there 's a crazy pressure building in my chest , and now all of it is coming back , my real life , my old life-the rickety house in portland and the sound of the water and the smell of the bay ; the blackened walls of the crypts and the emerald-green diamond patterns of the sun slanting through the trees in the wilds ; all these other selves , stacked one on top of another and buried , so that no one will ever find them .