Second Chance

Chapter 3

Painting Leslie

Jesse sat on the white emptiness, moving his hand steadily across a canvas. Bill had once called it "an artist's hand" because of its steadiness, and Jesse was careful not to let any paint splatter on the canvas. He felt sure it had to be a perfect, realistic portrait of Leslie in order to work. And that is what he needed – a perfect replica of her. Remembering wasn't hard; she always appeared in his dreams.

Meanwhile, above him, a tiger hung, waiting to pounce. And pounce it did, narrowly missing knocking over the canvas.

Jesse rose, focused hard on a weapon. A sword appeared in his hand.

The tiger charged.

Jesse dodged. Swung his sword. Missed. The tiger charged.

They were locked in constant combat, neither tiring, neither conceding. Each slash was lithely dodged by the tiger. Each charge rapidly avoided by Jesse. The battle seemed never-ending.

The tiger sprang back, growling angrily at Jesse, who, panting, glared back. He wasn't about to die. He wasn't about to fail. He sprang forward, charging the tiger.

His sword slashed out. Missed. But he went for another slash. This one cut its head off. The tiger vanished.

Panting, Jesse went back to painting, not letting the sword disappear, however. Who knew what tricks the Ruler still had?

Leslie watched Jesse's progress nervously.

"Jess," she muttered. "You're doing great, but you haven't much time left, my King."

The Ruler appeared behind her.

"Your friend is one stubborn person, O Queen of Terabithia," he said. His voice, filled with contempt, caused Leslie to flinch.

"Jess'll save me. I know it. I always did."

"But he didn't save you when the rope broke."

"If he was there, he would have."

The two glared at each other. Both were trapped in this game – one forced to sit and watch her King, the other required to keep the subject from succeeding – to force him to leave, preferably. By fate, they were standing on opposite sides of the playing field.

"Jesse's different than others, that I'll admit. Most would've ran after the troll."

"That's because he knows I'd do the same for him, if our roles were reversed."

"Does he really? Seemed to me he's guilty about your death."

Leslie gasped, afraid. "I need to see him."

"Okay, but don't take up too much time."

Jesse was half done with his portrait of Leslie when she appeared behind him.

"Hey, Jess," she said, smiling.

"Hey, Les," he replied, not looking away from the canvas. Most would've been upset at this, but Leslie knew how he worked; he never looked away from his canvas in the middle of painting something, and this was clearly important to him.

"Why do you blame yourself?"

"Because – because, if I'd invited you, or gone with you, you wouldn't have died, Leslie."

"You don't know that."

"I could've done something, at least."

Jesse continued painting, focusing on his friend and the portrait.

"I wish I could help you..." Leslie trailed off wistfully.

"But you can't."

"No. I can't. Not anymore."

"Why was I offered this, anyway?"

"Because you fell apart, Jess. Even when you took May Belle to Terabithia, you weren't really yourself."

Jesse looked at the canvas, smiling. "Just a bit more..."

Leslie smiled. "You're doing great, Jess. I'm sorry, but I'm not allowed to stay here. Until you finish, I can only be with you briefly."

"It's okay, Leslie. I understand."

At that, Leslie faded, returning to her prison, while Jesse turned his attention to the almost-finished portrait.

"Soon, Leslie," he muttered. "I'll finish soon."

"I know."

Jesse smiled, putting the last touches on the portrait.

The door to the hospital waiting room opened, and a team of doctors entered. One walked over to Jesse's parents, grim-faced.

"Nancy Aarons?" he asked.

Nancy stood up. "How is he?"

"I'm afraid it's getting worse. His heart rate is halved compared to normal, and we had to put him on a respirator. I hate to be the bringer of bad news, but I don't think he's going to make it."

Now what, Jesse thought. I made the portrait, I remembered, now what?

He stared stupidly at the portrait, unsure of what to do. He had it done, but wasn't sure what to do next. There was clearly more to bringing Leslie back than simply drawing her... But what was it? Time was running out, and he had to think fast.

"Mind wide open..." he muttered. "I have to keep my mind wide open... That's it!"

Closing his eyes, he imagined the portrait becoming real – he imagined Leslie walking out from the portrait.

"He – he made it?" the Ruler asked, dumbfounded. "This has never happened before... Never, not since Time was born!"

"I told you he'd do it," Leslie said, smiling, before she flew off, becoming ethereal.

"In that case, to those who loved Jesse in his world, I'm sorry. But the rules are clear."

Jesse watched, amazed, as the Leslie who he had drawn came to life. The ethereal Leslie, the one who had died, took over the portrait.

"You did it, Jesse!" she exclaimed, running to him. They embraced, ecstatic at defeating Death.

Then the Ruler appeared.

"You did it, Aarons. But now, I must come to claim the price," the Ruler said.

"Name it," Jesse said.

"This!"

At this, a spear materialized in the Ruler's hand. He threw it. The spear breezed through the air as though possessed.

Jesse gasped in pain, falling to the ground, a spear through his stomach.

"Jesse!" Leslie exclaimed.

Both Jesse and Leslie vanished.

"Mrs. Aarons?" the doctor said, approaching Jesse's family. He seemed even more grim than ever, and slightly nervous too. This was his least favorite part of his job, one he hated to do, but, as the junior doctor on the team, he had to.

Nancy stood up, noting his expression. Her heart hammered; that look never meant good news. "What it is?"

"Jesse's heart just stopped completely. We tried to shock him back to consciousness, but..." He let the rest of the sentence hang. "I'm really sorry."

The waiting room was filled with the sound of crying.

The farm where the Aarons family lived was quiet. Usually, there would be the sound of Ellie and Brenda arguing. Joyce Ann and May Belle would talk. Never about Terabithia – May Belle wanted to wait until Jesse told her Joyce Ann could know. Jesse would usually be sitting there, making no noise but the sound of his pencils breezing effortlessly across a piece of paper.

It was quiet, and one person was missing – one who would never be coming back.

"Mama – why'd Jesse have to go?" Joyce Ann asked, the only one of them still too young to understand exactly what death meant.

"Because – because it was his..." Nancy said, before breaking down. Her husband hugged her. While May Belle and Joyce Ann would usually make some comment, they didn't.

An unknown car stopped in front of the house. Its doors opened, and Bill and Judy Burke stepped out of the car, walking over to the door and knocking.

This was not the first group to do so; many were there, mostly family and people from around the community.

The front door swung open.

"Mr. Burke? Mrs. Burke?" Nancy, who had opened the door, asked, surprised. She thought they'd moved back to Washington.

"We heard what happened. My condolences," Bill said.

"Thank you for coming. Come on in."

A/N: Don't worry, I'm not ending this story now – in fact, it's just beginning. However, be forewarned – the next chapter will be confusing. Let's just say that things are not exactly what they seem, and, while Jesse is dead, he will be in the next chapter (as for how, you'll have to read to find out, but it has to do with the Ruler's price).