by Holly Hart
“There are active means of taking your own life—like what you did today—but a lot of people work up to that. Engage in risk-taking behavior. Crossing the street without looking. Driving drunk. Not keeping up with maintenance on a personal aircraft?”
I scoff. “It’s not a fucking Volvo. I didn’t maintain it myself. I—it....” Did I miss something? Forget to check some box? Sign off on something I shouldn’t have?
“Let’s try something else, then. What drew you to the, uh—” He checks his notes. “The Children of Greener Pastures?”
The...who? I bury my face in my hands. This is hopeless. Neil’s built me a labyrinth of lies, with insanity around every corner. The faster I run, the harder I hit the walls. “I don’t suppose you’d believe I have absolutely no idea who you’re talking about?”
Furstenburg sighs. Shuts his clipboard with a snap. “It’s getting late. You’re tired. We’ll pick this up in the morning.”
“Wait!” I can’t stay the night. Not here. I’ll lose it for real, locked up, helpless—I need to get out. Get myself some answers.
“You’ve had a rough day.” He smiles in a way that’s probably intended to be reassuring. “Tomorrow, we’ll get a clearer picture of your mental state, and we can go from there.”
No. No, no, no.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Lily
I keep my head down. Wayne’s laying it on thick. My neck’s prickling, my face burning, shame washing over me in waves. He’s making a fool of me—talking about me like a lost child. A wide-eyed victim. That’s never been me. I can’t look up. Can’t be seen like this. I focus on a loop of orange extension cord snaking past my feet.
“—knew right away he wasn’t all there. This here—” He’s angling his jaw to the cameras, showing off the shadow of his bruises. “—that’s from him. Came up on me in the hall, outside my hotel room. If I hadn’t fought him off, man... I don’t know what he’d have done.”
Liar. Liar.
“Thing is with Lil, here—she wants to see the light in everyone. She’s a sweet small-town girl, always will be. So I’m worried, ‘specially when I start hearing shi—uh, stuff—like, he’s hangin’ around the hotel bar, spoutin’ off conspiracy theories...hackers, plane crashes...weirdin’ the hell out of the bartender. Then I catch him tearin’ down Cesar Chavez, grabbin’ this tourist like he’s gonna tear him apart—”
Wayne shot that video? When? How? Only time I’ve been apart from Brandon, since his face healed, Wayne was trying to drown me in the dive tank.
“But we’ve all got that crazy ex, right? The one who steals our underwear, burns our garage down, blows up our phone till the battery wears out?”
That’s not Brandon—it isn’t. At all.
“I hope y’all won’t think less of her for wanting to connect with someone. To me, it’s sweet: she’s been through everything she has, and she still wants to believe in the goodness of humankind.” He takes my arm, hiding his bruising grip under the drape of my sleeve. “And speakin’ of goodness, the real reason we’ve called this press conference: Maidenfang’s bringin’ on an incredible new talent—a drummer who’s ready to take that trademark sound to the next level!”
My head snaps up. No!
“I wanna introduce Jake Walters. Now, he was in the band before they got famous, so this is—”
Mark’s looking at me like I’ve stabbed him in the gut. I shake my head—I didn’t know!—but he’s already turning on his heel. Stalking off, Jed and Adina in tow. I’ll undo this, of course, as soon as Schenck comes through...if he comes through. If it’s not too late.
“Lily! Lily—what are your thoughts on the—”
“Jake Walters, everyone!”
Cameras flash. We’re being pelted with questions from every direction. It’s chaos, too loud to make myself heard. I look straight into the one camera still focused on me and deliberately raise my hand to my choker, tapping the stone. At least if Brandon sees, maybe, maybe he’ll know this wasn’t me.
If he doesn’t, I might just have lost everyone I had left.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Brandon
It’s never truly quiet here, even in the dead of night. If I wasn’t paranoid before, it’d be easy to get that way, with the whisper of white coats, the slap of soft shoes, a constant in the background. Every so often, a shadow appears across the door. Or a voice is raised in protest, or someone goes by with a rattling cart. And there’s a tap dripping, somewhere out of sight—every twenty-two seconds...plop.
I roll over on my side. Where’d they find pillows this thin, sheets this scratchy? Maybe I should treat this place like a bad hotel: demand the manager. Another doctor. Someone who’ll listen—who’ll pick up their phone and confirm my story.
The light changes: that shadow’s back. Someone looking in at me. Taking a headcount, no doubt. I lie still and pretend to be asleep. Tossing and turning all night, that’s not going to look great on whatever running evaluation they’re doing.
The shadow lengthens, crawling up the wall and vanishing into the dark rectangle of the window. He’s coming in, then. Or she’s coming in. I shut my eyes and concentrate on deep, regular breaths. Footsteps approach, pause, and close in again. I stiffen, despite myself. A hand descends on my shoulder, turning me onto my back.
“What—?”
And he’s pressing a cloth to my mouth, holding it down. My shout vanishes into the fabric. He’s got a needle, beaded at the tip with some clear fluid—I toss my head as he aims it at my scalp, trying to inject something under my hairline. Where the mark won’t be found—he’s going to kill me. Here. Now. With an unscratched itch above my elbow, one sock hanging off my foot....
I squint in the dark, trying to make out his face. A stranger—never seen him before. Light hair, dark eyes, what looks like a mole above his lip. Big: trying to buck him off’s getting me nothing but worn out. His arms are twice as thick as mine, one massive hand cutting off my air, the other poised. Waiting. The tip of the needle sparkles just inside my peripheral vision, that heavy drop of something quivering in the moonlight.
Can’t let it happen. Didn’t walk away from the plane crash to give up here.
Surely someone’ll come by. Soon...now....
I bring up my knee, aiming for his groin, but the tight-stretched sheet stops my momentum at a feeble kick.
Not like this....
I bite and taste nothing but cotton. Hit out and claw smooth, well-oiled leather. My head’s starting to swim.
What now?
I relax and go limp, letting my eyelids droop. If he thinks I’m already unconscious, maybe there’ll be a moment, an instant where I can—
He shifts on top of me, pinning my arm at my side. Lines up the needle. I can’t look, can’t not look. Can’t move my head. The needle closes in, doubling and blurring in my fading vision. I feel the prick, metal on bone—or maybe I’m imagining....
No!
I buck one more time, twisting to the side. The stranger curses as the needle breaks off. I gag at the thought of it in there, stuck under my skin, but there’s no time to dwell on it. He’s yanking my head up, pulling my hair so hard I feel my scalp sting.
“Want it the hard way then?”
He drives a fist into my stomach, knocking the last of my breath out of me. Two fat fingers shove their way into my mouth, pushing a pill to the back of my tongue. I retch and spit. He forces another one in, plugging my nose to keep me from clenching my teeth.
“Murder....” I’m trying to call for help, but he takes it as an accusation.
“Suicide.” He punches me again. I gasp, and the first pill slides down my throat.
“No....”
“Oh, yeah. Looks like whoever had the room before you was stashing these under the mattress. And you happened to find them in your, uh, dark night of the soul.”
“Hel—”
He claps his hand over my mouth, thumbing more pills past my teeth. I haven’t swallowed any
more, but the casings are melting on my tongue. Already, I can taste something thick and bitter. Now or never...now or never...now or—
I wrench my arm free and go for him, punching, scratching, going for his throat, his belly, his thighs, anything I can reach. He drops the bag of pills and grapples with me. If he pins me again—he can’t. My grasping fingers find something hard and cold. I tug at it. A strap pops free, and...a gun. I’ve got a fucking...I’ve got a....
“Fuck!”
I squeeze my eyes shut, press the muzzle to his belly, and fire.
Nothing happens.
He laughs, a ghastly hiss of a thing, quiet as a whisper. I haul off and smash him with the handle, once, twice, till I feel teeth crack. The tap drips. Someone laughs, down the ward. He falls on his side, and I follow, pushing him onto his back. Continuing my assault. Going to turn his face to hamburger, show him what happens—kill me in my bed, will you?
He whimpers. Blood trickles down his chin.
I drop the gun and run, scraping wildly at my tongue, spitting a vile slurry of wet powder and liquefied gelcaps onto the floor. What did I take?—what did he give me? I don’t feel anything yet. Or maybe I do: I’m wired, lightheaded, singing with energy. Like I could run a marathon.
There’s a door straight ahead—FIRE DOOR – DO NOT OPEN – ALARM WILL SOUND. I crash through it anyway, hurtling down the darkened stairwell to the sound of...surprisingly subdued beeping. Shouts, behind me. Sirens in the distance. Got to get out of here, far from here—I pound across the vestibule and shoulder my way outdoors. My vision blurs, focuses, and blurs again. There’s no one in the parking lot, not yet, but....
So tired.
I slap myself hard across the face. My eyes water. Headlights come into focus: the road. Just up ahead. I need....
Another slap, and I start to run. There’s nowhere to hide: a few isolated trees, a sad little park across the way, a street deserted in the wee hours. Behind me, the fire door opens and closes.
“Where’d he go?”
“Can’t have gotten far. Check under the cars.”
I freeze in place. They haven’t spotted me, but soon...soon....
“Anything over there?”
There’s a Yellow Cab coming. I saunter to the curb, hopelessly exposed in my white shirt and stocking feet. Confidence....
The cab slows and stops. I collapse into the back seat. Someone’s yelling—Stop! Over there!—but it’s too late. We’re moving. We’re—
“Where to, sir?”
Shit. Where, indeed? I don’t have my wallet. I don’t even have my belt.
“Uh...the Holiday Inn by the Town Lake.” Or...will Lily be there? Willing to see me? She’ll have heard by now. “Actually—I kind of got mugged. My wallet....”
“You can’t pay for this?”
“I can, but....” They took everything: wallet, watch, jacket, tie, shoes—they’d have had the rest of my clothes, if it hadn’t been for some kind of scrub shortage. I pat my pockets, anyway: nothing. Not even a candy wrapper. “Take me to the Four Seasons.” It’s a risk, but I still have my suite there. Spare clothes, spare cash—if I get in and out quick, maybe....
“You sure? ‘Cause if we get there, and you’re fucking with me, I’ll have the cops on your ass so fast—”
“I’m not. I swear.”
He grunts, disbelieving. I sink back into the seat, and into the fog collecting in my brain. Whatever the intruder gave me...shit. Can’t think. Can’t plan. Got to pay the cabbie...find Neil. Warn Lily. In case.... If she....
My train of thought derails. I slump, limp as spaghetti, watching blue and gold trails stream from the streetlights.
Comets.
Beautiful.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Lily
No-one’s picking up. Not Mark, not Adina, not Jed—not even Wayne. The TV drones on behind me—Brandon; his plane; a confidence man preying on the elderly. And me, every so often—such a tragedy! You know, her mother passed away the same year they started recording? And you never hear of her with anyone; no wonder...no wonder....
“What do you know?” I switch over to pay-per-view, wanting the background noise, not wanting to hear my name.
I text Mark again: Please say something.
i always defended u. u just stood there.
Well, I guess that’s something.
coward.
That, too.
I crack the door open. Wayne’s quit lurking in the hall, but there’s nowhere to go. Nowhere he won’t find me. Even if there were...what would I do when I got there? Grow a garden? Get addicted to soap operas? What do people do, when the things that made them happy aren’t worth it anymore?
I retreat to the safety of my bed, covers already tangled from a night of broken sleep. Want to burrow underneath. Hibernate till everything goes back to the way it’s supposed to be: Mark on drums, Wayne minding his own business, Brandon...Brandon....
Why?
No answers present themselves. Fuck why—I’m not even sure what. It all happened so fast: not even twenty-four hours ago, I kissed him goodbye. Thumbed whipped cream off his lip. Promised to see him off at the airport. And now—
There’s a knock at the door, so soft I’m not sure I’ve heard it, till it comes again. Adina, maybe. Come to look at me with those big blue eyes: how could you? Or hotel management, letting me know I’m no longer welcome at this establishment. Wayne....
I pull my robe around me and head for the door. Through the peephole, I can see...someone’s shoulder. A white shirt splattered with mud. Or dried blood. A tuft of black hair. He’s leaning against the door, head pillowed on his arm—Brandon?
He collapses in my arms the second I open the door. I crumple to my knees, unable to support his weight. Brandon slumps half on top of me, trying and failing to lift his head. It’s blood on his shirt—thick spatters from cuff to shoulder, a fine mist across his chest. Like he...like he beat someone to death with his bare hands, or—
“Sorry. So sorry.” He’s slurring, not drunk, but—
“What... Are you on something?”
He nods, or tries to look at me. His eyes roll, uncoordinated. “He...tried to.... Made me take...don’t know. Pills. Lots of them.”
“Who did?” Did he kill a doctor?
“Some guy. Hit me. Choked me.” He drags himself off me, lifting his shirt to reveal a fresh set of bruises under his ribs. “Didn’t do it. The bridge....”
We’re making too much noise. If Wayne’s awake...fuck. I push Brandon off me and kick the door shut. The electronic lock clicks into place.
“Brandon!”
He raises himself on his elbow and manages to sit upright, leaning on the wall for support. “Can’t stay here. Saw me.... I’m—they’re....” He blinks hard and slaps himself across the jaw. The skin goes white, then red. “Came to warn you. In case.... He’s tying up loose ends. Neil. I think....”
“You’re not making sense.” I lift his shirt again, wincing at the mess underneath. I can see the imprint of a class ring, practically make out the letters. And something’s sticking out of his hair, a pencil lead, or—I tug it free. A broken pin—no. The business end of a hypodermic. “What did they do to you?”
His eyes roll back into his head. I need to sober him up. “Come on. Get in the shower.”
“No time for that.”
“Five minutes.” He’s dead weight in my arms, unable or unwilling to get his feet under him. “Please. Just get up. We’ll go. Anywhere you want, just please.”
Brandon kicks out once and goes still.
“Oh, for the love of—” I hook my elbows under his armpits and drag him to the bathroom. He’s heavy as a sack of concrete—a groaning, miserable sack of concrete which twitches and blinks as I manhandle it into the shower.
“Lily....”
“All right. Brace yourself.”
I turn on the water, full blast.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Brandon
&nb
sp; “Cold!” I snap my mouth shut on an undignified wail, but it’s too late. Lily’s looking down at me through sheets of icy water, and that’s woken me up—that’s...that’s.... “Ugh!”
“Ssh. Not sure how soundproof these walls are.”
I shut up and scrunch myself into the corner, biting down against the chattering of my teeth. Everything still looks weird: too slow and too bright. Like the water’s coming down in slow motion. Glittering...diamonds lost down the drain. I stare, fascinated. Reach for it: still feels like regular water, only more. Colder, sharper, wetter. I lift my hand and let the drips run down my wrist, up my sleeve, soaking into my shirt at the elbow.
“Can you stand?”
Stand....
“Brandon!” Fingers. Snapping in my face. Oh...she’s getting wet, too.
“Yes.” Yes, I can stand. I stretch out my arms for balance, pushing against the tiles. So cold. Smooth and cold, like the wall of a cave. I look up, half-expecting to see stalactites. More water hits me in the face, sharp little bites...freezing rain. When the snow goes down your neck....
“Well?”
“Huh?”
This time, she’s the one who slaps me. Lily. Nice hands, even when they hurt.
“Oh, my God, get up!”
Right.... My legs aren’t...there. Or, I can see them, but.... I close my eyes, concentrate, and heave myself to my hands and knees. That’s halfway. From here...uh....
I fall sideways against the wall. I could sleep. For a minute. Whatever was so urgent, it doesn’t seem....
“Drink.” Freezing glass at my lips; water cascading over my tongue. Clean... I gulp it down as fast as I can. It’s cutting through the bitterness—so good. So fresh. Lily tips up the glass and I drain it to the last drop, lapping at the lip when I’m done, tilting back my head to catch the shower water. So thirsty—how didn’t I notice?