The Girl In Between series: Books 1-4

by Laekan Zea Kemp

  The nurse clicked on the television hanging in the corner and Sam smiled, taking Dr. Cao’s hand and following her over to the chair. “Now hop up here, let’s show Bryn how it’s done.” She turned to me. “Do you know when you’re scheduled?”

  “No, I think Sheila is going over the itinerary with my mom right now.”

  “Well, it’s fairly simple. We hook you up to this machine and it reads your brain and nerve activity throughout the night. We like to get a good read of a normal night’s sleep before we start monitoring you during an episode.”

  “Sam said it’s one of Mr. Vogle’s creations?”

  I hadn’t seen him since we’d landed but I knew I wanted a more in-depth explanation of the machine from the creator himself before I let them hook me up to all of those wires.

  Dr. Cao nodded, her attention adrift. “He turns up later in the week. Sometimes.”

  When I’d first met Dr. Banz’s assistant his quiet intensity used to scare me but that was before I realized that he was just as invested in finding a cure for the disease that killed Eve as Dr. Banz was. Maybe more considering she was the love of his life. He’d been an orderly during the time she was a patient and they’d met before the disease fully took hold of her. From what I knew, Vogle had dedicated the rest of his life to finding a cure alongside Dr. Banz. But since he didn’t seem to have been at the hospital recently I wondered if something had changed.

  “Can Bryn watch cartoons with me?” Sam asked.

  “If she’d like.”

  “Sure, I’ll stay with you until my mom gets back.”

  The nurse pulled a chair for me right next to Sam. She flipped through the channels, finally settling on some cartoon in German that neither of us could understand but apparently revolved around some dog’s misadventures in a big city.

  “I like this one,” Sam said.

  Dr. Cao lifted the back of Sam’s shirt, adhering the wires to various places along her spine. Sam just sat there, letting Dr. Cao maneuver her, her eyes never straying from the television screen.

  “We’ll be back in a little while to turn off the lights,” she said before turning to go.

  “Are you staying?” Sam asked me.

  “Not tonight.”

  “You could stay. They could bring another chair. I could tell them.”

  “I’m supposed to stay with my mom tonight at the hotel,” I said. “But maybe I’ll see you tomorrow. Who knows, maybe they’ll have me scheduled to stay overnight soon.”

  “And then we could share a room? My mom says I snore sometimes but it’s not loud.”

  “Where is your mom, Sam?”

  “She’s not allowed to stay the night.”

  It seemed strange that they wouldn’t let a child stay with her mother, especially under the circumstances. I was almost eighteen but I still wouldn’t have been able to do any of this without her.

  “Why not?” I asked.

  Sam pulled at a strand of her hair that was stuck to the electrode on her forehead. I reached for her, helped her pull it free.

  “I don’t get the bad dreams when she’s here so she has to leave.”

  “They want you to have the bad dreams?” I asked.

  “It’s the only way to make them go away,” Sam said, her cheeks flushed. “I just want them to go away.”

  18

  Roman

  Ten weeks.

  Everyone was crowded around me as I sat on the couch, their hands gripping the backs of the cushions.

  “Good,” Craig said. “Now concentrate like you did before.”

  I stared at my toe, concentrating, pushing, pushing some more.

  My dad held his breath.

  My nonno sighed, a listless thing that sounded like a prayer.

  I pushed harder and then it moved. My big toe dipped just slightly and suddenly I was buried under hands and arms and hugs. They were all holding me and holding each other and for the first time in a long time I just let them.

  Eleven weeks.

  I sat in Dr. King’s office, face flushed as my dad told him about the toe incident. But I wasn’t embarrassed by his intense enthusiasm. I was happy that he was happy. I was embarrassed because I was looking at Dr. King’s face, at the way it hadn’t moved an inch since my dad had started talking and I realized that even though it had felt like I’d moved a mountain, maybe I hadn’t.

  He finally gave my dad the smile he was waiting for but it was gone before I was certain it had really been there at all. He clasped his hands, let out a breath. “Mr. Santillo, I’m glad to see the both of you doing so well. But—”

  “But it’s progress,” my dad cut in.

  “Yes. It’s progress. But I don’t want either of you getting discouraged if this is where Roman plateaus. I just want you to keep that in mind, especially during your sessions with Craig.” He turned to me. “I heard you’ve been extremely disciplined but I don’t want you exhausting yourself.”

  I was too deflated to argue so I just nodded.

  After my appointment my dad and I had lunch at Moretti’s. It was the first time I’d let him take me out of the house and as soon as he pushed me inside I remembered why I’d preferred hiding.

  “We should have gone somewhere run by strangers,” I whispered.

  “It’s fine. Just let them have a look and then maybe they’ll leave us alone.”

  They didn’t leave us alone.

  “Roman!” Mr. Moretti himself came running at us from around the bar. A few others tiptoed close behind, trying to get a better look. “Roman, it’s so good to see you. Here…” He led us to a table in the back. “Have a seat.” He blushed, probably because he realized I was already sitting. He ushered my dad into a chair. “Sit. Sit.”

  He grabbed us some menus, tried not to hover while we looked over them.

  “Hi, Mr. Santillo.” One of the waitresses came over with our drinks. “Roman, long time no see.” She looked away, almost spilled my drink. “I mean, so great to see you two.”

  At that point I couldn’t hide my annoyance. I leaned back in my wheelchair and decided to just make a game of it. How many inappropriate things can you say to a former coma patient in one lunch hour?

  By the time they served us our food the count was up to five. Just when I thought things couldn’t get anymore awkward, Carlisle walked in with Cassie, both of them frozen in the doorway the second they saw me.

  My dad saw my face, turned around. His shoulders tensed and he stabbed at his calzone with his fork. Jimmy, my dad could stand, but Carlisle, well, he sort of hated him. He thought he was the reason I’d barely graduated and purposefully put off turning in my college applications until it was too late to apply. When he couldn’t blame my mother’s absence for my behavior, Carlisle was the perfect scapegoat.

  He had all the credentials: stoner, drug dealer, moocher, thief, part-time arsonist. Oh and shit-stirrer. Major shit-stirrer. Which was why he was on his way over to our table. Not to offer his condolences but to look at his handiwork. See, that’s the thing my dad never understood about Carlisle. He preferred people to hate him. He liked destroying lives, and by the look on his face, I could tell he really enjoyed thinking he’d destroyed mine.

  Cassie was tugging on his arm the whole way over, trying to get him to turn around. But not to save me. To save herself. She looked like she was still afraid I’d say something. Like Carlisle was actually some kind of prize she didn’t want to lose. The closer he got, the more I boiled. The rage inside me started out as a slow tick, but with every step it spiked until he was standing right in front of us, my silverware falling limp in my hands.

  Melted.

  Shit.

  I glanced down, the fork snapped in half, my fingertips still glowing as I dropped it onto the floor. I stuffed my hands between my legs before anyone else noticed.

  “Roman,” Carlisle said. “Mr. Santillo.”

  My dad just nodded. I didn’t move at all.

  “How are you doing?” Carlisle asked, th
e mock sincerity in his voice so spot-on I almost thought he was genuinely interested.

  “Fucking fantastic,” I said.

  My dad shot me a look but it was worth it.

  Carlisle fidgeted, pretending to be uncomfortable. “Look, Roman, I want you to know we were all really worried about you.” He glanced at Cassie and the temperature in me spiked again. “Cassie, here, was a total mess.” He said it slow, a strange gleam in his eye.

  And I knew. I knew that he knew and Cassie was right. He was just screwing with her. I watched his hands, watched him grip her tight.

  “Well, we’ll just leave you to your lunch. Glad you’re doing okay,” he said before pulling Cassie toward a booth on the other side of the restaurant.

  “I’ve always hated that kid,” my dad said.

  But I couldn’t even open my mouth to agree. I was looking at Cassie, her face stricken as she took one last glance at me over her shoulder.

  “You up for groceries after this? Your nonna made me a list.”

  Cassie sunk down in a booth seat, her eyes dark and reflected in the window on the other side of Carlisle.

  “Roman,” my dad said, waving a hand.

  “Huh?”

  “Groceries. You up for another stop?”

  “Oh…I think I’m kind of tired.”

  “You sure?” He was staring at my second slice of pizza, untouched.

  I nodded. “Can we take the rest to go?”

  He lowered his voice. “Is this because of Carlisle? You know he’s just some punk kid who—”

  “It’s not,” I snapped.

  “Fine.” My dad stood. “Then we’ll go.”

  Despite what I’d said we stopped at the supermarket on the way home. My dad carried in nonna’s mile long list and I stayed in the car. I rolled down the window, letting the stagnant air waft out but instead it clung to my skin, mixing with the other parking lot smells—mildew and asphalt, stale garbage and cigarette butts.

  “Just choke it down you fucking pussy.”

  The smoke strangled me and I gagged. “What the hell is this?” I coughed.

  Carlisle hung an arm outside the car window. “I call it The Frankenstein—a little bit of synth, a little bit of weed, some shrooms…”

  “Shit. When’s it wear off?”

  “Oh, come on, man, it hasn’t even hit you yet.” He took back the joint, pressed it to his lips.

  “And when it does?”

  He kicked the door open, heading for the tree line.

  “Hey, wait up…” I said.

  I took careful steps, still waiting for Carlisle’s concoction to hit me but as I followed him down to the quarry, toward a dark shadow strung between two trees, I realized that it wasn’t the kind of trip that hijacks you all at once, but it was the kind that sneaks up on you, a slow phosphorescent wave that sets your cells buzzing.

  I looked down at my arms, the hairs rising, but they were thick and dark like I was looking at them through a microscope. I saw every follicle and every cell; goose bumps like tire tracks across my skin.

  “Carlisle?”

  He held a finger to his lips. “Shh…”

  His outline was smeared against the night. I tried to reach for him and I tripped.

  “What part of shh don’t you understand?” he hissed.

  “Sorry I—”

  He held a hand over my mouth and it smelled like Doritos and gasoline. “See that?” he whispered in my ear.

  I shook my head, my mouth still covered.

  “Shit’s everywhere.”

  He looked up and my eyes followed. Tarps hung from some kind of crude pulley system.

  “They’ve got tents all through these trees.”

  “Who?”

  “Fucking bums.” He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  I barely made out the silhouette of someone standing in the moonlight.

  “They live in there?” I asked.

  “I guess so.”

  The silhouette sunk into the shadows, twigs snapping under his feet.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I said.

  “Oh, shit dude. Is he taking a piss?”

  I heard something landing against the leaves.

  Carlisle laughed. “This should be good.”

  The smell of gasoline curled into my mouth. Carlisle lit the match and I stumbled back.

  “What the—?”

  He held a finger to his lips, flames dancing across his face. Then he lit the gas soaked swatch, fire racing down into the bottle, and he tossed it into the night.

  There was a tap on the driver’s side window and I jumped.

  My dad was juggling a pair of paper sacks in each arm. “Little help?”

  I unlocked the door and pulled myself across the seat before reaching for one of the bags.

  “Thanks.”

  We drove in silence most of the way home but when we pulled into the driveway my dad hesitated before cutting the engine.

  “You know, you have nothing to be ashamed of,” he said.

  I stared out the window. “Can we not do this?”

  “I just don’t want you letting them get to you.”

  Them. The people at the restaurant had been an exhausting annoyance but I knew my dad really meant Carlisle.

  “They don’t.”

  “Well, they shouldn’t.”

  I finally faced him.

  “You’ve made so much progress, Roman. It’s unbelievable what you’ve done. You’re…” His words made my chest ache.

  “Stop. Please.”

  “You’re a good kid, Roman. You’re not like him.”

  I clenched my jaw, looked away again. Because I was. And not because I used to be some punk kid who was only righteous these days by default but because when he’d tossed those flames into the forest and then run, I’d run too.

  I sifted through every move and every word, recalculating where exactly I’d gone wrong between dinner and finally making it to my bed.

  My dad had helped me in from the truck and parked me in front of the kitchen table. We’d talked about my appointment that morning while nonna made an early dinner. My dad left out the fact that we’d just eaten lunch and then my nonna stood over me as I forced down every bite of her famous lasagna. Then there was cake, which I almost puked up. We watched a re-run of an old 90s sitcom, then the news, something about a coma patient in California miraculously climbing out of bed and trying to leave their room in the middle of the night, and then I managed to avoid taking a bath for the fourth day straight.

  I got into bed. My dad turned off the light. He closed the door and I closed my eyes and then…

  I was back at the farmhouse. I was surrounded by Bryn’s things, the smell of her sending my pulse into my throat.

  And I was standing.

  I stared down at my legs, feeling the granules of sand on the bottoms of my feet, the wind whipping past my pant legs and the denim scraping my skin. I could feel the hairs standing upright, goose bumps climbing me; even my pulse was intensified, blood washing up and down louder than the tide. I was attached to something living again, for the first time in months.

  I bent one knee, then the other, feeling my weight on my bones. They trembled but not because I was weak, but because I couldn’t believe it.

  I was standing.

  And then I was walking.

  I took that first step as tears clung to my lashes, then another, every inch of me shaking. I quickened my pace, jumping into a run, and then the tears fell free. They devoured me and I let them.

  But Bryn wasn’t there to see any of it.

  I searched the house, too afraid to call her name. I wasn’t sure which version of her memories I was standing in and I waited for my nightmares to manifest at any moment. But every room I checked was empty and when I stepped outside the beach was too. I followed the shallow creek through the trees, revisiting Bryn’s old tree house and the Ferris wheel until I finally reached the trailer house.

  The pinwheels were st
ill spinning near the porch steps, Bryn’s childhood bike still wedged between the cinderblocks and the base of the house. I took a step onto the gravel driveway and then the curtains fluttered.

  I paused, breath hitching. I stared at the window and as the curtain tore away, the glass washed in shadow, it wasn’t Bryn I saw.

  It was me.

  My face, my eyes, my mouth turned up in a dark smile. It stared back, stirring the darkness inside me, the one I’d been waiting to see ever since I first opened my eyes in that hospital bed. It rose up like a second heart, swelling and taking up space until it was the only pulse I could hear.

  The sound grew louder until it wasn’t just between my ribs but ricocheting between the trees, swirling up from the forest floor, and pounding on the other side of the trailer house walls. It was deafening and I clawed at my ears—that face, my face, amused as it watched me writhing there. And then its mouth opened wide, swallowing the sound into silence.

  Sweat steeled me to the bed. I twisted and tried to sit up but then I realized that it wasn’t the shadow holding me down, it was gravity.

  A nightmare. It was just a nightmare.

  I stared down at my legs, the hall light pouring under the door seam and cutting across my feet. I hiked up the blanket, staring at them, at my ankles and bones and toenails.

  And I needed to see it. I needed to see what I’d done, what I could do. So I sat there, gripping the blankets until I was sweating again, as I tried to wake the rest of me.

  19

  Bryn

  “Sie Traurig blau.”

  “Excuse me?”

  I was leaning over my laptop, video chatting with Dani as Felix pushed his way onto the screen.

  “She was attempting to say that you look blue.”

  “I’m just trying to prepare for the trip,” Dani said.

  “How long will you be gone again?” Felix asked.

  She smiled. “An entire week.”

  He leaned back against the couch, out of her line of sight, and mouthed the words thank you.

  Dani elbowed him. “I can still see you in the corner of the screen, you idiot.”