Daniel slumped next to her, throwing a smile back that was bigger than usual and just for her. “Merry Christmas,” he said.
“Merry Christmas, Danny.”
She went back to her room after the presents were gone, laid in bed, and dreamed of a hole in the world.
She dreamed of earthquakes. She dreamed of tornadoes and hurricanes. She dreamed of natural disasters and canyons and the people that fell down them. She dreamed of everything and anything except knives and dying teenage girls.
And when she woke up, she didn’t dream of anything and it didn’t seem quite so bad anymore.
Dan Murray had been the first true monster Sandra Daron had ever met.
But he was dead and she wasn’t going to let him have any more pieces of her.
Goodbye Mr. Murray.
Chapter Seven
Sometimes, Sandra wondered if her family had ever noticed she was gone.
She wondered if they’d even cared when they had.
She doubted it very much.
It was easy to think it didn’t matter, that the Sloans were her family now. But the thought snuck in sometimes, while she chanted Daron in her head. She was really Sandra Daron. Sandra Daron. Not Sandra Casey.
“Casey, Sandra?” the teacher called, first day of classes and she forced her hand to rise. First year of high school, headache coming on strong and she couldn’t wait for the bell to ring.
Class dragged on forever, course expectations and work handed out, and Sandra was literally squirming in her seat by the time Mrs. Yestin let them go.
Jack gave her a look when she met him in the hall, and Sandra wondered how many times Lem had thrown that same look at his son for him to pick up on it so well. “Tough first class?” he asked.
“No.”
“Uh-huh.”
One of the boys from Jack’s year came up, brown hair flopping over his brow and a piercing in his lip and his nose and who knew where else – trust Jack to befriend all the rebels in his class. Sandra doubted the boy knew the first thing about Jack. Just like no one knew about Sandra. “Ethan,” he told her. “Ethan, Sandra.”
Ethan nodded, flashing a wicked grin and Jack jabbed him with his elbow. “Sorry, I—”
“Walk you to class?” Tommy Madison bounced on his shoes and Sandra wondered where he had snuck up from. Would he want her if he knew she was just damaged goods; if he knew the things she dreamt at night, the things she couldn’t stop from seeing like she could during the day? Tommy only needed a wagging puppy-dog tail and he’d be all set. Jack rolled his eyes like he was going to pull a muscle and would’ve set Tommy on fire with his glare if he could’ve managed it. Sandra sighed, agreeing quickly, able to see trouble brewing. Tommy grabbed the bag off her shoulder, nearly toppled her over, and Jack growled loud enough to make Ethan look over at him.
“You like—” he began to say in a jaunty, antagonizing tone, and Jack took him down hard. Sandra left them grappling in the middle of the hallway and walked to math.
Five hours later, she was ready to stuff herself full of painkillers and wrap a pillow around her head.
“Are you okay?” Tommy whispered from beside her.
Sandra didn’t even bother nodding, just gave a weak grin, and Tommy hovered by her side when class ended, all the way to her locker and back out the doors. She didn’t see Jack until they reached the parking lot, and by then Danny was waiting for them in the driver’s seat – Lem still at work – and Tommy helped her up and in before Jack could jump out to get her.
For once, he forwent the glare to give Tommy a nod of thanks. The door shut quietly and Jack’s cool fingers settled on the back of her neck as Sandra leaned forward, head nearly in her knees.
“That bad?” he whispered, worry in his tone, and Sandra had to press a hand to her nose when she tasted blood.
Her fingers came away red.
“Motherfucker,” Jack gusted out. He got her head tipped back, Kleenex from somewhere held fast to her nose. She bled all the way home. Sandra thought, if she had her eyes open, maybe they’d be bleeding, too.
The pressure was awful.
Daniel came around the other side of the truck when they got to the house, Jack holding her steady until his brother got an arm under her knees and she could grab hold of his neck. She kept one hand on her nose as Jack climbed out, locked the doors, and hurried up the front steps. Daniel took her straight to the bathroom.
“Don’t turn the light on,” she rasped.
A gentle hand was the only response. The Kleenex was lifted away and a warm washcloth smoothed over the front of her face and then another dry cloth was pressed back to her nose. She held it tight, heard Danny murmur, “Get a new shirt,” and Jack disappeared, Danny crouching balanced before her with his hand on her knee.
“What’re you doing?” he asked. “You’re fighting it, aren’t you?”
Sandra didn’t answer, kept still like the whole world wasn’t turning her inside out, helpless, heart hammering in an off-tempo rhythm that had her knees shaking. The air was either thick or thin and she had to fight to draw it in.
“Here.” Jack, back in a flash, and Daniel helped her keep a hold of the cloth while he stripped the shirt over her head. She was glad it was dark because she didn’t need them seeing her in her underwear. The shirt they slipped over her head was big and easy to get on – one of Jack’s and she almost wanted to look up and see his face. He’d never stopped complaining about that habit of hers.
Her head felt odd, disconnected from her shoulders and full of white noise. Danny’s hand on her knee didn’t hurt, but everything was shaking, trembling loose at her joints. A scream was in her throat. Pressure just building and building—
“You’ve got to stop,” Daniel whispered, voice low and intense and it sounded like he was shouting up at the sky, long-far-down beneath her, balloon taking her away.
No, she thought. I won’t stop it. I won’t.
“You can’t stop seeing.” That was exactly the problem.
Something warm and wet ran down her face. It wasn’t the blood.
“I’m so tired, Danny.”
“Stop,” he pleaded.
No. The world turned black.
Sandra came to on her bed, blankets tucked around her and pulled tight to her shoulders. Her bloodied nose had stopped and her hair felt damp around the edges, curls around her face from the cloth they’d used to wipe her clean. Her cheeks felt raw, like she’d been crying even while she’d been asleep.
She couldn’t remember seeing anything in her dreams, but she figured she must have – her insides wouldn’t feel so hollow if she hadn’t. She wouldn’t feel so raw and scooped out, her guts nothing but air and memory.
Shifting on the bed brought her into line with Jack’s chest. He was beside her, over the covers and arm tucked under his head. He looked damned tired, eyes closed, and Sandra didn’t move, still figuring out if it was actually her own body she felt. It didn’t feel real. Maybe she was still in a dream.
“Danny thinks it’ll get worse the more you fight it,” Jack said, out of the blue with his eyes still closed.
When she didn’t say anything, his green eyes popped open, a ragged voice saying, “You shouldn’t fight it.”
Sandra turned her head, turned her whole body so that Jack had to wrap an arm around her middle to keep from falling out of bed.
“Don’t fight it,” he said lowly, a gravely growl. Still nothing and that arm tightened. “Damn it, San.” A warm heat moved against her back, stilled and stayed there.
It took a long minute to figure out it was his head between her shoulder blades.
“Why?” he finally asked. “I don’t get it. I thought things were getting easier for you.” His voice breathed hot through her shirt, anger and exhaustion making him clench his hand tight, fistful of blanket and shirt.
>
She didn’t say a word.
“Do you even know how long you bled?”
“Do you know how many people I’ve seen die?” she asked back, hollow voiced. “I smell the air and the smoke and the tobacco and blood and gunpowder and rain and earth. I feel their bones break and their lungs choke and muscles and skin snap and peel and the worms in my mouth and—”
His breath stuttered, fell to a long stop before starting up again.
“I see everything they see.” Sandra wished she could stop talking, but her tongue and lips and mouth kept pushing out the awful words. “I’ve died. I’ve died more times than I can even count. Do you know he killed them on that floor, right where I was? He killed them where you found me. And I saw everything he did to them. I saw what he was going to do to me. He did it in my dreams, and then he did it for real. Do you know how many times he… How many times he r-raped me and c-cut me up a-and—” and then she was breathing too hard to talk and his lips touched the back of her neck.
Jack turned her around and Sandra didn’t even know she was crying until he smoothed his fingers over her cheek.
“I promised he wouldn’t have any more pieces of me. I can’t control what I see at night, Jack. But I can during the day and I don’t want to know if Tommy gets hit by the bus next week. Or if Lucy Powers makes out with Branden Olson. Or if Mrs. Lynden finally packs up and leaves like she’s always threatening to. I don’t want to know, Jack. Don’t make me. Please don’t make me.”
“Sandra,” he managed, hesitant, burying into her and nose pressed to her temple tight. They were both quiet for a long, long time.
“Where’s Danny?” she finally asked, voice ruined.
“He went to go get Dad. Working hours.” Even Jack sounded defeated.
“He can’t make me see,” she said, belligerent beneath all the tears.
“I’ll talk to him.”
Sandra nodded, snuffled, and pressed her wet face against his neck. Jack shuddered under the long sweep of her lashes.
“It can’t keep going like this, though. You’re hurting yourself.”
She didn’t want to concede, but whispered, “I know.”
His palm rested solid through the blankets, heavy on her back. “I’m worried. We’re all worried.”
“It doesn’t hurt anymore.”
“That’s not the point.”
“I know,” she repeated.
He sighed. “What are we supposed to do?”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. I don’t know, she thought. I don’t know anything anymore.
Gusting air out again, he said, “Just … don’t let it get this bad again. Please. Okay?”
“Yeah,” she agreed and wasn’t sure if she even believed herself.
“Yeah,” Jack paralleled sadly. He didn’t believe her either.
~
When Tommy asked Sandra out again three months into the term, she said yes. He’d been leaving flowers at her locker and he’d honed the puppy dog eyes down to an art. He carried her books every day and didn’t even care that he was the laughingstock of the whole school. Most of them thought they were together by now, anyway.
They made a movie date. Sandra met him there, going for a “walk” because neither Jack nor Daniel would leave her alone if they knew she was meeting a boy – though she thought Lem kind of knew from the way he kept grinning over at her all evening.
“Sandra!” Tommy waved a hand at her, halfway up the sidewalk and in front of the theater doors, like she wasn’t going to see him through the crowd of three.
“Hey.” She gave a weak smile and he grinned like Christmas had come early. “You ready?” she asked.
Tommy’s grin widened some more and he grabbed her hand, pulling her inside. Sandra nearly pulled away, but when she got nothing other than an overwhelming surge of excitement and adrenaline – not her own – she let him stay attached. He didn’t let go of her hand, even while they got their order of popcorn and drinks. His palm was a little sweaty and slippery, but he just held on tight right on through the movie, didn’t even move to put his arm around her or try to cop a feel. Not what Sandra expected. Not with how long he’d waited for this.
“Can I walk you home?” Tommy asked afterward, jiggling a little on his feet.
“Do you really think that’s such a good idea?” Tommy seemed to forget that she lived with the Sloan boys; he was much more terrified of Daniel than Jack, despite never having heard a word from the older boy; and his eyes went wide. Chuckling nervously, he let go of his grip for the first time in hours and Sandra wiped her fingers as unnoticeably as she could on her new dark-blue jeans.
The kiss was sloppy and caught her on the chin. When he found her lips, he pressed close for one long minute before pulling away.
“Oh.” He frowned. “Huh.” He looked down. “Huh,” he said again.
“Yeah,” Sandra agreed, stuffing her hands deep into her pockets, resisting the urge to wipe at her face. The night air had cooled the world, crickets far off in the fields behind the theater and houses way down to the left. They fidgeted awkwardly in place.
“Uh… Just friends?” Tommy offered.
“Probably be for the best.”
Tommy nodded, offering a small smile, and asked again, “You sure you don’t want a walk home?”
Sandra shrugged, “That’s okay. You have to go the opposite way anyways.”
“Okay.” He sniffed once, rubbed a thumb against his nose and stared down at the sidewalk as though he needed to explain it all away. “I expected more.”
“Well … yeah.”
“Yeah…” he agreed, “well, I’ll just see you at school then. See you!” Tommy raised one hand high as he turned and Sandra waved at his back before starting down the opposite way.
That was how Sandra Daron and Tommy Madison became friends instead of lovers.
Good thing, too. She sure needed a friend.
“Head hurting again?” Tommy gave her a sympathetic look and shuffled the ibuprofen out of his bag.
“I love you,” she said and Tommy just grinned.
“Of course you do. All that time spent on getting that first date and you say that now.” He freed the bottle of water from his backpack and shoved it into her hands.
“You’re a god.”
“Oh, completely.” He watched her throw three pills back and took a huge swallow. “Are you sure you’re okay? I’ve never seen someone get so many headaches before.”
“My mother got them, too. Don’t worry about it,” she assured him, hardly twitching at the lie.
Tommy grimaced, but took the pills and water back. “Figures I’d be stocked up for your headaches better than you.”
“They’d ask—”
“Too many questions,” he cut her off. “You’ve said.”
She knew he didn’t get why she kept the headaches a secret, why she didn’t want Jack and Daniel Sloan to know, but he never said a word to them either. “Thanks, Tommy.”
“Sure,” he smiled. “Anything I can do to help.”
That made her smile back.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing. You’re a good friend.”
Tommy rolled his eyes. “I’ve always been perfect.” Sandra gave a soft laugh, then flinched when her head roared with pain. She let her head fall forward onto the cafeteria table, glad that it was their free period and hardly any of the other students with an empty block had decided to stay inside.
“You are perfect,” she breathed into the laminate. Tommy patted the top of her hand.
“Chin up. We’re almost done the year. Only one more after that and we’re free.”
Sandra was glad her sad grin was hidden. Only one year left, but Jack would no longer be a part of it. Graduation was mere weeks away and he still didn’t do more than send her look
s, crack jokes and glare at Tommy, no matter how many times she’d said that they were only friends.
Her headache multiplied threefold, almost-visions dancing behind her eyes.
“Maybe you should head home.”
“Huh?” The bell rung and Sandra nearly whimpered, eyes tearing up and squeezing closed. “Yeah,” Tommy said, “go home.”
“Can’t.”
“They’re going to find out sometime.” Tommy picked up his backpack and headed for the cafeteria doors.
They hadn’t for nearly over two years, ever since they’d moved to this town. As far as the Sloans knew, her headaches had gotten better after that initial burst of nosebleeds and clenched screams. And they had. She’d gotten better at suppressing, but not better at sleeping, dreaming in constant loops of nightmares.
She didn’t think they knew just how much concealer she used to cover up the dark circles under her eyes.
Pushing up, listening to the rising rumble of the hallway change, Sandra grabbed her bag and swayed toward the rear cafeteria door. The sun was too bright, but it was blessedly quiet except for the long in-between hum of slow-road traffic.
“Troubles with the boyfriend?”
Sandra spun around, nearly threw up, and stared at Jack, leaning against the side of the school’s brown brick wall. “Tommy’s hardly my boyfriend.”
“Could have fooled me.”
You had your chance, she wanted to say. But Tommy really was just a friend, a good one, so it seemed pointless. Instead, Sandra turned to the wall, leaned without looking as though she needed the support and locked her shaking knees.
“Don’t you have class anyway?” she got out.
He just raised an eyebrow back at her.
“You have more to worry about,” she argued. It sounded like she was shouting in her own head. “It’s your graduating year.”
He scoffed. “Like I’ll do more than go into garage work like Daniel and Dad.”
“You could.”
“I don’t want to.”
His eyes were hard and Sandra shrugged lightly, watching the world swirl. “I don’t know what I want to do.”
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