“He’s not my boyfriend.” Paula could feel her face heat.
“Oh, he’s cute, though.” The nurse kept a steady focus on her watch. “You should ask him out. I think he likes you.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. So, do you know how Lark is doing?” She trembled at the thought of hearing bad news.
“I asked post-surgical about her.” The nurse dropped her wrist and wrote something down in her chart. “They say she’s doing great. She pulled through the surgery like a real trooper.” She studied the IV drip and adjusted it. “She’s got a long road ahead of her, but nowadays they work miracles with those prosthetics.”
Paula turned her head away. “So they couldn’t save her leg?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, dear.” The nurse patted her on the arm. “From what I understand, it was a pretty bad injury. She lost a lot of blood...almost died on the table. But she pulled through. She’ll be fine. I promise. It’ll just take some time.”
“She almost died?” Paula’s breath caught in her throat.
“She’s fine. Weak, but fine.” The nurse wrote a few more things in Paula’s chart and put it back in its holder at the foot of the bed. “Do you want to see her?”
All her worries about Will and the box left her head. “Can I?”
“I’d probably need to walk with you, but I can take you up to her room if you’d like. I’m sure she’d love to see a friendly face.”
***
When Paula entered Lark’s room, fear raced through her. Several beds held patients in various states of consciousness, beeping monitors, tubes and wires snaking everywhere — it was like a scene out of a horror movie.
Seeing her friend lying on in the far bed near the window, her pale face stripped free of its usual heavy make-up, however, calmed her.
“Hey, Lark, it’s me.” Paula rolled her IV over, sat in an empty chair, and squeezed her hand. “How are you doing?”
Lark’s eyes fluttered open. She mumbled.
“It’s Paula. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
For a minute, Lark’s eyes went in and out of focus. “Mom?”
“Your mom isn’t here. It’s me.” Guilt flooded through her. She had put her friend in the hospital. She had been the one to expose her to the box.
“Paula?” She struggled to sit up, then winced. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes. “My leg. Did they tell you?”
Paula squeezed her friend’s hand again. “Yes.”
“They say I was lucky it was only from the knee down...that it’s easier to...with a fitting for—” She swallowed, clearly having trouble coming to terms with her situation.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to explain anything.” Paula picked up a cup and offered it to Lark. “Do you want a drink of water?”
She nodded.
Paula thought about this simple act: taking a drink of water. How glad she was her friend could do that. How glad she was the surgeons had been able to save her life. To know she was the reason her friend ended up in the hospital, was more than Paula could take. If she hadn’t let Lark use the black box, none of this would have happened.
After a few sips, Lark grew more aware of her surroundings. “What happened to you?”
Paula had almost forgotten the bandages wrapped around her head. She touched the injured spot. “Oh, this? Nothing. Just a little cut on my head. I’ll be fine.”
“How did that happen?”
“It doesn’t matter.” She shrugged off Lark’s concerns. “I’m worried about you. Are you going to be all right?”
“Not you, too.”
“What?”
“Did they tell you I’m on suicide watch?”
“No—” Paula’s heart seized at those words.
“Apparently, they thought I stepped in front of that truck on purpose.”
Paula’s stomach heaved.
“I might have a history—” Lark touched the scars on her wrists, the old wounds. “But why would I do something like that?” She shuddered.
The words came out of her mouth before she could stop them. “Why do they think you did it on purpose?”
“Something about the guy driving the truck. He told the police I jumped behind the rear wheels just as he was backing up.”
“He probably said that to get out of trouble. Insurance stuff.” The way Lark looked away from her, however, Paula knew she didn’t believe her own words. Paula, knowing the power of the black box, didn’t believe it either.
“Can I ask you something?” Paula wanted to make sure she broached the topic gently.
Her friend took another sip of water. “Do you think they could make it a whiskey sour next time?” She jingled the ice around in the now empty cup and set it on the table next to her bed.
Paula sighed.
“What? It’s a joke.” Lark sobered and smoothed her hands across the blanket. “Go ahead, ask me something.”
Paula bit her lip before she spoke. “Last night, before the accident, did you feel any different than usual?”
“Different?” Lark stopped the smoothing. “Well, my leg felt a hell of a lot better.”
“Seriously, Lark, did you act or think any differently than you do any other day?”
“Well, I was pissed because I wasn’t supposed to close last night.” Lark rearranged herself on the stack of pillows and paled at the movement. “And maybe I was a little distracted.”
Paula tried not to think about the empty space under the blankets where her friend’s leg should’ve been. She needed to focus on the accident. “Distracted by what?”
“Oh, you’ll think I’m crazy.”
“No, I won’t.” She leaned in a little more closely. “What were you distracted by?”
“I know it sounds stupid, but my head was ringing. Like after a concert, when you’ve been standing next to the speaker for too long?” Lark’s gazed unfocused, as if she were back in that alley, living the accident all over again. “I sort of zoned out.”
“And—?”
Lark shifted uncomfortably under the blankets. “And that’s it.” She snapped back to the present.
“Nothing else?”
“Nothing else.” She looked at Paula, her eyes black pinpoints in a pale face. Without her usual dark make-up, she looked so small and frail under the stark white bed sheets.
“I’m sorry. I’ll drop it.” Paula gripped her friend’s hand again and gave a reassuring squeeze. “I think Nurse Ratchett is going to be back in a minute, so I’ll have to get going.”
“Already? It gets pretty boring in this place when you’re the only conscious one.” She jerked her head in the direction of the bed next to hers, where an elderly woman let machines do the breathing for her.
Paula smiled at her dark humor. Good old Lark. “The nurse told me you’ll be in your own room soon.”
“Yeah, then they’re going to turn me into the Bionic Woman.”
“It’s called prosthetics.”
“A girl can dream, can’t she?” Lark smiled wanly. She tired already. Her eyes a little duller than before.
“I’ll come back to see you again soon.”
“Okay. Not like I’m going anywhere.”
“Get some rest.” Paula brushed a few strands of hair away from her friend’s face. Lark’s eyes closed, and then she was lost to sleep.
The box had done this to her. Put Lark here in this hospital bed. She’d lost her leg, for God’s sake. Pritchard would have to pay for that.
Paula took careful steps out into the hallway. If she moved too quickly, dizziness set in. With her IV detached from that damn alarm, it was time to find her clothes and get dressed. She had something she needed to do.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Paula dug her keys out of her purse and walked to the lot where she’d parked her car last night. How lucky she’d been to leave her car here, lost among hundreds of other cars, rather than drive it home. The intruder might have found the box, their only tangible evidence and her
only means to fix herself.
The sun sunk low in the sky. The stark, empty branches of the bare trees stood out in dark relief against the low-hanging sun. A few hazy clouds hovered over the mountains in the far distance creating a peaceful scene for her drive home.
Although Paula worried that Will had yet to contact her, she had her own plans. Her mind swung between wanting to stop the whole black box project and expose the horror and wanting to fix herself with the one thing that seemed to help. Will could wait. He’d call if he was in trouble.
The box gave her the control she needed. With its help she could lead a normal life and not fear the unpredictability of her power. The box allowed her to gain the upper hand, but it also meant danger. She was playing with fire. She could be next on the suicide watch list.
Perhaps the box had already done damage to her.
As she drove, she discarded that thought. Even if she risked death, it was worth it. To live like she’d been for over a decade — afraid to bring people into her life, afraid to love and be loved — she couldn’t do it anymore. She just couldn’t.
When she should have made a right turn to go home, she found herself turning in a different direction, toward the Bull’s Eye. She and Lark would miss their standing drink date this week...and who knew how many weeks after that? A couple of beers would be the thing to dull the pain, numb her brain, put her in the right state of mind to follow through on her plans.
She parked outside the bar and looked up at the neon sign. Concentric circles lit up one at a time, like a dartboard, and then BULL’S EYE flashed across in big, bold letters.
As she sat in her car, she caught sight of herself in the rearview mirror. White strips of gauze were wrapped around her head like a mummy. She unwound it, one layer at a time. Probably not wise to be drinking with a head injury. She imagined her brother’s disapproval at her reckless behavior. She left the bloodied gauze on the seat next to her then touched the stitches behind her ear. They were raw, tender, swollen. But not bleeding any longer. Her hair would cover any mark.
Inside the bar, she took Lark’s favorite booth: in the back by the outdated jukebox and the dart boards. From there the two of them, huddled over cold bottles of beer, could see the whole bar. They liked to people watch and comment on the bar flies, college kids, and odd mix of people who chose the Bull’s Eye as their watering hole of choice. Putting quarters in the jukebox and picking their favorite songs, talking about the co-ed bimbos who’d come in the Bull’s Eye to try to get free drinks from the locals, or exchanging stories about work.
Tonight, though, Paula wanted to keep an eye on everyone. Make sure they left her alone. She didn’t recognize anyone who would bother her.
Ed, the bartender, stood behind the counter cutting up limes.
She caught his eye.
He nodded at her. He knew what she needed. Sometimes she came in several times in one week. Alone. Quiet.
A few seconds later he came over with a glass of beer. Dark. She set a twenty on the table.
“How many?” he asked.
“Just keep them coming. I’ll let you know.”
Ed nodded, his round, bald head glowing red under the dim lighting. “Why don’t you give me your keys, Crenshaw?”
“I’ll be fine.” The wound behind her ear throbbed. She took a gulp of her beer.
Ed shrugged. He was a nice guy, but he didn’t get in the way much.
When he headed back to the bar, she felt the first twinges. The growing sense of hyper-awareness. The tingle. The pressure behind the eyes. A feeling like a bubble of energy was building inside her head.
Now she wished she’d gone straight home, like she’d planned back in the hospital parking lot.
The pressure grew. It was as if her head was a steam pipe on the verge of bursting. She drank down her whole pint-glass of beer in a few swallows, but the effects weren’t going to be fast enough. This time she was too late.
Her hands shook. The glass dropped onto the table with a bang, tipping over and spilling what little beer remained.
Ed looked up from the bar.
Paula hid her shaking limbs under the table, squeezed her eyes shut, and tried her best to keep herself under control.
No, no, no. Not here. Not now. Please.
A wave of energy surged out of her. A barstool flew across the room. Ed dropped the knife in his hand, and his pile of limes scattered. A man, slumped over the bar, sat up so fast, he knocked his stool over.
“What the fuck?” he slurred, stumbling away from the quivering barstool, which had landed next to him.
Paula clenched her jaw, feeling another bubble of energy build inside her head. Sweat beaded on her brow. The lights dimmed and then grew brighter and brighter. The bulbs burst into waterfalls of glass.
Two blonde college girls, who had returned from the bathroom, screamed and ducked down, trying to protect themselves.
Ed crouched behind the bar, his arm over his head. He held a cell phone to his ear.
Who was he talking to? The police?
Paula’s body flashed hot and cold. She had to get out of here—before more waves came, before she really hurt someone.
The bar was now dark enough she could slip out the front door without anyone noticing. As she made her way to the car, another spasm of energy jerked out of her.
A scooter leaning against a parking meter went flying into the street. A car swerved to avoid hitting it. The driver honked. Paula ran.
Streetlights popped down the street as she fled, following her.
The box. She needed to get home and set up the box.
She’d never experienced so many waves of energy before. She had to get it under control. She had to try her best to stop this disease inside her once and for all. Kill the monster that had ruled her life for so many years. It had to stop now.
She slammed her car door shut. The tingling in her hands lessened. The pressure behind her eyes ebbed away. In a matter of moments, she felt like herself again.
Looking out into the street in front of her, the car that had crashed into the scooter was still stopped in the middle of the road, its hazard lights flashing. This was going to be the last accident. The last mistake.
Chapter Twenty-Five
She drove up to her house as if it were any other Friday evening. The neighborhood was quiet. Most families were inside together getting ready for dinner.
Paula had a much different plan.
She parked her car and looked at the black box next to her. It sat there as if it had been waiting for her. Its black, seamless face made her shiver.
It was only a box. A little black box. Nothing to be afraid of.
She picked it up.
***
Paula had a tidy basement. Cardboard boxes filled the shelves and pieces of abandoned furniture lurked in the corner. A toilet that had seen better days sat up off the cement floor on two-by-fours, and the washer and dryer were hooked up next to a paint-splattered laundry sink. How appropriate that the basement would be her safe place to experiment on herself when only hours earlier an attacker had laid in wait for her here.
She carried the little black box down the stairs. A single bulb hung from the low ceiling and put out a weak light which couldn’t penetrate the shadowy corners. But she could fix that.
She dragged an old picnic table under the light bulb, swept her hand across the dusty surface, and set the box down.
Perfect. That would work just fine.
A foldaway cot leaned up against the shelves. It looked sturdy enough. She unfolded it. A musty scent rose from the thin foam mattress tucked away inside. This wasn’t about comfort, and she didn’t plan on very much sleep. She set up the cot in a dark corner away from the glaring light bulb.
When she finished, the black box sat on the picnic table along with a thick notebook and several pens to record her self-experimentation. Then, she went up the stairs, closed the door, and turned the lock.
She leaned against it and looked
down into her new living space. Her eyes focused in on the black box. She hated that thing for what it did to Lark. She wanted nothing more than to pick it up and smash it on the concrete floor. But she knew what it could do for her. Something she desperately needed to try before she could it let go.
She descended the steps, sat at the picnic table, uncapped her pen, and turned on the box.
***
Paula had been in the basement for hours, switching the box on and off, waiting for something, anything to happen.
Her ability appeared without warning. Sometimes, very rarely, she could tamp it down inside, but most often it burst free with the unpredictability of a wild animal. Like tonight in the bar. That had been her worst episode in a long time.
She tried forcing her ability to come forward with the box on, then did the same with the box off, writing down the results in her notebook to see if she had incremental progress.
Hour after hour.
Her back ached. The seat was hard as stone.
Upstairs, her cell phone rang incessantly. She’d forgotten to turn the ringer off. She suspected Will called wondering where she was, or maybe her brother wanting to know the same thing.
The cement basement muffled the ringing, it sounded so far away. And she needed to be down here, in the dank and the shadows. If her ability manifested itself here, she’d harm no one but herself.
She flicked off the box. Time to see if she could direct her telekinetic energy.
Make the notebook move off the table.
She focused her mind on the shape and size of the notebook. On its crisp, lined pages and the wire spiral curling through its spine.
The cover fluttered. The notebook trembled, as if a small earthquake had struck.
The pressure built behind her eyes, and the energy inside her mind reached out into the room. She’d never been able to focus so directly on one object before.
Her hands gripped the edge of the picnic table. A splinter dug its way into her thumb, but she ignored it. Her mind grabbed hold of the notebook and made it rise in the air.
The Little Black Box Page 15