The Night Girl: The Complete Series

by Amy Cross

  "Where's the body now?"

  "Still in the garden," I continue. "I was thinking I should maybe move it, just in case someone ever finds it. Maybe I'll bury it. I kind of don't want it there. I just want to forget everything and move on. I can do this. I don't have to fall apart. I just need to keep my head, and focus on what's important". I turn to her, and for a moment I find myself wondering if I can trust my own eyes anymore. "You're real, aren't you?"

  "Me?" She smiles. "I think so".

  "But how do I know? I mean, I can see you and I can feel you, but how can I be certain?"

  "You saw through your father," she points out. "Now that you've seen how to get past an illusion, surely you wouldn't fall into the same trap again?"

  "Maybe," I reply, still not entirely convinced.

  "I guess you have to just trust me," she continues. "But you've seen the effects of what I can do. I'm the one who helped you cover up the other deaths, remember? Unless you think you've been secretly doing that all along?"

  I shake my head.

  "Exactly," she says. "I'm afraid you don't get rid of me that easily, Juliet. I'm as real as you are. Right now, I'm pretty damn impressed that you managed to get yourself to this point. I mean, you've spent eleven years living on your own, looking after yourself, managing on the money your father left behind. Not a lot of people could do that. In fact, it's kind of a miracle". She puts an arm around my shoulder. "I'm proud of you".

  Bristling a little at her use of the word 'proud', I close my eyes and feel - just for a moment - a sensation of total peace. It's as if I've spent the past eleven years torturing myself, and now finally I can face the truth. My father is out of my life forever; I've moved on to an entirely new stage, and I can't help thinking that in some way my subconscious mind has decided that this is the perfect moment to release me from my previous burden. Every time my 'father' was berating and nagging me in recent years, it was actually my own mind that was causing all the problems. I'm over that now. I'm free.

  "I'll always be here for you, Juliet," she says eventually. "I know people have abandoned you and left you and mistreated you, but I want you to be absolutely certain that I'll never, ever go anywhere. I'll always be right here, sitting next to you, listening to you. You know that, right?"

  I nod.

  "I don't judge you," she continues. "I listen to you, and I try to help. You're the most important thing in the world to me, and I just want to help you deal with your problems". She takes my hands in hers. "You can always, always trust me, Juliet. Even if there's no-one else, you've always got me. Is that clear?"

  "Yeah," I say taking a deep breath.

  "And I certainly don't think you're evil".

  "I am".

  "No, you're not".

  "I am," I insist. "You weren't there before, when I was younger. From the moment I killed Martina, I've known I've got this black heart that can't be saved".

  "But -"

  "It's okay," I continue, interrupting her. "I've come to accept it. I understand. It's not a problem. The day I accepted the truth about who I am, was the day I could finally find some peace. I'd rather you acknowledge that and stay with me anyway, rather than insist that I'm someone I'm not".

  "Of course," she says quietly.

  "I should get going," I reply after an uncomfortable pause. Standing up, I take a deep breath, feeling as if I'm finally ready to face the world again. "I need to go and check on the residents".

  She frowns. "You do?"

  I nod. "This job is all I have right now. I need to make sure I do it right. Besides, if I'm going to have a chance of taking over when Charles Taylor's gone, I should really knuckle down and get on with doing everything properly".

  Jennifer stares at me for a moment. "Juliet, I'm not sure I understand".

  "I want the job," I tell her, heading over to the door. "I've never wanted anything so much in my entire life. Taylor's going to be out of here as soon as I've got all the evidence together, and I want to be the new boss. I know that might sound crazy, but I figure it's the next logical step, right?"

  "It certainly sounds logical," she replies, "but that doesn't mean it's going to happen".

  "Maybe," I reply, "but I'm going to give it my best shot. You want to come with me?"

  She shakes her head. "Not yet".

  Walking through to the main part of the building, I can't shake the feeling that I'm finally feeling good about myself. It's a weird sensation, after years and years of seeing myself as a complete failure. Night after night, I'd work here at Crestview and then have to go home and face my father; now, however, I know that the house is empty, and I can just relax. Sure, it's going to be a little strange for a while, but it's nothing I can't handle. As I wander through to the red ward, I remind myself that I need to focus exclusively on Crestview for a while. Despite Jennifer's incredulity, I genuinely think I could have a good chance of becoming the new boss around here. Opening the door to Kenneth Jenkins' room, I glance inside and -

  He's not there.

  I flick the light switch, and find to my surprise that not only is the bed empty, but all his possessions have vanished. He used to have a small collection of magazines and newspapers on his bedside table, but now there's nothing; I hurry to the wardrobe, but there's nothing inside: all his clothes are gone. Starting to panic, I hurry out of the room and check the next room, but Mrs. Chester has also disappeared. I head to the next room, and then the next, and then I try the other wards, but it's the same story with each room: all the residents have vanished, and their rooms seem to have been stripped bare.

  Rushing to the reception area, I go straight to the office, but the door seems to be locked. I look through the small window and see that there's nothing in there: the desk, the filing cabinets... everything has gone. Turning, I see that the sofa from the corner of reception is also missing. It's as if someone has been in and taken all the people and all the furniture. Suddenly I realize that the place is also getting kind of cold, which is pretty strange since Crestview is usually kept warm for the benefit of the residents.

  "Something wrong?" Jennifer asks.

  I turn to find that she's come through to find me.

  "What happened?" I say. "Where the hell is everyone?"

  "Didn't you notice when you arrived tonight?" she asks, a hint of a smile on her lips. "Crestview's been close down, Juliet".

  "No," I say, feeling my heart pounding in my chest. "No way, that's not possible!" I try the office door again, and eventually I take my shoe off and use it to break the window, before reaching through and finally managing to get turn the lock. The door opens and I step inside. "Where the hell is everything?" I ask.

  "Charles Taylor's luck ran out," Jennifer explains. "The owners finally discovered he'd been cooking the books. By the time they'd sorted everything out, they figured they might as well cut their losses and shut the place down. The residents have all been moved to other homes. Ken Jenkins, for example, is in a new retirement center in Florida, of all places. I'm sure he's much happier there".

  "No!" I say, raising my voice. "This isn't possible! Everything was fine last night!"

  "You weren't here last night," she replies.

  "I was!" I shout, turning to her. "I talked to you! I sat with you and told you about the pills!"

  She smiles. "Juliet, that was almost a month ago. The next night, you didn't come to work. Or the next night, or the night after that. Taylor had to cover your shifts himself, and then a few days later his little scheme was uncovered. Crestview has been all shuttered up for a couple of weeks now. Everyone was let go. You'd have known all about it, except you hadn't been showing up for work".

  "I was here last night!" I shout. "I was here, and then I went home, and then this evening was when I realized the truth about my father, and then..." I pause, realizing that I can't trust my own memories anymore. "I was here," I say, trying to calm down. "I was here. You know I was here!"

  "You weren't here," she replies. "You were
here a month ago, telling me about the pills, and then I didn't see you again until tonight". She steps toward me and puts a hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry, Juliet. I thought you knew. Crestview's been shut down and sold off to a development company. They're moving in tomorrow to start knocking the whole place down".

  Chapter Eight

  Eleven years ago

  I should be in bed, but I'm not. I'm up late, past midnight, using my father's laptop to go online. Lately, I've had so many questions, so many problems to solve, that I've turned more and more to the internet. There's a whole world out there, filled with answers; I never have to ask my father a question these days, since I can just look it up via the laptop. For example, right now I'm researching blackouts. I'm trying to find out what makes a person have blackouts during the day, and how to stop them. I need to fill these holes in my mind; I need to know what I've been doing, and whether it's something that's dangerous. After all, the most important thing right now is that I remain in control of my actions.

  Then again, maybe it's not a huge problem. I've been having these blackouts for a few days now, and nothing bad seems to have happened so far. It's just that every so often, I'll be doing something and suddenly time will flash past. It's as if I shift from one moment to another, with no memory of what happened between the two points. It happens during the day sometimes, but it's definitely worst at night. These 'night shifts', as I call them, are becoming increasingly common, and sometimes I find myself wondering what happens during those missing hours. What am I doing? Where am I going?

  The internet doesn't seem to have any answers, though. For the first time, I'm drawing a blank, and I'm starting to get worried. What if I've got some kind of medical problem, like a brain tumor or Alzheimer's? Even worse, what if I've got leukemia like my mother had? I've been obsessively looking for the symptoms online, and so far I don't seem to match any of the lists I've found. Still, some types of leukemia are apparently linked along family lines, so my mother's illness makes it slightly more likely that I could get sick. What if the blackouts and 'night shifts' are an early symptom that most people don't notice? What if I'm dying? I don't want to end up in hospital, sitting alone in a room while no-one comes to see me. Although my father tried to shield me from the worst of her suffering, I was able to get small glimpses: her bleeding gums; her yellow-gray skin; the weak smile on her lips as the bags of chemicals were slowly emptied into her veins. I don't want to die like that.

  Closing the lid of the laptop, I stare across the darkened kitchen. The house is so peaceful and calm, I feel as if there's no need to ever move again. Why bother getting up from this chair, when I could just sit here and enjoy the passage of time? Sometimes I think people are so worried about being bored, they forget that it can be enjoyable to just feel the seconds slip past. Closing my eyes, I concentrate on this sensation; I think about the whole world pushing on relentlessly, hurtling from one moment of existence to the next. The hectic pace of the human race makes me feel, by contrast, more than still; I could almost imagine that I'm going backward, receding into my own memories, except... I open my eyes and realize that I can't go back into my memories, because those memories are increasingly difficult to access. Then again, maybe I'm over-thinking things; maybe everyone has blank moments like this?

  I need to make sure I don't go crazy.

  Getting up from the chair, I wander through to the lounge, where I find my father sitting on the sofa. He's not doing anything; he's just staring straight ahead, almost as if he's waiting for instructions. I go over to the stereo, select one of his favorite jazz CDs, and set it to play. I hate this kind of music, but I figure I need to do something to cheer my father up. After all, it's pretty sad to have him just sitting around the place, looking like his mind has become completely blank. As the music plays, he turns to me and smiles, and it's almost like I can see the lights come on in his eyes. He's responding to this simple little gesture that I made, and he looks normal again. This has been happening a lot lately. Something's changed, though I'm not sure what. He just seems... different, somehow.

  "What time is it?" he asks.

  "Late," I reply.

  "How late?"

  I look over at the clock. "Almost two. I've been up looking at stuff online. Is that okay?"

  "Of course it is. What have you been looking at? Cartoons?"

  "No. I've been reading about things. Just medical stuff, you know? Nothing totally important".

  "Is there anything you want to ask me about? Are you worried about something?"

  I stare at him for a moment. The last thing I want to do is start up a conversation about leukemia; besides, I'm pretty sure he'd just change the subject. Best not to even try. "No," I say. "I'm not worried. I just wanted to find out about some symptoms, but I think everything's okay. I was just being stupid".

  "If you're concerned about something -"

  "I'm not," I say firmly, feeling a little annoyed by his persistence. "I'm fine. I just wanted to make sure about some things". I pause for a moment, feeling as if there's something slightly strange about our conversation. He seems slightly stilted, almost as if he's not quite asking the questions he'd normally ask. "Why did you email Dr. Larson and cancel my visits?" I ask eventually.

  "Why?" He stares at me. "Well, to be honest, I didn't want to put you through all of that. Last time we were there, I saw such a horrible, pained look in your eyes, and I realized I had to give it up. It was worth a try, and I'd have been a bad father if I hadn't at least made the effort, but I know when to give up. Frankly, I feel as if a guy like Dr. Larson can cause as much harm as good. He seemed to be pushing you in the wrong directions, and you were just getting more and more upset. The thought of making you endure that for weeks and months... I don't know, it just seemed like torture. Don't worry, though; we'll work on getting you better ourselves, just the two of us. We'll take a more relaxed approach, maybe spend some more time together, that sort of thing. Doesn't that sound better?"

  "I guess".

  "Unless you think that's a bad idea. I can always call him back and re-arrange some sessions if you'd prefer?"

  I shake my head. The last thing I want is to ever go back to that place again; still, I can't help but feel it's strange that my father would give up on his attempts to make me attend. He seemed so certain, and so convinced that it was the right thing for me to do, and now he's going out of his way to help me avoid going back. The abrupt change in his opinion is impossible to ignore; in fact, he's generally been quite inconsistent lately. There's definitely something wrong, though I can't quite put my finger on the problem.

  "Do you feel like you got much out of his sessions?" he asks.

  I shake my head.

  "That's exactly what I thought. The guy had diplomas and accreditation coming out of his asshole, but that doesn't mean he was the right person to look after my little princess. I guess maybe it was a bad fit".

  "I'm glad I'm not going," I say. "I didn't like him. I hope I don't ever see him again". I wait for my father to say something; when he stays silent, I realize he's fallen asleep. Deciding not to wake him, I quietly head out of the room and go back to the kitchen. Since I'm still not tired, I grab the model kit that Samantha bought for me. I arrange the pieces on the table and get ready to build the replica model fighter jet. At the last moment, however, I discover that there's no superglue. I check and re-check the box, but it's definitely not in there, even though the packaging clearly states that there's a tube inside. As I put the pieces back into the box, I suddenly realize that this has happened before. In fact, I think it's happened several times. I keep getting the model out and discovering that there's no glue. I pause for a moment, before deciding that it's probably nothing significant. Just to be certain, however, I carry the model kit over to the bin and drop it in; at least this way, I won't make the same mistake again. For a moment, I start to worry that maybe the missing superglue is in some way significant; finally, however, I tell myself to stop obsessing. As I l
et the bin-lid swing shut, I turn and head through to my bedroom. I need to get some sleep; after all, tomorrow I'm going to be busy.

  Book 8:

  The Final Shift

  Chapter One

  Today

  "Okay, so..." He looks down at the piece of paper, reading it over one final time. "Juliet Collier, right? Won't you come in and take a seat?" Stepping back, he gesture to a chair over by his desk.

  Smiling awkwardly, I step into the room. I feel so totally, totally out of place right now. I'm in the offices of a law firm on the far side of town. Elstion and Mainhew is one of these establishments that strives to look up-market and wealthy, even though the mere fact of their presence in this scabby little town means they're automatically feeding off the bottom rung of the social ladder. There's something slimy and obsequious about all the people who work here, as if they think they deserve a better class of clientele.

  "I've got to admit," says Matthew Fox, the lawyer who's agreed to see me this morning, "I'm not entirely sure why you're here, Juliet". He walks around to his side of the desk and takes a seat. "My secretary said something about Crestview, which would be..." He grabs another piece of paper and takes a quick look. "Yeah, Crestview's the retirement home that was closed down a couple of weeks ago. I understand you used to work there?"

  "Yeah," I say. It's crazy, but when I was on my way here today, I had a big speech all worked out; suddenly all the words have melted away, leaving me sitting here in silence.

  "Such a crazy story," he continues. "I mean, I don't know how much you know about what went on, and obviously I can't say too much, but the place was being run into the ground. It's hard to believe that guy managed to get away with so much, for so long, but sometimes these things just slip right through the cracks". He looks at the piece of paper again, as if he's reacquainting himself with all the details. "So. Juliet. I think I know why you're here, and the honest answer is that it's possible you won't receive your final paycheck. There's just nothing I can -"