Carmiel Banasky - The Suicide of Claire Bishop

Dan turns to face me as much as his bulk will let him. “The least you could do is treat your sister with respect and answer her question.”

“I don’t like the tone of her question,” I say calmly, one hand on the tube beside me.

“He’s a shoteh ,” he says, turning back to Jules.

“Dan!” Jules looks at him sharply. “I don’t know what that means, but don’t say that.”

“It means he’s an imbecile. He thinks he’s not responsible for his actions.”

“It’s normal,” Jules says to him, “if you do a stupid thing like getting off your meds.”

“I left my prescription at home,” I say. “I would have filled it when I went to visit Mom.”

“You should have filled it days ago! And let’s not even start about how you ran off to Mom’s. I can’t believe she dropped you at the airport like this. She must have noticed. She just didn’t want to deal with you herself.” Jules glances at me in the rearview mirror. “I didn’t mean that. She probably didn’t know. How could she? She hasn’t been here.”

“She cried. When she drove me,” I say.

“I knew it,” Jules says. “Just once, she could have acted responsibly.”

“Your mom always cries,” Dan offers.

“That’s true, she always cries.” Jules looks back at me. “We’re going to the hospital.”

I use my low and serious voice. “I can’t go today. There’s too much to do. Right, Dan?”

“You’re asking me?”

What a bad liar, I think loudly. “Please, Jules, just — we’ll swing by my apartment and get my prescription. Then we’ll go to your place so you can keep an eye on me like you’ve done before and it’ll be fine.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I know they aren’t my own. Dan inserted the idea of going to my place. He thinks Nicolette is there, or a clue to her. Taking thoughts out of my head and replacing them with his. “I feel totally great right now, anyway. I just had a bad moment is all.”

But it wasn’t all bad. That little slip on the airplane has put me closer to Nicolette and the portal. To loosen my mind, to rid myself of fear. It was all preparation for the right door. Just tell me where is the door!

“You’re going to the hospital today,” Jules says. “No arguments.”

My cell vibrates in my pocket, but Dan is watching so I can’t look at it. “Jules, you don’t know what you’re doing to me. I need a day, at least. There’s this guy. I have to find him. He owes me a bunch of money and if I don’t get it now, I’ll never see it. A lot of money. It’ll help with the hospital bills.”

It’s the only thing I can think of to stall. I know it isn’t over. It can’t be over. I will find the portal.

“What guy? Why does he owe you money?”

I zip my lips, afraid they’ll know if I lie again.

“You can have a few hours,” she breathes.

“We didn’t discuss that,” Dan says. He’s too obviously annoyed for his annoyance to be true — he’s happy to have a close watch over me and get some answers before locking me away.

“A few hours,” Jules says, “and then I’m taking you this afternoon. Six at the latest. All right?”

“Not all right,” I say. It isn’t enough time to decipher Nicolette’s tableaux code, get her the painting, and save Jules, all with Dan around me every second.

Dan’s facing front again and I peek at my phone. There’s a voicemail from a number I don’t know, which has to be Jill. I can’t risk listening now.

“That’s my best offer,” Jules says. “Hospital right now, or hospital at six. Up to you.”

The rain has let up and there’s a hint of sun. We peel around Bowery and onto Broome, then slam into a free space directly across from my apartment, below the psychic’s neon sign.

“Did you feel that?” Dan asks. “I think we ran over something.”

A man is running up to the car, flailing his arms, screaming at us in Chinese. Jules locks the car doors and stares.

“That’s Tachi,” I say.

“What does he want?” Dan asks.

“How would I know?”

Tachi pounds on my sister’s window and then mine. I roll mine down.

“Hi, Tachi,” I say, and then remember that’s not his real name. But he doesn’t notice.

“My car, man. My car,” he says, close to tears.

“This is not your car, this is our car,” Jules says, tilting her face toward my open window.

He ducks and thrashes his arms around under our car. I lean out the window a little to get a better view as he lifts his crushed remote-controlled monster truck.

The corners of his eyes turn a bright, wet red. “You must apologize,” he says to me.

“But,” I say. I fumble for the words. I do want to say them. But the words won’t come. “I didn’t run over it,” I say. I put my hand to my neck and shake my head. If I told them I’d like very much to say it but can’t, they wouldn’t believe me.

Jules rolls down her window. “I didn’t see it. I feel awful. Oh, West, apologize.”

My throat is tight and dry and I think I’m choking. “I apologize!” I yell.

Dan leans back toward my open window. “How much?” he asks Tachi.

Jules digs in her purse and hands Tachi a twenty-dollar bill.

“Are you nuts? This is a hundred fifty at least,” Tachi says, still choked up.

“One-fifty?” Jules says. “I don’t have that. You shouldn’t have been driving your toy in the middle of the street. It was bound to happen. Dan? West? Do you have any money?”

“That’s plenty. It was an accident,” Dan says.

Tachi scoffs. “It was not a toy.” Leaving the money, he sulks off to his stoop a few feet away, cradling his truck, and stares at us.

This is a sign: every victory comes with a price. I am still on track.

“I’ll run up,” Dan says, opening his door. “You two stay here.” He reaches between the front seats and holds his hand toward me, palm open. I stare at it. “Keys?”

“Thanks a lot,” I say to Jules. “I can never show my face in this neighborhood again.” I dig into my jeans pocket and place the keys in Dan’s palm a little too hard. “It’s probably on the kitchen counter,” I tell him. “Or the nightstand. Or the windowsill.”

“I’ll find it.” Dan sprints across the street, agile for such a burly guy.

This is my chance to talk to Jules alone but it’s hard to figure out where to begin without wasting time. Do I tell her about the painting? Or about Dan and the Hasidim at the landmine house? Or Nicolette and time travel? But it’s a terrible thought that makes me ram my head into the back of Jules’s headrest — I just let Dan go up to the apartment. Alone. As in without me. He could be doing anything. He could be bugging the walls and mirrors. He’s probably looking in my closet for Nicolette. Ransacking for clues.

I don’t bother shutting the car door behind me. I dash across the street and punch a bunch of numbers until someone buzzes me in. My legs are Jell-O, running up the stairs. I pull them by the knees to make them go. Jules must have caught the front door before it shut because I hear her padding up behind me. Catch my breath on the landing between the third and fourth floors. But Jules is only a flight below, huffing up, faster than me. I climb the last flight and a half — and there’s Dan, coming out of my apartment with my prescription and my messenger bag.

“When was the last time you cleaned up in there, bud? Whewee.” He waves his hand in front of his face.

Jules comes running up after me. “West, what are you doing?”

“I forgot — I need—”

“I grabbed you a few pairs of clean underwear and some shirts just in case, hope you don’t mind,” Dan says, smiling away. “Don’t know how long your stay at the hospital will be.”