False Memory (False #1)

by Meli Raine

  Which means I’m at their mercy.

  As usual.

  Corinna lingers until some buzzer buzzes on her hip and she skedaddles.

  I keep my eyes closed to slits and watch Duff like a hawk.

  A paralyzed, bedridden hawk.

  He goes over to the sink and the sound of metal on glass makes a hollow, ringing sound that scares me more than silence. As I watch, he turns around, a tongue depressor in his hand.

  Is he going to try to kill me with... that? In my current state, he probably could.

  Instead, he bends at the knees. I hear scraping. When he stands, he’s got a stick with a smear of black and he’s sliding it into a Ziploc bag.

  He’s collecting the remains of the crushed spider. That can only mean he suspects something.

  Why would a guy who wants me dead remove the spider, kill it, and then collect it?

  The Ziploc bag goes in his breast pocket. A glimpse of a gun holster across his ribcage makes my legs tingle. Not that he’d use a gun here, but the sight of a gun sets off fear in me like a bang.

  Settling into my false sleep, I make sure my breathing is easy.

  A chair scrapes. The sound of a man letting out a long breath. The scent of lemon and wood.

  And then he says, “I am sorry. You’re asleep, so you can’t hear me, but I’m sorry. Like your father said, I should have done my job better. I was sloppy. Won’t happen again, Lily. I promise you that.”

  Was Corinna my last hope?

  Chapter 9

  The door opens and in walks my mother, looking ten years older and so nervous that she’s twitching like she’s touching a live wire.

  “I heard she set off the machines. What’s wrong, Lily?”

  “She’s fine, Bee,” Duff assures her, slowly standing. “The nurse took care of everything. How’s Tom?”

  “How’s Tom? You ask me how Tom is?” Her voice goes high, sharp, like a razor blade tossed into the air with no concern for what it might cut as gravity drags it home. “He barely made it through, no thanks to you.”

  “Bee, I–”

  “You listen to me, Duff. You’re only here because I’m smart enough to realize the bastard who did this to my daughter is still out there. Jane Borokov is paying for every penny of Lily’s extra care and every cent of your paycheck. I’ll take her money because it’s bought me my daughter. And Tom and I tolerate you and Logan and Mario and the others because your job is to keep her alive. But make no mistake: if you’d been doing your job that day at my flower shop, Lily wouldn’t be in this situation. The last fourteen months would have been normal. And you would not be a part of our lives.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I can put in a request to be removed from Lily’s team.”

  Yes! Please! Mom! I want to shout.

  “Absolutely not. You screwed up once. Time to make it right. You owe her that. You owe me that, and you damn well owe Tom that.”

  “Mum,” I croak out. Both their heads swivel so fast.

  “Lily?”

  “Mum. Spi-duh,” I say.

  Duff’s eyes narrow.

  “Spider? Did she just say spider?” Her hand goes to my brow. “Is she hallucinating? Fever?”

  The air fills with tension only Duff and I know exists, except he doesn’t know I know it’s there.

  “She mumbles a lot these days, Bee.” Sadness fills his voice as he turns to go. “I’ll be in the hallway.”

  “Lily,” Mom says softly. “You say whatever you want.”

  “Dah. Dah?”

  Her eyes fill with tears. “Daddy’s fine. He’ll be here later.”

  “Bee.” Duff’s on the other side of the room, his voice faint but low. “She knows.”

  “She knows what?” Sharpness fills her voice, her tongue a whip that needs to crack.

  “I told her about Tom.”

  “Why would you stress her like that?” Mom whips around, her aura nothing but cortisol and cacophony.

  “She heard the whole thing as it went down. I figured it was better to give her the information than to leave her worried and wondering.”

  “You–you think she’s that aware?”

  He steps forward. Our eyes lock. “I know she is.”

  Thank you.

  The words ricochet inside me, bouncing off the walls of my heart and soul. Genuine and true, they are the first thought I’ve had since waking up that feels like the old me.

  And they are in response to the man who is partnered with my shooter.

  “Daddy’s upstairs, honey,” Mom says, oblivious to the tornado of emotion inside me. Tears fill my eyes as Duff leaves. “Oh, sweetie, don’t cry,” she says, reaching across me for a tissue, wiping the corner of my eye. “He had a heart attack. They got him into surgery fast. He’ll make a full recovery.”

  She pats my knee.

  “Just like you.”

  More tears. Will I recover? Really? Mom’s hope is made up of a stack of words you say when you are propping up the world. Whatever it takes, you blurt it out, pretending you believe it because the alternative is unthinkable.

  A spot on my right ass cheek goes numb, then a muscle in the same-side hip tightens, the spasms turning into a burn. The words My hip hurts are in my brain, but their long journey to get to my mouth might as well be the Oregon Trail, and me a wagon that has four broken wheels. And is on fire.

  Circled by vultures.

  My eyes catch hers. “Mum. Luf ooo.”

  Her turn to cry. “Oh, God, Lily. God answered all those prayers. I knew you were in there all along. I don’t know where you went for fourteen months, two weeks, and one day, but you came back to me.”

  And I almost died just now. Spider, I want to tell her. Romeo tried to kill me with a spider.

  “Your dad is going to be fine, you’re going to be fine, Gwennie and Bowie are fine, the store’s going to be fine, and everyone is going back to the way we were before that psycho did this to you. I swear, Lily,” she says fiercely, patting my arm in the exact spot where the spider was before, “I swear it to you. I will not let that man hurt you again. I won’t.”

  Romeo.

  I want to say the name, but I can’t, and not only physically. Until my body fixes itself enough to be able to run away, to protect myself, to perform even the most basic defense, I can’t let anyone know I know who tried to kill me.

  Because my mom is trying so hard to make everything better.

  And letting people know it was him makes it all worse.

  “Lily.” Mom takes my face in both hands, her eyes red-rimmed and searching. “Do you remember anything from that day? No, no. Don’t answer that. Don’t. Look at me,” she says with a hysterical laugh that grows until someone opens the door, the feel of the room changing.

  “Bee?” It’s Romeo.

  Now the room really changes.

  I tense. Mom frowns, wiping her eyes, her back to him.

  “I’m fine. Just crying with Lily about her dad.”

  Instead of leaving, he steps in. The door shuts like the lid of a coffin. “With?”

  “Yes, with,” Mom says, excited. They exchange a look that makes my heart sink. It’s friendly. Connected.

  He’s inserted himself into my mother’s circle of trust.

  “That’s wonderful. Lily can talk?” His eyes search me, looking for a hint of accusation. I know he left the spider on me, but he can’t know I know. As far as he’s concerned, he got away with it.

  And I have to convince him that’s true.

  “She can. She’s getting better every day. In fact,” Mom frowns, “she told me about a spider. Said the word clear as day. Duff thinks she’s hallucinating or something. Makes sense to me. The drugs cause some serious neurological side effects. Where on Earth would she see a spider in a hospital?”

  “A spider?” Romeo comes closer to me. Unlike before, my body doesn’t flush with terror. Mom’s right here. He can’t kill me right here, alone, with my mother inches away.

  I mean, he could.
But he won’t.

  “Yes! Crazy.”

  “Absolutely.” He lets out a small laugh. “Then again, if she can remember the word for spider, what else is she remembering?” An encouraging grin covers his face, the kind that looks so warm and caring to someone who can’t see the rot underneath.

  “I don’t know. I do know you’ve acted above and beyond the call of duty, Romeo. All the phone calls, and helping with Gwennie and Bowie. You didn’t need to be so involved, but boy, did it help. Tom and I sure do appreciate it.”

  “Always, Bee. What happened to Lily is so unique. No one could have expected this outcome. Perhaps she’ll remember and we can put an end to all of this.”

  “Wouldn’t that be nice?” Mom says in a bitter, half-hushed tone I don’t like. “Then again, the doctors say that remembering could be so traumatic that it stresses her system and sends her into more health problems. Her elevated stroke risk is incredible.” I hear her take in a shaky breath. “I don’t think I want her to remember if that’s the cost.”

  “You’ll tell me if she remembers anything new?”

  “Of course! We’re an open book for you. You know that.”

  One of his hands goes on Mom’s shoulder, the gesture a solid one that conveys presence. It’s possessive, too. He’s making sure I see it.

  I’ve got your mother, he’s taunting me.

  But the taunting only works if he thinks I know.

  Playing dumb is the only way to win his game.

  Playing dumb is the only way to stay alive.

  Chapter 10

  Two weeks later

  * * *

  It’s Mirror Day.

  Mom’s here, looking anxious and like she’s two seconds away from throwing up. Bowie’s sitting in the corner, moral support for Mom, eyes shifty but morbidly curious. A set of car keys hangs from a carabiner clip on the front loop of his jeans. He must have gotten his driver’s license.

  Gwennie’s on an iPad, bored as can be, and painting her fingernails. She’s just eleven months younger than Bowie, which means she'll drive soon, too.

  So much has changed.

  “Now, Lily, remember, it’s been fifteen months. You’ve only been awake for three weeks and your recovery’s been remarkable. They did what they had to do to your hair so they could treat you medically.” She plumps a pillow behind my back, her hand lingering on my shoulder with love. “It’s good to see you sitting up like this.”

  “Mom. Stop.” That’s all I can manage. What I want to say is Shut up! I get it. You’ve said this a million times. I’m an ogre. No one gets shot in the head without damage.

  Boy, is that the truth.

  “Yeah, Mom. Stop,” Bowie chimes in. His voice is soft. Bowie’s never soft, so it makes the small hairs on my skin stand up. “Lily is how Lily is. Looking in the mirror isn’t going to change that.”

  “Huh?” I ask him, the closest I can get to What the hell does that mean?

  “You’re alive, Lil. No one cares what you look like.”

  Mom smacks him, gently, on the knee. “That’s not nice!”

  When was Bowie ever nice to me? I want to ask, but with laughter. Our eyes meet. He sees what I want to say. We smile.

  Or, at least, I try to smile. From the weird way his eyes widen, I know my left side doesn’t cooperate. Doesn’t matter. I’m smiling anyhow.

  “We can let the hair grow out, and Dr. Plaistow–that’s your plastic surgeon, what a funny name! Almost like she was born to be a plastic surgeon, right?–she says there’s so much we can do, now that your blood flow is improving and you can give input into what kind of reconstructive surgery you want. When you were in the, uh...”

  Coma. Mom can’t say the word coma anymore.

  “When you couldn’t tell us, the doctors acted in the best medical way.”

  I turn to her and give her my best questioning look.

  “But it means there’s still a lot of work to do on making you look like you did before.”

  I nod. I take a long, deep breath. “’Kay. Red-dee.” I hate how I sound like a two-year-old learning to talk, but the speech pathologist says the more I try, the more I’ll improve.

  “Are you sure?”

  I nod.

  “I wish Tom could be here,” Mom says, chattering away nervously, holding the mirror in her hand. She’s tilted it away from me and I’m furious suddenly, a flash of anger burning like a hot-air balloon burner. Floom! It’s the fury that comes to me all the time now. I’m an independent adult. Treat me like one. Stop withholding what I want.

  And yet... I’m not independent. Not yet. Not even close.

  “Meer. Er.” I demand.

  Mom starts, her neck going back with surprise. “Mirror! Good job, Lily!” She uses a voice that makes me feel like a puppy that sat on command for the first time.

  I grit my teeth and give her my best death glare.

  “Fine. I was just saying your father’s still in rehab. A few more days and they say he can come home. The heart surgery was harder on him than anyone expected.” I know all of this, but when Mom’s anxious, she babbles.

  She also delays.

  Bowie stands up and, with uncharacteristic gentleness, takes the mirror out of Mom’s hands. “I’ll do it, Mom.”

  “Don’t you dare tease your sis–”

  He looks at her. She swallows the word halfway. Just like that, my kid brother looks like a grown-up. Mature. Compassionate.

  Serious.

  “Lil, it’s rough. I won’t lie.”

  Tears fill my eyes as he sits one hip on the side of the bed. This is the closest he’s come to me in ages. Leaning forward, he holds the mirror. I smell teen-boy cologne, sweat, and deodorant, along with the scent of a kid who has gone through way too much stress over the last year.

  None of this is fair.

  I’m seeing how much the unfairness has really invaded everyone and everything I love.

  The door makes a clicking sound and Bowie jolts, almost dropping the mirror. His body weight shifts and I nearly groan, the pain of my bones and muscles adjusting on the fly making it so hard. People don’t understand, when they have healthy bodies, how one tiny little change can hurt me in so many different ways.

  And good.

  Good that they don’t know.

  Because I would never wish this on anyone.

  “I’m–sorry. Interrupting.” It’s Duff. The door shuts quickly and we’re left with Bowie twisted to look at Duff’s disappeared self, Mom staring at the mirror like it’s about to bite her, and me.

  Staring at the mirror like I’m about to eat it.

  Our appearance doesn’t define us.

  But you try spending nearly fifteen months not looking at yourself, even once, in a mirror or a lake or a shop window. I’m rebuilding my sense of self one nerve impulse, one vocal-cord vibration at a time.

  Time to add one look, too.

  Or more than one look.

  “Bow. Ee. Now.”

  Teenage boys don’t respond well to being told what to do, especially by their older sisters, but Bowie snaps to attention. He seems relieved to have something to do, even if it’s this.

  The mirror rotates in his hand. Mesmerized by how effortlessly his wrist moves, the connection of tendons, muscle, and bone all running lines of communication to his brain, where only nanoseconds pass between intent and action, I find myself lost in the dream of moving like Bowie one day.

  A flick of the wrist is like climbing Mount Everest to me.

  “Lily?” Mom asks softly.

  My eyes dart up to the mirror.

  Oh.

  Oh.

  Oh.

  Breath moves fast, like a train engine huffing, the sound filling my nose and ears as some part of me reacts to what I see. They were right.

  They were wrong.

  They were being polite.

  All these months, they were praying for a monster to wake up. Because that’s what I look like.

  A Lily-shaped mo
nster.

  A preternatural calm floods me, the opposite of panic. It makes my heart stop for a second. No, it doesn’t. It just feels like it, because if my heart stopped, the machines would beep and someone would come rushing in like it was an emergency but oh my God, this is the true emergency because I’m dying all over again right now.

  I’m staring into my own face and I am dying.

  “Lily?” Her voice cuts through the shrieking vortex inside me, but it’s not enough. I can’t attend to what I see and try to say all the right things. I can’t pretend to be okay anymore. I have to use all my energy not to claw my own face off.

  And I can’t even do that because my arms won’t lift above the elbow.

  “Giff.” Damned if I won’t grab the mirror myself and hold it. Bowie looks at Mom as I lift my hand and bat at the edge. She nods.

  He hands it to me.

  Tipping my head down to look at the reflection makes me dizzy. I don’t care. My neck folds in and a lump forms in my throat. I’m sure the oxygen sensor is about to go nuts but nothing matters.

  This is me.

  This is me now.

  I’ve been fighting for this?

  “It’s–Lily? Sweetie? Please. Say something.”

  I close my eyes. I lean back. I let the tears fall down the sides of my face.

  “I told you we’d get the plastic surgeon in here!” Hysteria travels up and down my mother’s voice like it’s running a marathon, pacing itself, in for the long haul. “I promise you, Lily! We can do whatever it takes to make you feel good again.”

  Only a time machine can do that.

  “Alone,” I gasp, eyes closed as she pats my hands, my knee, my cheek. I flinch at the last one, turning my head as far as I can, curling my lip into a snarl.

  She makes a whimpering sound. Shuffles echo in my ears. Mom pleads with Bowie, who is practically dragging her out of the room. Bowie whispers words I can’t hear because cotton has filled my head again, electricity running through it, lips turning numb and eyes burning like coals.

  Romeo turned me into a monster.

  He shot me in the back of the head and like Humpty Dumpty, they put me back together again. Mom assembled all the king’s horses and all the king’s men and all the king’s doctors and got her Lily to stay alive underneath.