Unlocked

by Margo Kelly

Chelsea let out an earth-shattering scream from the locker room.

  Mr. Holloday twisted toward the sound. “Someone else is here?”

  The security guard moved toward the kitchen.

  “Harrison’s daughter is in the locker room,” I said. “She helped kidnap Mom.”

  Mr. Holloday glared at Harrison’s body. “He looks familiar.”

  “He auditioned Thursday,” I said. “Mom told him to leave.”

  Mr. Holloday’s eyes narrowed, but he kept pressure on Mom’s wound.

  • • •

  Two EMTs helped my mom, and I sat on the edge of the stage, staring at my blood-covered hands. What were the chances Mom would survive her neck injury when Harrison died from his own neck wound?

  A police photographer snapped pictures of my injuries: my face, bruised and bloodied; my head, scalped bald in one spot; my hands, covered in Mom’s blood. A woman in a CSI jacket scraped under my fingernails and caught the bits in tiny bags. When she finished, an EMT cleaned and bandaged my facial wounds and then the road rash on my forearm. I told him more was along my left thigh. He cut the side of my slacks and spread ointment over the wounds before wrapping my leg in clean cotton gauze.

  “Hannah, I’m Detective Samuelson,” a man said. I peered up and recognized the detective from Manny’s house.

  “I remember.”

  I reached into Mom’s purse for the wet wipes and left pink fingerprints on everything I touched. I yanked out a wipe and scrubbed my skin and my torn, chipped fingernails.

  The EMT stopped me. “Let me do that.” He used a moist cloth to wipe my hands and checked for any remaining wounds. He applied ointment and bandages to the cuts on my hands.

  “You have friends who really care about you,” Detective Samuelson said.

  “Who are you talking about?” I asked. Certainly not Chelsea. Right then, officers escorted her through the lounge with her hands in cuffs. She had moved here last fall and had infiltrated our group. We’d accepted her, and all along she’d been doing the bidding of Harrison, laying the groundwork to make me look crazy out of my mind.

  She mumbled incessantly to no one in particular. As she passed Harrison’s body, she asked, “Can I go home now?”

  Detective Samuelson perched next to me on the stage and set his hand on top of mine. “Hannah, Eugene is fine. Firefighters got to him in time. He’s at the hospital waiting for you. He told me everything.”

  My head dropped in relief. “I thought he was dead,” I said. My chest heaved, and I gasped for air.

  Detective Samuelson wrapped his arm around me. I sobbed into his shoulder. I had hoped Plug would be saved, but I hadn’t allowed myself to believe it. Just like I couldn’t let myself believe Mom would be okay.

  “I assure you, Eugene is very much alive,” Detective Samuelson said.

  In that moment, I knew for certain, my feelings for Plug were real. Out from under the influence of the hypnotist or the demons, I still cared about Plug, and I needed to see him.

  “Kyla and Nick are in the hotel lobby, waiting to come up here if that is what you want,” the detective said.

  I brushed away my tears and nodded.

  He motioned to the officer standing nearby. “Let Kyla and Nick come up.”

  Detective Samuelson squeezed my hands. “Your friends fought hard for you. They told us everything that’s happened, and they showed us the videos with Harrison manipulating you. We’ve been trying to catch up to you, Hannah. We want to help you.”

  I glanced at Harrison’s body. The CSI people were taking pictures and collecting evidence.

  “Hotel security caught it all on video,” Detective Samuelson said. “Well, most of it. The video pixelated out a few times. Some sort of glitch in the system. But there’s enough to prove self-defense.”

  “Did the video show the spirit leaving Harrison’s body?” I asked.

  Detective Samuelson raised his eyebrows. “Spirit? I don’t know. That’s not my area of expertise.”

  The EMTs lifted Mom onto a gurney. Detective Samuelson gently took my hand and helped me up. We walked over to Mom.

  She reached out for me. She was alive. And alert.

  I wrapped my hands around hers.

  Beneath the oxygen mask, Mom tried to speak. I leaned in closer.

  “I’m so proud of you,” she whispered.

  I pressed my cheek against hers. “I love you so much, Mom,” I whispered in her ear.

  “We need to get her to the hospital,” an EMT said.

  Reluctantly, I let go of Mom. I kissed her on the forehead and tucked her hand in next to her side.

  The EMT adjusted the oxygen mask on Mom’s mouth and nose. “The knife didn’t sever any major arteries in her neck,” he said, “but she may need surgery to repair the damage. And the thigh laceration needs to be stitched up, but it will heal. Would you like to ride in the ambulance with her?”

  “Yes.” I walked with them toward the lounge doors and cried silently.

  Kyla and Nick exploded through the entrance before we reached it. Kyla threw her arms around me.

  “Are you all right?” she asked and held me tighter. Her indigo hair buried my face.

  “Of course not,” Nick said and wrapped his arms around both of us. “But she will be. If she can take down Tall-Tree-Chelsea and her Devil-of-a-Dad, Hannah can do anything.”

  They held me even tighter.

  “Hannah,” Detective Samuelson said, “if you want to ride with your mom in the ambulance, we need to go.”

  Kyla and Nick drew back, but they each held onto my hands.

  I nodded at the detective.

  “Meet me at the hospital?” I asked Kyla and Nick.

  “Of course,” she said. “We’ll do whatever you want.”

  • • •

  Lights flashed beneath the awning of the Main Street Hotel. A throng of reporters shouted questions and thrust their microphones in my face. Mr. Holloday and Detective Samuelson shielded me with their arms as I followed Mom’s gurney to the ambulance. The aromas of blood and pepper spray still clung to the inside of my nose, and my stomach churned.

  “Hannah!” the reporters shouted in chorus.

  “Did you love your mom?” some dumb guy asked.

  “Why did you set fire to your boyfriend’s house?” another one yelled.

  Mr. Holloday helped me up into the colossal white ambulance.

  “I’ll meet you at the hospital,” the detective said.

  He closed the door, and I sat on the side bench. I held Mom’s hand, and the ambulance crept through the crowd of onlookers that had formed in front of the hotel.

  The driver flipped the sirens on and sped toward the hospital.

  • • •

  A team of doctors met my mom in the ambulance bay. Kyla and Nick waited there for me as well. The doctors assessed my mom and rushed her off to surgery. Kyla had the forethought to tell them we’d be waiting in Eugene Polaski’s room, and a nurse assured us they would find me there after the surgery.

  “How’d you beat the ambulance here?” I asked Kyla.

  “You’ve never seen her drive,” Nick said.

  Kyla smiled and looped her arm through mine. “Let’s go see Plug.”

  Before we reached his room, we ran into Mrs. Santos and Manny in the hallway. We halted about six feet apart. They each wore navy blue police department T-shirts, and it was the first time I’d ever seen Mrs. Santos without makeup. She wiped a tissue beneath her eyes, but more tears spilled down her pallid cheeks.

  Manny shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at the floor. My first instinct was to kick him for not believing in me and sticking with me through the hard stuff. But then I remembered how Jordan’s mom had slapped me in this very same hospital. I remembered how awful it felt. The hypnotist had left my mind open to his manipulation and to evil influences. The accident was a result of both.

  I had no idea if Jordan’s family could ever forgive me, but I knew that Manny couldn’t forgive
me for changing. He wanted our relationship to stay the same forever in a tight little box, and I’d ruined that for him. He had folded when I needed him the most. It’s easy to be with someone when everything goes right, but Manny couldn’t deal with my dark side when everything went wrong. And I wanted to be with someone who could.

  “Hannah,” Mrs. Santos said, “the police explained to us that you were not responsible for the fire.”

  “I’m still sorry you had to go through that,” I said.

  “I jumped to conclusions,” Mrs. Santos said. “Protecting my children was foremost in my mind, and . . . I apologize for assuming the worst about you.”

  She had once thought of me like a daughter. She’d rocked me and hummed lullabies to me after the accident. But everything changed when she found me on the couch with her son.

  Manny gazed up at me. “Can we go somewhere and talk?”

  “No.” I answered too quickly. But exhaustion clouded my mind, and I couldn’t bear the idea of having a drawn-out conversation with Manny right now.

  “I’m sorry.” He ran his hand through his chestnut hair and frowned. He seemed to struggle to find the words, and then he suddenly pivoted and walked away.

  Mrs. Santos gazed at me for a moment, and then she followed Manny.

  “That went well,” Nick said.

  Kyla wrapped her arm around my shoulders and escorted me to Plug’s room. I paused at the door. Necro was already there, huddled over Plug’s bedside. Plug’s grandma sat nearby with her hand resting on Plug’s leg. Necro lifted his head and smiled when he saw me. Days ago I thought he was scary looking, but Harrison, in fact, had been the scariest man I’d ever seen on the face of this earth. I had been so wrong about so many things. Nick nudged me, but I was immovable. So much had happened in the past week. Was it all really over?

  Necro tapped Plug’s leg. “Hannah’s here.”

  Plug turned his head toward me, and a tear rolled down his cheek. Plug’s head was wrapped in bandages, and new stitches blanketed his lower lip. His rings, plugs, and trinkets had all been removed from his face and fingers. An IV tube ran from his arm to a bag dangling from a pole.

  Necro came to me and took my hand. He led me to Plug’s side and set my hand on top of Plug’s. We said nothing. No words were necessary. I knew that Plug had been as worried about me as I had been about him. And now the comfort of touch was all either of us needed. A heart monitor beeped, and the blood pressure cuff activated. When it finished, I lowered the rail on the bed, lifted Plug’s arm, and lay next to him. I wrapped my arm around his waist, and he wrapped his around my shoulders.

  Necro set his hand on mine while Kyla and Nick filled him in on everything that had happened over the past week, focusing on how the hypnotist and malevolent spirits had worked in concert to torment me. They explained that Harrison’s ultimate goal was to seek revenge against my mom. They made it sound so simple.

  There was a tap at the door, and I recognized Detective Samuelson’s voice. He moved around to the far side of the bed so we could see each other without me needing to move.

  Dr. James came in behind him and stood at the end of the bed. “How are you feeling, Hannah?”

  “I’m not schizophrenic and neither was my dad.”

  “Detective Samuelson has filled me in, and I’m here to see if I can help in any way.” Dr. James worked his finger into the knot of his solid black tie and loosened it.

  “I have some news,” Detective Samuelson said. “When the officers took Chelsea down to the police station, they ran her prints through the system. Turns out she’s not Harrison’s daughter.”

  “What?” Kyla asked.

  Detective Samuelson nodded at her. “Chelsea’s name is actually Sarah, and she was abducted eighteen months ago. The police had primarily focused their search on the East Coast.” He handed me Sarah’s missing-person flyer.

  I sat up, stunned. The flyer pictured a brunette with little makeup. The description said Sarah played cello in the youth symphony and loved to read. Nick and Kyla looked over my shoulder at the flyer.

  “It doesn’t even look like her,” I said. Harrison had manipulated her mind, changed her appearance, and orchestrated her life. She was his pawn. Nothing more.

  “Monarch slave,” Nick said. “He used hypnosis not only to change a bookworm into a volleyball player but also to change her into a coconspirator.”

  “What will happen to her?” I asked. None of this had been her fault.

  “Lots of counseling,” the detective said. “Her parents in New Jersey have already been contacted, and they’re on their way out here.”

  “Unbelievable,” Kyla said.

  Nick rubbed his jaw. “I’m telling you, crap like this goes down all the time. We, the citizens, just never hear about it on the daily newscast.”

  Necro cleared his throat. “What about Hannah? Will any charges be filed against her?”

  Detective Samuelson shook his head. “Hannah, you will need some serious counseling yourself to—”

  “To make sure you’re deprogrammed,” Nick interrupted, and then he glared at Dr. James as he continued to speak. “We’ll research the options and make sure you have the best expert in the field.” He turned to Detective Samuelson. “Right?”

  He smiled at Nick. “I’m sure we can find someone that you, the department, and Dr. James will endorse.”

  “You’re right, Nick,” Dr. James said. “Prolonged hypnosis and mind control is outside my area of proficiency, and I regret that I wasn’t able to help Hannah more. But I will do everything in my power to find the right expert to help her, and Sarah, recover fully.”

  “Do any of you have any other questions?” Detective Samuelson asked.

  “Can I stay here?” I asked.

  “Yes.” Detective Samuelson reached into his pocket, pulled out a business card, and gave it to me. “Call me if you need anything, but it appears you’re taken care of here. I’ll be in contact with you and your mom later.”

  I settled back down into the small bed and felt at peace with my friends beside me.

  Sunday

  September 1

  I paced the perimeter of Mom’s hospital room. She shifted in bed, and I paused to see if she’d wake, but she continued sleeping. I slid the window blinds to the side and let in the first rays of dawn, but even that didn’t make a difference. The doctors assured me they’d repaired the damages caused by Harrison—the physical damages—but I needed Mom to be alert enough to tell me herself.

  I blew out a long breath. I needed a distraction.

  Next to Mom’s bed, I stood at the tall rolling table and opened the lacquered wooden box of premium artist’s pencils that Nick and Kyla had given me last night. Inside, there had to be at least fifty different colors. I flipped open the new sketchpad, caressed the blank white page, and imagined the possibilities.

  After a moment of indecision, I selected a cranberry pencil and roughed out the edges of a geranium. I became more confident with the form and darkened the color. Then I added golden tones to highlight the petals and ashen gray to shadow the blossoms. I closed my eyes to recall more of the violets, irises, and daffodils that bloomed in the safe place of my mind.

  When I opened my eyes, Lily and Mark were in the doorway. Lily sat in a wheelchair and Mark stood behind her. A pang struck my heart, because the golden silk scarf wrapped around Lily’s head, concealing the bandage and hair loss, was the present I’d picked for her at the mall last Sunday.

  She glanced from me to my mom and back to me again.

  “Can we come in?” Lily asked.

  “Of course,” I said and bumped the bed table, sending my sketchpad to the floor. I bent down to retrieve it.

  Mark wheeled Lily into the room and then set the brakes at the base of her chair.

  “Manny told us everything,” Mark said.

  “Everything?” Everything from his perspective, everything he knew about, but certainly not everything that had happened over the past we
ek. I wiped my sweaty hands on the hospital scrubs I wore.

  “You look more like yourself,” Lily said.

  “So do you.” The swelling had gone down around her eyes and lips. Her skin had regained much of its healthier color.

  Lily pointed at my outfit. “You always did look brilliant in blue.”

  “Yeah, my choices were these scrubs or a hospital gown.” I plucked at the baggy top. I’d showered—without incident—while Mom had been in surgery yesterday. It had felt great to rid myself of Harrison’s blood and the stench of the pepper spray, but now sweat rolled down my back. I was nervous to talk with my old friends after all that had happened this week.

  “You’re here early this morning,” I said and glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s still before seven.”

  “How could any of us sleep with all that’s happened?” Mark said.

  “You’re right.” I retied the drawstring at my waist. I had been awake since Friday. I knew I should be exhausted, but I couldn’t rest until I knew for myself that Mom was going to be fine.

  “So you heard about Chelsea?” I asked.

  They nodded.

  “Chelsea convinced us you were crazy.” Mark rubbed his face. Then he shook out his arms. “My head understands she was a puppet, but my heart can’t believe our whole relationship was fake.”

  “Are you going to see her?” I asked.

  “I heard she’s in the psychiatric wing with no visitors allowed,” Mark said, “but I’m going to try. I just wanted to stop here first and tell you how sorry I am . . . for everything.”

  “Thanks, Mark. It means a lot to me.”

  He gave me an awkward hug, and then he headed out.

  I turned to Lily, and we smiled weakly at each other. “I’m glad to see you’re out of bed already.”

  “They changed my meds, and it made a big difference.” Lily wrung her hands. “I know Jordan’s gone. My heart’s been ripped out forever, and there’s no going back to fix any of it. A grief counselor visited me. I think that’ll help.”

  “I’m so sorry about everything.” Tears spilled from my eyes down to the tiled floor.

  Lily clutched my hand and tugged me closer. “No, I’m sorry.”