Marianna Baer - Frost

David’s left cheek twitched as I spoke. Maybe I should have printed out some of the articles I read. It’s what had affected me most—the idea that Celeste could have unknowingly done these things herself. It’s what had filled me with that strange combination of relief and terror.

“I know this is a lot to hear,” I said. “I felt sick all night, knowing I had to tell you. Well, that and worrying about her.” I reached for my coffee cup, but the heat had drained away.

“Why didn’t she tell me herself?” he said. “Why did she tell you?”

“I think … well, she knows how much you worry about her. That scares her. She assumed you’d think she was … you know. Sick. She thought I might believe her.”

David shook his head. “No,” he said. “I’d know if she was sick.” He rubbed his palms back and forth on his knees.

I took a minute to consider his choice of words. “What do you mean?”

“I’d know if she was sick,” he said. “I’d be able to tell.”

“Oh-kaay,” I said. “But you haven’t talked to her about this stuff. You haven’t heard the way she talks about it.”

“No. But still.”

“So, then … what’s the alternative?” I said. “If she’s not imagining stuff?”

“I don’t know. Maybe there really is something … weird in there.”

“Like, something evil?” I said. “Something trying to hurt Celeste? Is that what you mean?” He couldn’t.

“I don’t know. Do you really think we can understand everything about this stuff?”

“No, I guess not. But—”

“There are plenty of documented stories of hauntings.”

“David. Are you serious?” I studied his face. His stubble-covered jaw was set.

“Well, there are,” he said.

“Maybe,” I said to avoid arguing over that side issue. “But you have a history of psychosis in the family. And Celeste has the paranoid impression that someone—something—is trying to kill her. I mean, statistically—”

“I’d know if she was sick, Leena.”

I pushed my glasses up my nose. He was a mathematician; how could he be so illogical?

“Are you really saying it’s more likely that the dorm is haunted than that she’s had a psychotic break, something she’s genetically predisposed to have?” Now I couldn’t take my eyes off his profile, waiting for some sign that I wasn’t hearing what I thought I was.

“You make it sound as if having a father like ours means it will happen,” he said. “It’s a pretty low percentage, you know.”

“But, David. Are you seriously listening to yourself? Haunted. You believe the dorm is haunted.”

“I don’t know. But I’m not going to assume that she’s lost it. She would tell me if she felt not right, mentally. We have a pact.”

“People don’t know!” I was having trouble keeping the frustration out of my voice. I needed to remember how hard all of this would be for him to hear. It shouldn’t have surprised me that his first response would be denial. “Don’t you see? It all seems real to her because her brain is perceiving it as being real. People don’t know when they’re delusional. I live there, David. That house is not … haunted. If such a thing even existed.”

“Since you don’t believe it can be, maybe you’re just not open to seeing it.”

“David!” I said too loudly. “I’d know if there was something wrong in the house. I’d certainly know if something was trying to kill me. And nothing bad has happened to any of my stuff, you know. Nothing.” I paused. “We have to tell the dean about this. Or maybe not the dean first. Maybe your mom. Would that be better? It should be your decision.”

He finally turned to face me. The blue of his eyes glowed radioactive in the strong sun. “And then what? They send her to some horrible place and shove her full of meds?”

So now he was throwing that back at me?

“Well, somewhere she can get help,” I said. “Of course. And yes, meds can help.”

“God! You’re not a doctor yet, Leena. Even if you treat yourself. How many psychotics have you even met? My father was probably the first, right? And he wasn’t even having an episode.”

“Yeah, but—”

“But what? I know psychosis. I’ve lived with it. Celeste is not acting at all like my father ever acted. I’d be able to tell.”

This conversation had strayed so far from what I had anticipated. I had no idea what to say anymore. “But, David. If you listen to what Celeste is saying—”

“Celeste is rational. She doesn’t have any other symptoms.” He held out his hand and counted off on his fingers. “She’s doing her schoolwork. She’s already got all of her college apps in—did you know that? She has good personal hygiene. She hasn’t withdrawn—”

“Of course she has,” I said. “We barely ever see her anymore.”

David shook his head. “That’s because of us, because she doesn’t know how to deal with our relationship. And I see her on my own, when you’re not around.”

“I can’t believe we’re arguing over this,” I said. “If she’s not sick, then it won’t hurt to tell someone, right?”

“Leena. I’m going to talk to Celeste. Until then, don’t do anything. Anyway, waiting won’t make a difference. If you are right, if she’s sick, what’ll it matter? A few days won’t change anything. Right?”

“It’s just, if she’s sick—”

“If you are right,” he interrupted, “if she’s sick, then I promise, a day or two won’t make any difference. Nothing will change the fact that Celeste, the Celeste I know, is gone.”

GOING TO MY CLASSES WAS NOT AN OPTION. David’s completely irrational view of the facts had thrown me for almost as big a loop as Celeste’s revelation. There was only one place I could safely process the information.

I fumbled a round yellow pill into my mouth. I needed clarity. Too much emotion and confusion battled in my brain. I breathed in the closet’s comforting smell, traced my finger over Cubby’s feathers, and tried to think.

Was the power of denial so strong that it could completely prevent David from seeing the truth? Maybe the drive for self-protection trumped logic, rationality. When David talked to Celeste, though, when he heard the paranoia in her voice, he’d have to come to terms with what was really happening. He just needed some time to let it sink in.

And where would that leave us? The loneliness that lay ahead of him made my chest ache. It made me want to tell him that I’d be there, in whatever way he needed. Did he know that? I couldn’t believe how strongly attached I’d grown to him in such a short time.

You know that can only hurt you . Once he doesn’t want you.

“No,” I said. “He’s going to need me. He’s not going to have Celeste anymore. He’ll need me.” I rubbed my temples. More and more I’d been getting these deep, throbbing headaches.

Don’t you see? He’s sick, too. He’ll never want you the way he wants her.

“Why do you say that? That’s awful.”

In here is the only place you get the truth.

I’d had enough of the truth these past couple of days. I was exhausted from it all—the revelations, confrontations. And though usually I loved the way I felt in here, right now, I couldn’t handle any more insights into my sometimes ugly subconscious.

It took an enormous amount of energy to push myself up and out into the blinding light of my room. And the minute I was out there, I almost went back in. Somehow the open space of the room was overwhelming. Not contained enough. I needed an activity. Something to occupy me until David got in touch. Something physical—there was no way I could concentrate on homework. The furniture was happy in its arrangement. No space on the walls to hang more pictures. Maybe the garden needed something.