Hollow Stars

by Lauryn Dyan

  ***

  “No!” I scream. “No! This isn’t my fault! You can’t keep me here. He’ll find me. It’s not safe!” Now lucid, I struggle against the arms of the orderlies as they bring me down the hall and into my room at the asylum.

  ***

  “No!” I scream, wishing my pitch could shatter glass. I launch myself at Samantha as she pushes the plunger, knocking her over and dislodging the needle in the process. The syringe hits the floor and before anyone can react, I pin it down with my foot and crouch to expel whatever liquid is left before snapping the needle off. A hint of wetness seeps through my slipper and I have to hope that means she didn’t inject the full dose into Rickly.

  I don’t check if Samantha has recovered from my body slam, I only have one thought: Rickly. I turn. He’s crumpling in Davey’s arms, eyelids fluttering closed.

  “No!” I shriek, as Davey discards him like a sack of potatoes and he slumps to the floor beside the desk. Maybe I’ve temporarily saved myself, but I’ve hardly won.

  “You fucking bitch!” I roar, spinning back toward Sam. She’s crouched on the floor mourning the broken syringe. I sense Davey approaching from behind but, before he can touch me, I throw myself on top of her, pinning her down, and begin punching her in the face with both fists, appearances be damned. Unfortunately, I don’t get in nearly enough to be satisfied. Davey’s arms quickly encircle me, pulling me off of her. She stands shakily as he locks me in his grasp, her posture defeated.

  I’m still flailing against him when she bolts upright, a light going off in her eyes.

  “Plan B,” she hisses. She reaches down into her pocket to pull out the forgotten, half-empty vial. She doesn’t bother to open the lid. Smashing the top off on the side of Craig’s desk she rushes at me, jamming the broken bottle into my mouth. I kick and fight as best I can, but Davey has me ensnared like a mouse in a trap. As I struggle, I taste blood and something acidic with an aroma as strong as bleach. I spit and scream as she backs away. “Fuck you!” I croak.

  She shatters the now empty glass on the floor with a weighted throw. As the door to the office swings open, she shrinks into the wall to let the guards burst in on the image I’d wanted to avoid: me going batshit crazy trying to attack the attackers.

  “I need some help here,” Davey calls to his faux-fellow employees. I want to protest, but the edges of my vision are hazy, and I lose all consciousness as their footsteps approach.

  ***

  Strapped to my bed. Then and now. I let the drugs pull me further under.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  “Liars,” I mumble, to the silhouette hovering over me. “They’re liars...not Ben...she’s a fake...don’t believe them.” My words are coming out garbled like I forgot how to form them. I lick my lips that feel too big for my mouth and cringe at the sting as my tongue meets split tissue.

  “Shh, Kennedy. It will be all right,” the blurry figure soothes. It’s my mother.

  “We’re both here,” a deeper voice says, from a distance. My father. The sound floats to me as if through a tunnel. Am I dreaming or is this real? I don’t know how to tell. A hand caresses my hair and I drift back into darkness.

  ***

  “Empty and gone, forgotten and wrong

  The words are an echo that can’t be defined

  Playing the pawn, in secret and song

  The pictures are broken and can’t be aligned”

  I belt out the lyrics to a faceless crowd. The band accompanies me with the melody I composed for my song but the cadence is wrong; like there’s a metronome ticking at a different tempo overpowering the beat of the drums. I look behind me to my bandmates for answers, but no one is there. I stand alone on the stage, the ticking growing louder and more distinct as the seconds pass. As I spin around in dismay, I find the featureless audience is gone now too. The ticking accelerates with my panic and I squint into the nothingness in front of me for the source of the sound.

  “Kennedy.” I hear faintly. It’s not a malicious whisper like in the institution, but a sincere and warm tone that beckons me. It grows louder as does the relentless ticking.

  I’m dreaming or hallucinating, and reality is fighting to break through. My subconscious tries to run toward it, but my body is leaded down by a thousand, unseen sandbags. I struggle against the weight as something brushes my shoulder. The touch causes me to fumble helplessly. “I’m here! I’m coming!” But my shouts go unanswered. The ticking is now a beeping, steady and shrill.

  “I’m coming,” I cry, the tears warm and wet, the liquid parting my eyes and washing away the dark. I’m almost free.

  ***

  Fluorescent lights shine down on me. I struggle to focus but, as my double vision clears, the formulaic room layout and guardrails on my bed tell me I’m in a hospital. A true hospital, not a mental institution. The beeping from my dream continues to echo on a monitor to my right tracking my vitals, the spikes sharply coming and going. Pressure on my shoulder draws my attention to the left where Helena stands, concern overpowering her soft features that mirror mine.

  “Oh my goodness, you’re awake,” she breathes. “We were so scared.” She leans down to give me a tentative hug. I raise one arm slowly to pat her back but find my movements restricted by the IV stuck into my hand. As she withdraws, I note my knuckles above the clear tube are swollen and bruised. So I didn’t dream smashing in Samantha’s face. Thank God for that.

  Currently, it’s only me and my sister in the sterile room. She casts a worried glance at the door where a figure in black stands guard outside. Shit. Is it Davey? The beep, beep, beep of the monitor speeds up in proportion to my panic. I’m about to cry out but, based on the man’s stocky frame and short, red hair, I realize it’s not him. It would be pretty ballsy to pose as Ben here, but I wouldn’t put it past him, especially since it seems his plan failed if I’m lucid. I need to know what happened after his backup arrived at the asylum to guess if he’ll return.

  “Hang on one minute,” Helena says. “I’m going to get mom and dad. They went to eat in the cafeteria.” I nod, weakly, and attempt to put my anxiety in check at the prospect of being left alone. It’ll only be a moment.

  She quietly slips through the door, the guard shooting her a cursory glance as she descends down the hall.

  I close my eyes unwillingly, the lids heavy as though they weren’t ready to open. How long was I out? I try to piece together what happened, but my memories fade after Samantha smashed the bottle of meds she fought to jam down my throat. Some must have gotten in my system for me to be here but it wasn’t enough to incapacitate me permanently like she’d hoped.

  The door signals my attention with a small creak, and I open my eyes, begrudgingly. Despite the protesting ache, my smile pushes to the edges of my mouth at the sight of my mom and dad entering the room. Having them both here with my sister brings me a sense of warmth and peace I’m not sure I’ve ever known. I’m lucky to still have my family after all the shit I’ve been through.

  My mom beams through glassy eyes.

  “Welcome back, sweetheart.” I reach out with my non-IV’d arm to take her hand. She moves quickly to my side and my own tears threaten to spill from her touch. I long to enjoy this brief instance of serenity before I have to ask the questions that are sure to shatter it. Rickly’s name floats up from the depths of my mind. I stifle a gasp as I remember his broken, limp frame sinking to the cold floor. He has to be all right. I never got to tell him I’m sorry, and so much more.

  My dad and sister approach my bedside too, my dad more tentatively than Helena. I meet his gaze to ensure him I want him there as well. He relaxes and takes my other hand. So this is what it’s like to have two parents.

  My view of the door is obstructed by my mom and sister, but another creak signals a new addition to our reunion. My heart nearly skips a beat as I envision Rickly walking in, the picture of health and vitality with his golden locks. His face is all that’s missing from the surrounding scene.


  I’m too weak to get upright to spy my visitor, but it’s probably better I’m lying down anyhow to absorb the shock from what comes into view. Fucking Samantha.

  I swallow down a scream mixed with a stream of profanities, bottling my avalanche of emotions. The only sound betraying my heightened distress is the quickened pulsating of the monitor. I have no idea how to proceed. What fabricated stories has she told about our run-in at the asylum? If I freak out with no preamble, it will just add to my mental patient persona. It’s hard to break the stigma of crazy once you’ve earned the label. I need to give the illusion of calm so they don’t restrain or sedate me and wait for my opportunity to shatter her lies.

  The unnatural light is no friend to the black and purple bruises that haunt her face. Both eyes are marred by puffy bags makeup couldn’t cover, the black slipping from a sickly green to deep violet on one side where the bruise extends down her cheek. There’s a matching, quarter-sized welt on her chin from where Rickly clocked her with the paperweight. While I take satisfaction in my masterpiece, I’d rather not be viewing it firsthand. My skin crawls knowing if she’s standing here rather than off licking her wounds, she must not be done with me.

  “Hello, Kennedy,” she drawls. There is no hint of a smile or smirk on her swollen mouth. I rub my lips together reflexively and wince at the sharp stinging pain. “It’s good to have you awake so I have another chance with you.”

  While I register this for the veiled threat it truly is, my good-natured mother is oblivious.

  “We felt it was best you not have visitors other than family until you woke up,” she says. “Samantha has been beside herself waiting to talk to you.” Her apologetic tone contains a mix of gratitude and sympathy that makes my stomach turn.

  “I completely understand the need for privacy. I’m just glad Kennedy’s awake.” Samantha peers down at me. “I assumed we lost you that horrible night.”

  My face remains blank. I’m not sure if she wants me to play dumb and ask for details or protest her story before it begins.

  “Kennedy, what do you remember?” my dad asks. I shake my head, never letting my gaze drift from the vicious manipulator in front of me. She exchanges a knowing look with each of my parents as though my response is expected. Like they already predicted blackout girl wouldn’t recall what happened. Seriously, it’s hard to get out of the shadow of crazy.

  “I think I can help fill in the details,” Sam begins. “The night of the storm I couldn’t get you off my mind. I just kept picturing you there alone...and it had been so long since we’d talked. I guess it was lucky I was feeling guilty?” She gives a little laugh and I can tell by my family’s matching chuckles they’ve already bought whatever she’s sold. “When I got there, the place was chaotic, but the staff said they had everything under control. They agreed to let me see you under supervision in the usual visitor room.” She takes a deep breath as though this next part is particularly traumatizing and I want to applaud her acting skills. At least she doesn’t half-ass it. “I was on my way to you when Rickly found me.”

  His name on her poisonous lips makes me flinch and an almost imperceptible twinkle of delight lights her face as her eyebrows raise at my reaction. She wants to portray him as the bad guy, and I played right into it.

  “He knocked me out and dragged me into an office. When I woke, you were there too. He had you cornered and was threatening you with some sort of medicine in a syringe.” Her voice cracks. “It was awful seeing you petrified.” I’ll bet.

  “Luckily, Rickly didn’t know I was up. I managed to surprise him and take the needle, but that enraged him and he knocked me to the ground.” She flourishes at her mangled face and my mom whimpers in sympathy. “That’s when he forced you to drink what he had left of his drugs out of a broken vial. I reacted instantly. I still had the syringe, somehow, so I attacked him with his own needle.” She’s telling her story with such conviction, I almost believe it.

  “One of the guards came in a minute later and saw our struggle. He called for backup, but it was too late. Whatever he’d given you had done its damage, the toxins making you hostile in your delirium. The guard had to restrain you until help came and you passed out.”

  She pauses and regards each of us, her voice bleeding with mock sincerity.

  “I’m so sorry. Kennedy, you were right all along. We should have believed you when you told us Rickly was causing your issues.”

  That twisted bitch, turning my own words against me. It’s brilliant. I was the one who blamed him in the first place with such open hostility. Now she’s validating what I said like I should be grateful. She’s painted herself as the hero in more ways than one.

  Everyone waits expectantly for my reaction.

  “That’s an incredible story,” I say, through gritted teeth. A few months ago, I’d have been raising hell by now, but I know better. I will go along with this until I figure out how to reveal her true nature. I’ll be damned if I offer up a thank you though for her faux help. Instead, I ask a real question. “What happened to Rickly?”

  My mother pats my hand.

  “Don’t worry, honey. He can’t hurt you now.”

  Oh shit. My eyes dart from her to my father for an explanation.

  “That’s right, you’re safe. He got a dose of his own medicine,” he says. “Whatever he tried to give you has him unresponsive in a hospital bed right now.”

  “Unresponsive?” There’s real panic there, my façade threatening to crack.

  “Unresponsive,” Samantha answers. “But alive and guarded. He won’t be seeing you anytime soon.” A smile plays on her lips and for a second it appears she may not be able to disguise her pleasure. She took him out and now there’s no one to refute her story but me. She has the perfect scapegoat lying somewhere like a vegetable.

  “I should go now,” she adds. “Let you get some rest. We’ll talk more soon.”

  “Yes, we should all go and let you sleep,” my mom agrees. She glances at the clock. “The nurse will be by soon to check on you and give you your evening medicine.”

  I grasp the air for her hand again, not wanting her to leave.

  “Stay,” I beg, forcing my eyes to stay off Samantha.

  My mother needs no other implore and easily gives in.

  “Okay, sweetie. I’ll sleep here tonight if that’s what you want.”

  Samantha purses her lips in a brief flit of irritation that only I notice before she smiles and leads everyone out of my room. She watches me through the window a moment before she disappears, giving me the definite impression she’ll be back.

  ***

  You don’t realize that even in the dark, there are still shadows. My hospital room is an uneven canvas of black, the unrelenting blue and yellow glow from the various machines creating patches of hazy light. I’m not sure if it would be better to simply be in utter darkness. Right now, every subtle movement—a person heading down the hall past my drawn blinds, a branch swaying outside in the breeze—causes a shadow to shift and paralyze me with fear. I haven’t been this jumpy since Davey first appeared at the nurses’ station at the institute. At least here I have my sleeping mom keeping vigil.

  Thinking back on everything that happened both before and after that tattooed wrist taunted me, I can’t decide if my demise was because I was comically naïve or Samantha and Davey were amazingly maniacal. I was so sure it was Rickly by the end of the tour. Then I doubted my own sanity. It wasn’t until much later that I suspected Davey, and Samantha was never high on my list. Perhaps I was easily fooled but, in the end, it boils down to betrayal.

  The song from my dream on the empty stage replays through my mind.

  “Every day beside me lurks betrayal

  The suspects before me hope to break me”

  I should have seen they were trying to rip my band from me. It seems so obvious now. Hindsight is a real bitch.

  I focus on each line to fight the painkillers they gave me to help me sleep. I’m worried what might
happen when I drift off, but the exhaustion will inevitably win the battle.

  “Empty and gone, forgotten and wrong

  The words are an echo that can’t be defined”

  As I hum the bridge, I envision my paper in front of me. I’m transported back to my room in the asylum where I write with the lights off, the lyrics pouring from my hand with no effort. I scrawl the last repetition of the chorus before the image fades.

  Wow, that was another lost memory. The realization there’s still more there nearly takes my breath away. That wasn’t much in the grand scheme of things. A brush stroke amid many on a large, complicated canvas. Maybe, one day, I’ll get my other memories back, and maybe not. At least I know they’re safe somewhere in my mind, tucked away behind a curtain that can unexpectedly be drawn back.

  ***

  I wake groggily. I drifted off replaying my song over and over in my mind like a lullaby. My room is still dark, my mom softly breathing asleep on her pull-out chair bed in the corner. I rub my eyes with my non-IV’d hand to clear the haze.

  My head lulls fondly in the direction of my mother, but another figure blocks her form. A slight, female silhouette.

  “Night, night Shirley,” she whispers.

  “What the fuck did you do?” I hiss, as Samantha stands. I fumble for my remote with the call button for the nurse but can’t find it anywhere. She must have hidden it as soon as she came in.

  “Relax. Just giving her a sedative so she stays out through whatever commotion you’re about to make.”

  “Guard! Guard!” I yell, as loud as I can. The effort hurts my dry throat.

  The blinds to my window have been turned ever so slightly open and the guard peers in to check on me. A pale, white face with black hair waves and winks. Goddamn Davey. Fuck.