Shattered Stars

by Shari Ryan

  I’m taking in the surroundings of the office as we make our way up to the front window where a woman is sitting on the other side with a smile that might offer comfort to someone in need. Maybe she’s smiling because she knows anyone who comes in here for the trial isn’t going to get much from the outcome regardless of what happens.

  There are decorative autumn stickers scattered along the glass window, and they seem childish for an adult psychiatric office. The green and brown leaves don’t exactly scream “be happy you're here,” but I suppose the season of dreary weather is approaching, so we might as well embrace it all.

  The window closes and the slap of glass hitting the wooden frame pulls my attention to the pen Layne is hold, which has an oversized sunflower poking out of the top. “Want to come sit down?” he asks.

  I follow Layne over to the synthetic brown covered chairs, framed with light oak. They remind me of the chairs my elementary school library had at all the small circular tables. These chairs must be just as old. There’s fluff poking out of a few of them where the fabric has been sliced open. The only thing I’m truly grateful for at the moment is that this place doesn’t smell like ammonia.

  Layne is filling out paperwork attached to a clipboard. His hand is moving quickly, filling in the answers about my life that he knows by heart: my blood type, my weight, my height, and my family health history. Layne has memorized me as a person, but I’ve forgotten his name in the last week. How could a person love another when it’s a lopsided relationship?

  “They’re going to do some tests to make sure you’re a candidate for this trial. You’re okay with that right?” he asks.

  I could say no, but then I’d be going back on my word after agreeing to do this. “I’m sorry, Layne,” I tell him.

  He pulls the pen away from the paper and twists his head to look at me. “Sorry for what?”

  “I’m sorry you’re stuck with me.”

  Fifteen

  Twelve Years Ago

  I WAS 18 YEARS OLD

  “Lexi, no wild adventures, okay?” I don’t have an excuse to be lame today because Mom took Aly to a playgroup at the beach and plans to spend most of the day there. She told me to go out and do something fun, and of course, called in Lexi to carry-out the rest.

  “We’re not going on a wild adventure,” she laments. “Relax. I’ll make sure you don’t have too much fun. Okay?”

  “That’s all I ask,” I say, tossing a gum wrapper at her as she takes turns down side streets we don’t usually drive through. “Where are we going?”

  “I’m not telling.”

  I lean back into the pink Hawaiian printed seat cover and stare out the window, wishing we were passing palm trees instead of pine trees. The car even smells like coconut thanks to her air freshener. “You need a dancing girl in a grass skirt on your dash.”

  “I’ve looked all over for one. No one sells them anywhere. I even tried to find one on eBay, but the only one I could find looked like the eyes were scratched out of its head. It was kind of freaky, so I passed.”

  “I’ll keep my eyes open for one. Hey, speaking of keeping my eyes open for ... the ... one, how is Johnny-boy doing?” Lexi seems totally preoccupied, and has been that way for the last two weeks, so I can only assume Johnny has something to do with that. Lexi can hardly make it an hour without sending me a text, and we went eight consecutive hours the other day without speaking. I knew something was up with her.

  She sighs, and the hair on her arms look like they’re under a static attack. Her cheeks are even pink, and she never blushes. “He’s good,” she says, keeping her response simple and curt.

  “Just good?” I asked, swiveling around in my seat to face her tell-all profile.

  “Okay, I’m lying. He’s incredible,” she gushes. “Dani, he sings to me. We’ve taken long walks on the beach, and we sit on the phone for hours, just talking. Like, we don’t run out of stuff to talk about with each other. I’ve never had that with anyone.”

  Eighteen-year-old guys aren’t typically the most talkative creatures on earth, but Johnny seems friendly and upbeat, which is precisely what Lexi needs in her life. Someone with a bubbly and bright personality like herself needs a similar match rather than the opposite. No one wants to hear themselves talk non-stop all day. Or, at least, I assume that to be the case.

  “What is this place?” I ask as we pull into a lumpy parking lot. It’s a big space with a few white trailers lined up toward the opposite end.

  Lexi ignores me for the moment, continuing to drive up toward the trailers. “Don’t worry,” she says, glancing at me for a quick second. “There’s no reason to worry.”

  She knows me all too well because I don’t like the sight of what looks like vacant trailers that could be concealing a shitty situation on the other side. “I don’t like the looks of this.”

  Lexi shifts the car into park and hops outside. I’m still contemplating what’s going on and why we’re here, but she knew I wouldn’t jump out easily, so she’s opening my door. “Let’s go; let’s go.” Lexi leans in and unclips my seatbelt, letting the metal buckle fly toward the door and clamber against the plastic-coated door.

  I’m okay.

  Everything is fine.

  I’m here with Lexi.

  I’m not alone.

  Lexi’s hand wraps around my wrist, and she’s pulling me between two of the trailers. We shimmy between the metal tow hooks and exit through the other side. I wasn’t expecting to see this kind of display.

  “Is this a carnival setting up or something?”

  “Or something,” Lexi responds, releasing her hand from my wrist. She pulls her new pink flip-phone out of her back pocket and types out a message.

  I’m just looking around, trying to find a hint of why we’re here, but nothing stands out until I see torn sticker hanging off the side of a cooler. A painted guitar with a white tear through the middle. Dividing Oblivion’s brand image. It’s Saturday.

  I’m going to hurt Lexi.

  “What are we doing on the set of their music video?” I muttered beneath my breath.

  “They wanted us here. What’s the big deal?”

  “I don’t want to be here,” I tell her flatly.

  “We will only stay for a little while. Then we can go. Okay?”

  I decide not to answer her since Johnny is jogging toward us. I’m wondering if she knows Layne asked me to be in the music video with him and I turned him away. She would most likely revoke my friend card if she found out or finds out I had a choice.

  “Hey Dani,” Johnny says, breathlessly, grabbing Lexi at the waist and pulling her into him for a kiss.

  “Hey,” I say, glancing around for any sight of Layne. Upon looking, I hear a crashing sound coming from the trailer in front of us, and I walk toward the opening. The door is open, so I hope I don’t see anything I’m not supposed to see.

  “You know what ... you’re a prick. She’s going to die and you can’t help me with a goddamn thing. Go to hell!”

  I instantly regret looking into the trailer. Layne has a phone pressed up against his ear and his forehead leaning against the window, opposite from where I’m standing. He squeezes his black phone and tosses it onto the small counter beside him. I should tell him I’m standing here. It’s rude to spy, but he’s obviously going through something, and I wish I didn’t see. It’s none of my business.

  Layne punches his fist against the wall and pushes away. He presses his fingers through his shaggy hair and grabs his phone from the counter before shoving it into the back pocket of his tight black jeans.

  “Hi,” I say meekly.

  Layne sweeps the hair out of his face and turns toward the open door. “Oh shit. I didn’t know you were coming. How long—hey!”

  I caught him off guard, and I feel like a total jerk. I don’t know if I should pretend I didn’t see or hear anything, or if I should ask him if he’s okay. The memory of him stating he’s looking for a friend wrenches at my heart.


  “Is everything okay?” I ask, despite the worry of invading his privacy.

  “I’m okay. My dad is an ass. No biggie.”

  “My dad is an ass too. I guess we have that in common,” I tell him.

  Layne’s lips perk in one corner, and he jumps down the two steps from his trailer to the dirt where I’m standing. “What made you decide to come?”

  “Lexi sorta ‘surprised’ me.”

  “Oh,” he says, sounding deflated. “Want me to take you home? I’m sure Lexi and Johnny are ... busy ... somewhere.”

  “If you don’t want anyone to watch the shoot, you can take me home. Otherwise, I think it would be fun to watch.” It just wouldn’t be fun to participate.

  “Of course, I don’t mind you watching. In fact, I would love it if you stay.” Layne takes my hand and brings me around to another trailer. “You gotta see the set. It’s seriously amazing.”

  “A roller coaster,” I sigh.

  “It was my inspiration, remember?”

  “I remember,” I tell him, smiling beyond my control.

  “I still wish you’d do the scene with me. Since you couldn’t, the guys found a local actress to play the role, but still, it was your idea and your fear ... you know.” My thoughts start to bubble. He’s acting out a scene for a music video with an actress because I’m too chicken. If I could just get over my fear, I’d step up to the plate, but my stomach hurts just looking at the death contraption. “Do you want to meet the girl who will be playing the part of—well, you?”

  “Sure!” I tell him, trying to sound excited. I’m not excited. I’m angry at myself. Layne guides me back to one of the trailers and knocks on the door to the one that was next to his.

  “Stacia, it’s me,” Layne shouts in through the door.

  Stacia opens the door, looking very much like an actress. She has long auburn hair in loose waves like mine, but she’s taller and her makeup and clothes look perfect. I look like I was woken up at three this morning, then five and six, but at least my outfit isn’t horrible.

  “Hey, Layne,” she says, curling a strand of hair behind her ear as she glances down to her feet.

  “I wanted to introduce you to my inspiration for the role you’re going to play. This is Dani. Dani, this is Stacia.”

  “Oh, it’s so nice to meet you,” she says, reaching a hand out to shake. “Layne is the sweetest. I’m so excited to get to work with him, and the set is just amazing, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, it’s awesome,” I tell her, sounding defeated.

  “Well, I have to finish getting ready,” she says, leaning over and pulling a piece of electric tape off Layne’s jacket. She giggles. “I assume you didn’t want this?”

  “Oh,” he laughs. “I didn’t know that was there.”

  Me neither. How fun. “You’re cute,” she tells him, closing the trailer door.

  “I’ll do it. I’ll do the scene with you.” I don’t know what I agree to, or when I decided to jump into the damn deep end, but that girl ... she’s beautiful and an actress.

  As for me … I have baggage, and I’m not an actress, but I’d be lying to myself if I said I didn’t have feelings for Layne. He’s the most amazing guy I’ve ever known, and that’s something.

  “You will?” Layne asks, obviously taken aback by my offer. I can’t go back on my word now because, by the look on his face, I’d crush him if I said, never mind.

  “I mean, I don’t want Stacia to be out of a job or anything, but she made it sound more fun than I was thought it would be.” Do I sound ridiculous? I probably do. He isn’t looking at me like I’m ridiculous though.

  “There are other parts where she can take part. I wanted you to be in this with me,” he says again.

  “I’m terrified, but I need to get over it, right?”

  Layne smiles a pure smile, one that glimmers under the sun and highlights the dimples at the corners of his lips. The surrounding brightness even shows off a few freckles on his nose. He’s really something else. “The best part of being scared about something is the part when you’re able to push that fear away, Dani.”

  The way he’s looking at me makes my heart pound, and I feel the need to place my hand on my chest to soothe the racing movement. “Right,” I answer.

  “Thank you for this. I’ll take care of you. I promise.”

  “Thank you for wanting me to be a part of this with you. I’ll try not to freak.” Layne huffs a quiet laugh and slowly wraps his arm around me. “Let’s go take a closer look at the set.”

  I’m not sure I’ll be looking at much else when Layne is this close to me.

  Sixteen

  Current Day

  I didn’t know these tests would take so long today. Layne only took a couple of hours off work, but it’s almost noon, and we’re back in the clinician’s office waiting to hear what the verdict is for participating in this stupid trial.

  The doctor we met with first is the one we’re waiting on now as we sit in two leather chairs in front of his empty office. At least there is a window overlooking Boston Harbor. The sky is clear, and the water is bluer than normal with white sheens gliding along the slight ripples. The thought of what color I might use to paint the scene allows me to lose myself in the moment, wishing I were with my easel, free from my thoughts and fears, and healthy. It’s been hard to lose myself in my work lately. I can’t seem to clear my mind.

  The door to the office opens, and the doctor walks in and takes a seat in front of us. His chair creaks as he leans back and pulls himself in toward his desk. “Okay, so we have most of the test results back,” he says. Hearing the words, test results, doesn’t have the same effect over me now as they used to, but I’d rather be numb.

  The doctor looks like he’s been around the block a few times. In fact, I’m surprised he isn’t retired yet. He has more certifications and degrees on his wall than I’ve seen any of my past doctors have. The white color of his hair and the tan complexion of his skin tells me he has a side life in a warmer climate. He pulls his glasses out of his shirt pocket and slides them on over his nose. “What’s the verdict?” Layne asks. He’s always more impatient than I am when it comes to the doctors’ appointments. I’m never in a rush to hear what they need to say because it’s not usually anything I want to hear.

  “So, Danielle, when were you diagnosed with Dementia?”

  Before answering, I scan the doctor’s desk, having forgotten his name already, but his name plaque helps. Dr. Mallard. That’s right, I immediately looked at his mouth for a resemblance of a duck’s beak, but he has normal lips. Maybe that’s the reason I forgot his name.

  He’s waiting for an answer.

  “Last October,” I tell him.

  “I see, and what were the initial symptoms that brought you to your primary care?”

  “I had a migraine that would not go away after a couple of days, and it was beginning to worry me. I had been getting migraines off and on, but they seemed to be getting worse before I started the medication I’m on now.”

  “Okay good, I see that here. You have a long list of medications,” he points out, running his finger down the list. “Hmm.”

  “I assume some of these medications were increased over time, correct?” he asks.

  “Yes,” I confirm.

  “Are you working with a psychiatrist on a weekly basis at this point?”

  “Yes, I have a psychiatrist, a social worker, and a family counselor that I see regularly.”

  “Do they communicate with one another?” Dr. Mallard asks, scribbling down notes as he asks questions.

  “I’m not sure,” I say, looking over at Layne, wondering if he might know the answer. He is the one who found the help in the first place.

  “No, they aren’t affiliated. They have permission to speak to each other about Danielle, but I don’t believe it’s been a common occurrence if it has happened at all.”

  “I see. Well, I would like to connect with the three of them to gather some ad
ditional information. Would that be okay with you?”

  “Of course,” Layne agrees.

  “Danielle?” Dr. Mallard prompts me to answer, as well.

  “Yes, I’m okay with that.”

  “Great, I’m going to compile my notes and wait for the remaining couple of tests to come in, then I’ll be in touch with you shortly to let you know what the next step is going to be. Sound good?”

  “Yes,” I answer right away, without a desire to prod for more information like I assume Layne is about to do.

  “Do you think it’s likely she will be a candidate for this trial?” Layne asks, as expected.

  Dr. Mallard clears his throat and removes his glasses, gently placing them down on top of his notes. He then folds his hands and leans forward. “To be honest, Mr. Hensen, the test results are inconclusive and quite interesting. It appears to me that there might be more going on aside from Dementia, and I would like to get a clearer visual on that before moving in any one direction. If any additional underlying situation inhibits Danielle, the data we acquire from her won’t be relevant to the trial. Does that make sense?”

  I might be numb at the moment, but not Layne. He drops his head into his hands, then leans back in his seat. The color of his skin turns crimson beneath his hands, and I understand the frustration he feels, but at this point, I feel like I’m watching my life unravel on a screen. Getting upset won’t do anything to change the outcome, so why bother?

  “Mr. Hensen, I don’t want you to jump to any conclusions or think the worst. The trial and Danielle’s case are two separate situations.”