B.C. Johnson - Deadgirl

“Um. Well. The door flew open. Officer Sykes, you met him—”

“Last week, I remember.”

“Right, yup. Officer Sykes and two other cops threw the door open. They had their guns out…all that stuff. It didn’t matter. Abraham…that man. Morgan shot him, with his own gun. He’d left it on the hospital bed. I guess…I guess he put a lot of faith in the drugs he was pumping into Morgan and Zack.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Marian Crane said, tapping a pad of paper lightly with the back of her pen. She wasn’t facing me. She never faced me when I was talking. Just stared at the blank wall to the left of her desk. Like there were subtitles there or something, “Then what?”

“Then the cops checked that we were all okay. Morgan was groggy…still is a little messed up actually, from the coma. They said she’ll be okay, the doctors. Just a side effect of the barbiturates. Zack is, uh, Zack’s, you know. He was fine.”

“Are you okay?” she asked me, not terribly concerned-sounding.

“Yeah, sorry. Just a catch. Um, he had gone into shock, after being knocked out by Abraham. But he’s okay too. Then, they took us out of the room. All of our parents were there. Even my dad, who—”

“Abraham had drugged?” she interrupted.

“Attacked, actually,” I said. “Abraham had attacked my dad in the parking lot. Apparently Dad can’t remember. Head injury.”

I tried to keep my voice steady. My dad had been just fine. Shaky, confused, with no memory of running into me. But just fine. A miracle.

“Right, right,” Crane said. “How were your parents?”

“Very…grateful. And very parent-y. They sort of took turns hugging me or holding me the rest of the night. Mom even slept in my bed that night. Pretty funny, huh?”

Crane shrugged. Apparently not funny.

“And Morgan’s mom was there,” I said. “And her boyfriend. Morgan’s mom’s boyfriend, I mean, Morgan doesn’t—”

“Right, right,” Crane said again. “What happened with the police?”

“They asked my story,” I said. “When everything had settled. I told them what I told you. The old man…Abraham, had pulled up a car outside of Benny’s house—”

“Ben Krakowski? The boy who threw the party?”

I nodded sharply, a little annoyed at her interruptions. “Yeah. The old man pulled up in a car outside of Benny’s. He seemed kinda weird, but harmless. He came out and asked us how to get to the 91. Then he hit Zack in the head with something in his hand. Grabbed him. Said if me and Morgan didn’t get in the car he’d kill Zack. He drugged us…I guess he left Zack and Morgan, left them on the lawn. Then he, uh, he took me.”

I folded my hands over my lap. I plucked at my skirt, trying to make it settle properly across my knees.

“Right, right,” Crane said. She fiddled with the silver comb holding her hair up in a loose bun. “Then he drugged you?”

“Mmm-hmm,” I said.

“How do you feel now? Any after-effects?”

I frowned a little at her, but she wasn’t looking. Kept staring at that spot on the wall.

“No, fine, thanks,” I said.

“How’d you get into the hospital? In Morgan’s room?”

I took a shallow breath. “Well. I woke up in Abraham’s car. It was in the parking lot. I guess he was crazy enough to come back again and try to check on Zack and Morgan. I guess he had to…admire his work or something. Anyway I woke up and went in.”

“And you remember nothing? Where he took you, while you were drugged?”

“No.”

“Did he—?”

“No.”

“I assume the police. They sometimes collect evidence—”

“No. They asked. I told them no. I don’t feel like—nothing had changed. He hadn’t done anything to me.”

Crane paused for a long time. I stared at her plump but attractive face, trying to read some sign of emotion. She and Officer Sykes would have gotten along well, I realized. Probably did, during their robot maintenance sessions.

“You’re a very lucky and unlucky girl, Ms. Day. Anyone ever tell you that?”

“What do you mean?”

“Attacked, twice in two weeks,” she said, and ticked off a finger. “Two unrelated incidents. Unlucky. But you made it through both okay. With barely a scratch to show for it. Lucky.”

I frowned.

“What are you saying?”

“What do you think I’m saying?”

Ugh . Maddening.

“I really don’t know,” I said.

In the distance, muffled by a couple doors, I heard the loud electronic beep of the bell. Looks like my head shrinking would have to wait until tomorrow. Crane turned to face me. She smiled, stood up, and held her hand out. I reached forward and shook it, lightly. I tried to turn, but she didn’t let go. She didn’t tug or grab my hand—she held just enough that I’d have to yank my hand and look like a freak to get away.

“Do you understand why I’m asking you these questions?”

“To help me…express myself?”

“In a way,” she said. “I’m trying to get you to slip up. You’re a fine liar, Lucy Day, but you’re not one of the greats. You’re going to slip up—your stories don’t make that much sense to begin with.”

I drew up. I pressed my lips into a thin line.

“Then what?” I asked her, coldly. “I’m in trouble, huh?”

“No,” Crane said, and unbelievably, gave me a little tight smile. “Then you’ll start telling the truth. And then, only then, will you finally be out of trouble. Do you understand?”

I cleared my throat. I let out a sigh. She let go of my hand. I picked up my backpack, slung it over my shoulder, and headed for the door.

“Goodbye, Ms. Crane.”

“Goodbye, Ms. Day.”

I walked out of her office, out of the counseling center, and into the chilly winter air. The sun, high in the sky, tried its best to shine through the thick layer of gray clouds. It reminded me of somewhere else. A place even more Grey. I shivered, and pulled my jacket tighter around me.

My meetings with Ms. Crane had started up again, the Monday I had come back. Just a little vacation, I thought. Just a day to recover from the nightmare. I’d spent all of it at home—no surprise there. Mom and Dad wouldn’t even let me in a room alone, much less go out anywhere. I don’t know if I was grounded—it wasn’t malicious enough to be called that. I was…umbilicaled.

My meeting with Crane—Wednesday, had been scheduled for sixth period. I’d missed Math…oh no. However will I make it through the day?

That thought brightened up my day considerably. Crane’s pointed questions, not so much. There wasn’t much I could do to get her off my back. I’d just endure it, I guess, until she got bored and gave up. Part of me thought that might take a while.

Morgan found me in a matter of minutes. Walking—slowly—toward the parking lot, doing my best to linger, I saw her jog around the corner of the portables, from the gym. She had a jacket on, too. It was nice to know the cold wasn’t just—well, wasn’t something else.

“Hey,” she said, and slowed down. She walked the last ten feet to me.

“How was volleyball?”

“ Eh ,” she said. “I think I’m gonna quit soon.”

I nodded. It should have surprised me, but it didn’t. Ever since Friday she had looked terrible. Her eyes were dark and sunken, like she hadn’t had much sleep. Her skin pasty, a little greasy. Her usually coiffed hair instead pulled into a tight ponytail behind her. A little dingy looking. Haunted.

“Sorry,” I said, and I wasn’t talking about volleyball. I’d probably apologized to her a hundred times. I still wasn’t sure what I was apologizing for.

She shrugged.

“How was Crane?”

“Nancy Drew would be proud.”