The Murmurings

by West, Carly Anne

  Sighing, I say, “I won’t go to Oakside. Not until you get back.”

  His brow crinkles. He doesn’t believe me.

  “I promise, okay? Just hurry home.” I say grudgingly.

  This conjures a tiny smile. “Trust me, I’m going to want to get back in a hurry. But not to go to Oakside.”

  And with that, he leans across the console, my hands still in his, and finds my lips with surprising efficiency. He kisses me hard. It’s as if he’s taking out the rest of his anger on my mouth. And while I know this should make me mad, and it sort of does, I find myself pushing back against him, like we’re fighting without saying a word. A low groan comes from his throat, and I return it with a gasp, my breath buried under the weight of his mouth. I can’t pull away. Then, he moves his mouth toward my neck, his lips soft and pliable under my earlobe. He whispers, “I don’t know how I’m going to concentrate on football.”

  I pull away for the second time today, but this time it’s even more difficult than the first. “Just focus on coming home quick.”

  He unlatches his seat belt and slides from the door, pausing for a second to rest his head on the window, his eyes closed in what almost looks like pain.

  “Be good, Sophie D.,” he says, sliding into the driver’s seat of his car.

  I’ve just turned around to go inside when he says, “Wait.”

  Leaning into the backseat, he reemerges from his car and trots over to me, a balled-up football jersey in his hands.

  I crinkle my nose.

  “It’s clean,” he chuckles. “I don’t need this one. Just keep it. To help you remember your promise.”

  I roll my eyes and take the jersey from him. My lips are still burning from our kiss as I watch him pull away and round the corner.

  The house is empty when I walk in.

  There’re no liquor bottles on the counter, no melted ring of condensation telling me where there used to be a glass. I make my way to Mom’s room and find the bed not only empty, but made.

  “Mom?” I ask the house, the walls, the furniture, the stale smell that comes from staying in a home without really living in it. “Mom, I’m home!”

  When I don’t get an answer, I drag my phone from my bag and search for missed calls, but find none.

  I go to the fridge and try to find something to eat. I’m not hungry but know my body actually does need food. I forage through the fridge with zero enthusiasm, my mind engrossed in our conversation with Adam. The way he looked at us with his black eyes. The abandoned shack where he’d tried to keep Nell safe when my mom and I couldn’t. Adam’s words roll back on me like a wave licking the sand, depositing little shells each time it returns.

  There’s always a tiny piece of evidence left behind.

  He won’t accept that she’s gone. What’s left isn’t her at all.

  Everything she said was the truth. You know it and I know it. The question is, what are you going to do about it?

  My appetite is even more dampened than it was a second ago, but I emerge from the fridge with a block of cheese and an apple. That’s when I see the note on the fridge.

  Going to AA with AB. Should be food in the fridge for dinner.

  Love, M

  I blink at the note for a few seconds before returning the cheese and apple to the shelf where I found them.

  “Well, what do you know?” I ask the refrigerator with enough sarcasm to quell any excitement. I know the disappointment that’s bound to follow. This is no different from all of the other times Mom’s promised to quit. Sure, she’s never actually gone so far as to attend an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting, but that was probably the only way to get Aunt Becca off her back. And when Mom’s spooning a bottle of gin in her bed two days from now and apologizing to the air, she’ll be the only one who’s surprised.

  I go to change my bandage and decide to let it get some air so it’ll scab over. Then I change into Evan’s practice jersey, which reminds me of the way his bedroom smells, and a pair of old cotton shorts and lie down on my bed. Adam’s voice tunnels through my brain.

  “Enough,” I tell it. “Enough for tonight. I can’t think anymore.”

  Besides, if I keep thinking about everything Adam told us today, I’m more likely to break my promise to Evan and go to Oakside before he gets back.

  I leave my room and crack the door to Nell’s. I still enter her room with the same hesitation as when she was alive. I peer around the door and wait for an approval that will never come. But it still feels right to make the gesture.

  I slide Nell’s journal from its home between her mattress and the box spring, and crack open the composition book to where I left off: the entry after the poem Kenny slipped me right before he gave me a concussion.

  We went outside today, MM and I. They took LM to the room, so it was just the two of us. We couldn’t stand waiting around for him to get back.

  So we pretended. It was like we were five years old. Neither of us laughed at the other. It was almost as if we had a pact: She could be a fairy and I could be a 1920s Hollywood starlet, and neither of us would call the other one out and say it was stupid. It was stupid, though, and I think we both knew that. But we played for almost an hour out there in the courtyard, making believe cacti were clouds made of marshmallows and light posts were poles that led down to underworld caverns where we could hide out from orderlies and doctors and mirrors.

  I stop for a second and close my eyes to envision the world Nell and MM created in their imaginations. It doesn’t take me long to picture it. Nell was like a magician. She was always so good at evoking something from nothing. And even though I know what comes next, and even though I hate reading it, I do it anyway.

  Then we went back inside and found LM in the rec room. He had a pile of green Legos around him, and we knew. But he wasn’t playing with them. He sat there, staring. The way we all do afterward. Just staring.

  I knew whatever it was they made Nell do, made MM and Kenny see, it was bad. I’d wanted to believe that Nell was at Oakside to get better. That these treatments were somehow okay. Now I know better. Adam knew how much danger Nell was in with those people at Oakside.

  I took MM by the hand and we sat next to LM while he stared at the Legos they made him earn. Now that he had them, it was like he didn’t know what to do with them.

  MM tried to make conversation so it wouldn’t be so quiet and told me she would give back all the glossy treats in their crinkly bags to be out of this place. She said she’d never eat them again if it meant we could all leave. It’s been her home for practically three years, an eternity next to my six months. And I didn’t know what to say, so I told her that then I’d have to come up with another name for her. That made her laugh, and that made it a good day.

  I reread the last few sentences. Whenever I’d read this passage before, I’d focused solely on the way Nell had taken this girl as her friend—made it her responsibility, like the big sister she was, to make the girl feel better. In a strange way, it had made me a little jealous to read that Nell took care of other people too. I know it was probably my way to avoid feeling guilty. But something about the passage strikes me differently now.

  It’s been her home for practically three years.

  And what she said about “glossy treats” in “crinkly bags.” I think back to Evan returning from the vending machine at the rest stop, little yellow bags crinkling in his grip.

  They’re my favorite. Actually, they were Deb’s favorite. After she went away, I sort of picked up the habit. Almost like a tribute to her or something.

  “M&M’s,” I say aloud to the empty house. “MM. Oh my God,” I breathe. “MM. M&M. Nell nicknamed her after her favorite candy. MM is Deb.”

  I blink at the journal as I let the cover close. I stare at the marbled cardboard for a long time.

  Deb is the one Nell befriended in Oakside. And that means that she could be the other Seer that Adam was talking about. Evan’s aunt and uncle never brought her to Florida. She’s be
en here the whole time.

  And if that’s true, she and Kenny are in more danger than even Adam realizes. He wasn’t in that little gray room with Dr. Keller like I was. He didn’t feel the weight of Dr. Keller’s hand pinning him to the gurney.

  “I’m sorry, Evan,” I whisper.

  Because I have to break my promise to him. I have to see if Deb really is the other Seer at Oakside, and it can’t wait until he gets back.

  I reach for my phone to tell Evan what I’ve discovered, but decide against it. If I’m wrong, I’ll have gotten Evan’s hopes up for nothing. I’ll go first, just to verify that MM is Deb. If I’m wrong, Evan will never have to know. But if I’m right, all of this hurt might finally lead to something good.

  Nell David—Patient #402

  December 21

  Things are different now, and I can’t help but feel all of this is happening too late. I want to enjoy the feeling. What is it called? Love? How would I know, if I’ve never felt it before? Dr. Keller, are you reading this? Maybe you can shed a little light on it for me. I’m sure you could, but I won’t let you get that close. Bet on that. In fact, consider this the last little window you’re going to get into my brain.

  For the first time in my life, I feel really heard. When we talk, I get the feeling Adam wants to know more about me. So is that love? Or am I just so desperate to connect with someone who doesn’t think I’m a freak that I’m willing to jump at the first guy who doesn’t shrink away like I’m infected. Maybe he just cares. To be honest, I almost don’t mind if he acts like this with everyone. It doesn’t matter if it’s love, or sympathy, or how people who work in a dump like this are actually supposed to treat people.

  I’ve told him everything. I mean everything. He knows all of me now. He knows about the voice, the thing in the mirrors, how I tried to stop it. He knows about my mom and the way she looks at me, about how terrified I am of letting Sophie down, and about when it all started. I feel totally naked around him now, and I don’t even care.

  I’m still scared. I’m scared all the time. I can’t look in a mirror, as much as they get me to try. But now I have someone to tell. And he doesn’t pull his hand away. He keeps it on my shoulder, warm and big, as he towers over me like a giant. He’s the only one in the world I can see. If he could just stay with me forever, I might be okay.

  14

  * * *

  I DIDN’T SLEEP AT ALL last night. Not surprisingly, I had dreams of M&M’s. All kinds. Peanut, plain, peanut butter. Red ones. Blue ones. They were falling from the sky like primary-colored snow. At first it was fun. But then they started pouring, and they were whacking me in the head, and I had to find shelter. Evan was there, but he couldn’t get me out of the way fast enough, so he took cover somewhere out of sight. Then I saw Nell. She was reaching for me, and I grabbed her hand, but when I looked into her face, it shriveled in on itself like it was decaying. I screamed and let go, but just as I did, I heard the echo of that horrible murmuring in my ear.

  When I woke up, my neck right below my ear was damp, and it wasn’t from sweat.

  Mom went out “booth shopping” with Aunt Becca today. I guess it’s too intimidating to say “looking for a job.” She’s hoping to rent a booth at a salon again. Since Aunt Becca drove, Mom’s car was just sitting there, a full tank of gas, waiting for me to take it. The keys dangling from the hook by the door taunting me.

  As I pull into the nearly empty parking lot at Oakside, I tell myself over and over that I don’t have a choice. If Evan’s cousin really is in there—if I can help get her out, if she can tell me what’s really going on at Oakside, then maybe I can avoid the same fate. Maybe we can stop Dr. Keller.

  I know it’s a terrible idea. I thought of Evan all morning, that look he gave me in the car last night, the way he pleaded with me to not do the very thing I’m doing right now. I really did try to talk myself out of it. I tried all day, which is why I’m here at dusk—the exact time of day that I didn’t want to be here.

  There’s a reason I never came to Oakside at night. It wasn’t just because their posted visiting hours are only during the daytime. If we’d really wanted to, Mom or I could have claimed an emergency and seen Nell whenever we wanted. But as unnerving as this place is during the day, I knew it would be that much worse at night.

  Crickets provide the only background noise as my footsteps sound on the parking lot asphalt. I parked under the only functioning lamp; the rest are either burnt out or dying a slow, flickering death. Taking this precaution seems silly now with the gray light surrounding me, but I’ll be glad for it when I come back to my car. It’ll definitely be dark by then. The problem is, I can’t really envision what my return trip will look like. I haven’t taken the plan that far yet.

  A light is already burning above the “welcome” mat at the first set of sliding glass doors. The hum of its electricity makes me flinch. But the doors slide open on their automatic sensor to let me in, and while I know they’re on a sensor, I hate the idea that anyone knows I’m here.

  Once they close behind me, I look to the Plexiglas window on my left, prepared to face the grimace of some disgruntled orderly—or maybe even the Pigeon—before they let me through the second door. But for the first time in all my visits, the booth, with its microphone and red admitting button, stands empty.

  I step toward the second set of doors, but nothing happens. I tense with the memory of the thing I saw reflected when I came to retrieve Nell’s things.

  “Hello!” I yell to the window, eager to get in and get out as soon as possible.

  My plan is loose, but I’ve told myself it’s enough. I just need to say that I want to see Kenny, tell him I’m sorry for upsetting him last time. After the way he clocked me, they’re probably so afraid of getting sued that I’ll get a couple of minutes with him.

  I just need to ask him about Deb. I need to know if she’s really here. If I can confirm that she’s not in any immediate danger, then I’ll wait until Evan gets back from all-star camp, and together we can figure out what to do. He’ll be pissed I came alone, but when he finds out Deb’s here, I know he’ll understand why I had to do it. But first I have to get those minutes alone with Kenny—asking him about Deb is another story.

  “Hey, can someone let me in? Hey!”

  Still nothing. The glass contains the volume of my voice, as if I’m a bug trapped in a jar.

  “Is anybody th—?”

  The doors part.

  I glance back at the admitting window. It’s as empty as it was before.

  I brush a chill from my arm and tell myself that the door must be on a sensor in the evening. Probably some sort of budget cut to keep from having to pay an orderly to sit there during non-visiting hours.

  But when I step into the lobby, I’m alone. From the reception desk to the recreation room where I’d had my incomprehensible conversation with Kenny, it is empty and still.

  I take a couple of tentative steps toward the reception counter, half expecting some cranky, white-smocked orderly to pop up from behind the desk jack-in-the-box style. But as I stand on my toes to peer over the desk’s ledge, I see nothing but boxes of Xerox paper and piles of manila files, each marked with a patient number.

  I look behind me again. A single tower of Legos sits in the middle of the rec room table. It is made entirely of green blocks. All I’d wanted was some private time to talk with Kenny. But I hadn’t expected there wouldn’t be anyone here. It doesn’t seem right. Something seems off.

  “Hel . . . hello?” I say in a tone hovering just above a whisper. Pathetic. I try again.

  “I need to talk to someone,” I say in a voice I’m hoping is more assertive than how I feel. But the way it trembles from my lips tells me I came up short.

  All of a sudden, getting answers out of Kenny is the last thing I want.

  The urge to get out of here is palpable. I’ve felt afraid before, and I’ve known when it’s my own chicken-shit attitude that’s trying to get me to run. But this i
s different. Almost primal.

  I glance once more toward the recreation area before deciding to leave. I’ll have to find out if Deb is MM some other way.

  I step toward the doors and wait for them to open the way they did at my entry, but they stay sealed like two tightly pressed lips, refusing to let me out. I duck around the corner. As I go to push the red button, I announce, “I’ll just let myself out.”

  Something sharp pinches the back of my thigh. I stop dead.

  “Ow! What the—?”

  I turn and scream.

  There, not three inches from my face, is a set of wild blue eyes and a shining dome of a head. In his hand, a large plastic syringe drips something clear.

  “Kenny, what did you—?”

  But I can’t finish my sentence. My eyes drop to Kenny’s bare feet. I can’t think straight. Everything is dark.

  “Kenny, help . . . ”

  “I’m sorry. I had no choice. They gave me all the green ones I wanted.” His blue eyes sparkle.

  “Now you’ll see what she saw.”

  • • •

  I can’t see. My head is thudding and I can’t see.

  “Open your eyes. You have to look!”

  I can’t tell if that’s my own voice. No. It’s different. High. Breathy.

  I feel like I’m swimming in the dark. Why can’t I see?

  “Wake up now! You have to look!”

  But I can’t see. I can’t wake up. I can’t—

  I start to open my eyes, but it’s too bright. I shut them again, squint, put my hands up to shield them. There’s pounding in my head. No, somewhere close by. Pounding and shouting.

  “Now! Look NOW!”

  Someone pulls at my hands, tugs them.

  I’m in a room with Kenny. His bulging blue eyes are frantic. His chin shakes, and his hands are slick and cold with sweat. But his grip is firm, unyielding. He lets go of my hands and turns me to face a mirror.

  “No!”

  I try to wrench my head away, but his hands hold it in place like a vise. And soon, I’m staring. There’s something there other than my reflection. Something behind my reflection.