The Unseemly Education of Anne Merchant

by Joanna Wiebe

  But now.

  Now, as we fall.

  Now, as our eyes lock and we cling to one another. Now is my chance. I won’t waste it this time. I press my hands to the back of his head, marvel at the endlessness of his green eyes, pull him to me, and softly—ever so softly, as our toes near the ocean—lower my mouth to his. The softness, the indescribable warmth of his lips. It’s perfect torture. Perfect, as he leans into me with all his strength, with more desperation than I could have imagined, and steals my breath. Torture, as I feel my body weaken, anticipating my end. We plunge into the icy sea, squeezing our eyes shut and opening them in the unexpectedly calm water beneath the waves. The force of the water tears us apart, tears me from this world, tears me from the only boy I’ve ever kissed.

  Waking now is nothing like when I woke in this hospital bed hours ago. I know where I am now. I know what’s happened.

  But it’s more than that.

  Waking now, I find my father’s chair empty. He may have left with the doctor. He may have gone to find some new method of waking me—maybe an ice bath in which he can shock me awake. I don’t know.

  Waking now, I find I am not alone, however.

  It takes a moment for my eyes, wet with tears, to focus on Teddy’s face hovering over me. But as soon as I register that he’s here and what that must mean, I see, to my sickened surprise, that his thumb is on the plunger of a syringe. A syringe filled with a clear fluid. A syringe that juts out of a tube planted in my arm. On my bedsheet, in stark contrast to the white of it, are three vials filled with my dark red blood, which he must have taken while I slept.

  “Don’t speak, and don’t protest,” he whispers to me. His thick German accent is gone. His tongue doesn’t seem to slither as it once did. “Your mother was here earlier. She had more to say to you, but there was no time.”

  “How can you know that?” I ask with trepidation. There’s something very odd about his behavior and his countenance. His gaze connects with mine. The anger, lust, and violence once contained in that gaze have vanished. His expression is borderline kind.

  “Pentobarbital,” he says matter-of-factly, gesturing to the syringe he holds and ignoring my question. “It’s for medically induced comas. I’ve arranged to have a nurse on staff keep you in constant supply.”

  “Stop. How did you know about my mom’s spirit visiting me here?”

  “It’s part of the plan.”

  “What plan? Please, don’t do something you’ll regret. Let me—”

  “You, too, are part of the plan. The biggest part. Which is why you must return. Your time at Cania Christy isn’t over yet, Anne. Everything in your life has been building to this. We need you.”

  Whatever this is, it’s happening too fast. “Who’s we? You and Mephistopheles? What do you plan to do with me?”

  “I am not aligned with that monster,” he states, holding my gaze until it’s clear to him that I believe him, which takes some time. His thumb begins to depress the syringe. Voices outside grow louder.

  “Wait!” I plead. “You said my mom had more to say to me. What was it?”

  Swiftly and with a brief apology, Teddy injects the plunger.

  As I slide defenselessly back into darkness, I feel him sweep the vials of my blood from the bed and I hear him whisper, “Your mother trusts me. You should, too.”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I’m forever indebted to my editor, Glenn Yeffeth, and his brilliant team at BenBella. To Jason Anthony, my persevering virtuoso of a literary agent, thank you for reinventing the word dedicated. To Lance, you are a gift to me. To Tina, Sarah, Paul, and Jake, to Nana, and to Angela, thank you for filling my life with the most complex characters. Thank you to my teachers: Greg Hollingshead, Bert Almon, Janice Williamson, Tom Wharton, Mrs. Shukin, and Mr. Fred. To my favorite teacher, Dad, I wish you could be here for this. Above all, my love and humble gratitude to the Great Teacher. And to you, dear reader, my full and heartfelt thanks.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Joanna Wiebe is a graduate of the University of Alberta’s Honors English program, where she received the James Patrick Folinsbee Memorial Scholarship in Creative Writing. She lives in Victoria, British Columbia, with her partner, Lance. The Unseemly Education of Anne Merchant is her first novel. Find her online at joannawiebefiction.com.