek reassuringly.
“This is the biggest transition, of course. Let death in.”
Scott closed his eyes again.
“Feel all of the four elements fade away.”
Crouching in the wet earth, shoes muddied by soil as he cradled Roxy’s dead body in his hands.
A red-hot wound, the side of his head on fire as Derek carried out Erica’s corpse, sticky blood trickling down his cheek.
Water soaking into his shoes as he moved through the loft, Boyd motionless on the floor in a pool of moonlight.
The dusty air particles at Oak Creek, his lungs closing up as he held Allison to his chest. Having to use his inhaler after.
“Feel your life leave. Let go of the temporary.”
Piercing ice water. His feet sinking into it like lead, so cold his whole body ached. It screamed like a child, get out.
Somewhere, the faint sound of Deaton’s voice. Crackly.
As if the TV signal had just gone out.
“Let your body free. Let yourself die.”
Lying on top of his covers. Kira’s hand, on his chest. The stench of burning flesh. Electricity coursing through his body, his muscles twitching.
The cool metal at his back, over and over.
“Scott? Are you okay?”
He relaxed the sudden stiffness in his shoulders, forced himself to take steady breaths.
In.
Out.
“We can stop if you want.”
“No, I’m good.” Scott blindly reached out for her hand. “Keep going.”
“Okay…” Kira shifted nervously. “The fifth stage is the Bardo of Dharmata.”
“Seriously?” He raised a brow. “Have I ever told you how smart you are?”
“Shh,” Kira said with a soft giggle. “Pay attention.”
“Sorry. Dharmata,” Scott echoed.
“It’s kind of like, um, the nature of existence. The truth of reality. It happens immediately after death.”
His lungs, burning for oxygen. Deaton’s arms holding him down. An ironclad grip.
Scott shivered suddenly. He could still feel the sun, Kira’s body heat bleeding into his, yet goosebumps erupted on his skin.
His clothes soaked through. His bare feet on the slick tile. Stiles and Allison on his side.
The Nemeton ahead.
“Sometimes it’s referred to as luminosity.”
Whiteness all around, so horribly bright. Stretching away, until he couldn’t see the end.
“Open up your mind. Let the realization in.”
Dirt beneath him. Dead leaves and snapping twigs.
That stump, staring him down. Two black rings.
Like looking straight into a void.
“Let yourself see clearly, now.”
His mother’s watch.
Something he’d known all along, dropping into his thoughts like a penny.
Hot relief.
He forced himself to focus on Kira’s voice as she spoke.
“Last but not least, the final stage. The Bardo of Rebirth. Sometimes thought of as unresolved karma taking a new body.”
In.
The eclipse. Derek. Jennifer. Deucalion.
Out.
The spiral etched into the wall.
“Starting a new cycle of life and death.”
The circle of mountain ash on the floor.
An invisible fight, Scott straining against something that he couldn’t see. Everything and nothing at the same time.
“There’s another name for it, too. The transitional Bardo.”
Scott opened his eyes.
They were glowing deep red.
“Becoming.”