“I just don’t know.” It’s my refrain, but there’s no music to it. Christmas presents appear. Decorations garnish the ward, but it’s like putting diamond studs in a pig’s ears. It’s still a pig. Still a hospital ward.
My mom even visits. We’re in different hospitals. I’m on the pediatric psych ward at the children’s hospital. She manages a smile, but most of the time we stare at each other. Peter’s always here. A chaperon, but I don’t care.
Karl comes. He brings flowers and another teddy bear. I hug it. But on my phone, Heckleena’s lips don’t move. Shadownet is burned. I remember now. I just don’t want to talk about it. A few books, a pair of earrings, and a phone case appear on my table. Presents I don’t recall opening. Merry Christmas.
Jonny grows angry. He raises his hands. “You know your insurance company isn’t paying because they think you set the fire. You know Trin hasn’t been paid.”
Merry Christmas.
Frost has crept around the sides of the window, shielding me from the outside world.
“Peter can take care of it,” I say. And he will. He’s nodding. He’ll take care of Trin, but the rest? “I just don’t know.”
The decorations are gone. Ellie visits. She’s tight lipped. Tells me that they’re going to have to redistribute the international students.
It reminds me that my semester is done. I have to retake. “I just don’t know.”
When I speak, Ellie glances up and adjusts her beret. “Jan?” She smiles; I guess because I spoke. Maybe she thinks it was a breakthrough. “You were a little crazy leading up to all this. Manic, they say.”
“I just don’t know.” It wasn’t a breakthrough.
Her chin drops. “Well, okay. Get better.”
Jonny’s back and angrier.
“Everything you’ve worked for,” he says. “You’ve told me how important Assured Destruction is to you, to your mom.”
“I—” I begin.
“And if you say, I just don’t know, one more time, I swear, I’ll never come back.” He’s red faced and I’ve never seen him like this. I blink, like I’m coming out of a dream. Peter looms behind him, sausage hand reaching for Jonny’s shoulder. He calms beneath the grip.
I nod.
After Jonny leaves, I read the book. It takes me a while because I need to read each line a few times for it to sink in. I don’t know why Jonny picked it. I just don’t know. And then, everyone stops coming. It’s as if they’ve given up on me. I can’t blame them.
A night later, I turn over and am drifting off to sleep when Heckleena’s Twitter account tweets.
And it’s not by my hand.
Chapter 22
<
What to do for a person with Acute Stress Disorder? Fire a starter pistol and shout: SNAP OUT OF IT! Heckleena tweets.
You’re insensitive, Hairy replies.
SNAP OUT OF IT! @JFlyTrap, Heckleena tweets.
@Heckleena It’s a chemical imbalance, Hairy replies.
“No, no, no,” I say, fingers tensing around the phone. I tap the screen as if I can break through to the other side of the gorilla glass and throttle whoever hijacked my Twitter accounts.
@HairySays Stick a broom handle up your butt and come mop my tears, Heckleena replies.
Even I’m not this nasty.
Do I wear berets too often? I mean, I just saw Miranda Kerr with one and we share colors, Tule tweets.
Is that really Ellie? Or just someone who follows Tule’s account who’s taken over?
Everyone knows that if you have a problem just ask @GumpsSays for the answer! Frannie tweets. I wonder who has the reins of Frannie too, because last I heard the real Frannie was a punked-out rock star in Montreal.
@GumpsSays hello. What should @JFlyTrap do? Hairy tweets.
Whatever you do will be insignificant, but it is very important that you do it, Gandhi, Gumps tweets.
Not more Gandhi! Enough patronizing from the grave, PLEASE! As if we don’t have enough zombies around here, Heckleena replies.
But Gumps is dead too, Hairy says.
NO REALLY!?! *weeps*, Frannie tweets.
Twitterbot = immortality, Heckleena replies. Who would have thought?
The real question is, where is @JFlyTrap? Tule tweets. And will she ever return my skirt?
It is Ellie! I’d forgotten all about that skirt. In grade eight, we swapped clothes all the time. At this point I’d be lucky to fit my leg into it. And if Ellie is Tule, then Harry is likely Hairy. What are they doing?
@TuleSays Something tells me your skirt might be a little overcooked, Heckleena replies.
I stare as the tweets scroll across my feed. Someone hacked my accounts—or some people. But no matter what pops up, I can’t believe it was either Ellie or Harry, even if they’re manning the accounts now. I sigh and am about to shut my phone off when another tweet appears.
I have some ideas on how we can reach her, Paradise57 tweets.
Paradise57—that’s Jonny. I lean closer to the phone. It’s an account I promised never to use again.
His next tweet is just an image. A graffiti mural under the bridge. Me battling a techno-zombie. It’s awesome.
Who wants to help? #stopthezombies, Paradise57 adds.
Anything remotely close to the apocalypse sounds interesting #stopthezombies, Heckleena tweets.
Oh, yay, maybe we can bring @GumpsSays back as a nice one! #stopthezombies, Frannie replies.
Pretty sure the dead are all icky #stopthezombies, Tule says. But I’d love to pick Steve McQueen’s brain. :)
Not as much as Zombie-McQueen would like to pick yours! Heckleena replies.
And then come tweets from the Twitter handles of Hannah, Ellie, and Karl, and confirms who is behind Shadownet. My friends are doing this. All of them. But that still doesn’t explain who hacked my accounts.
Great idea #stopthezombies, Pumpkineater tweets.
And I groan, Pumpkineater is really Peter and I flop on to the mattress. A book slides off the bed as I fall back. It lands on the floor, title side up: The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. I glance back to the tweets. They keep coming and not only from my friends who puppet Shadownet, but other followers of theirs and my accounts.
Before I realize it I have tears in my eyes.
#stopthezombies Come on over to Kickstarter. Paradise57 has included a link to the crowdfunding site in his tweet. He’s starting a funding campaign?
The nurse walks in with the meal and places the tray on my bed table. The table swings on its hinge to face me. The nurse sighs and grabs a spoon, which he scoops into some mashed potatoes before lifting it to my mouth. I let him feed me a couple of bites before realizing how weird it is.
“Um, I can serve myself today, thank you,” I say.
He glances up from the food and then to my phone and smiles. “Well, well, well. Yes, you can, Miss Rose.” And he leaves the tray of food: bread and butter, a chicken breast, the potatoes, and some peas. I dig in.
Ten minutes later I mop the plate with the piece of bread.
“Good to see you up. Really up,” the doctor says as he enters. He’s a big Asian-looking man and he’s carrying a folder. “Do you feel like a chat?”
I nod.
“Let’s start with introductions. I’ve been your doctor for three weeks now. Dr. Hansom—laugh all you want.”
I don’t, but I smile.
“You have what we call Acute Stress Disorder. It usually lasts three to four weeks. It’s sort of like Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, but it happens very soon after the event.” He waits for me to nod to ensure I’m following. “It also tends to be easier to treat. I know you have a family history of depression, but you’ve also gone through quite a few events
recently, I hear. Can you tell me a bit about them?”
And so I do. I talk about Fenwick and his partner. I talk about helping Hannah and my brief role on the police force’s High Tech Crime Unit. I skip the kidnapping and go straight to the fire. It’s probably enough events anyways.
“And did you set that fire?” he asks, sitting down on the bed.
“No,” I state.
“A lot of your stress is centered around keeping Assured Destruction afloat, isn’t it? It would be natural to resent it. To think that without it, life would be better.”
“I didn’t set it on fire. I almost died in that fire.”
The doctor glances down at his notepad.
“And have you ever had thoughts about hurting yourself or others?”
“Only others.” My jaw has hardened to the point that it’s difficult to speak. “Creeps who stalk girls. Men who try to steal businesses. And people who firebomb my family’s livelihood.”
And there it is. I know what I need to do. It may not seem significant to Gandhi, but I need to do it. I have to stop whoever torched Assured Destruction. The image of the chain on the pavement before the burning store flashes in my mind. I have a good idea who did this, I just have no idea how I will prove it.
The doctor pats my leg. “Normally we don’t keep patients with Acute Stress Disorder for so long in hospital, but with your home having burned …”
“Thanks,” I say. “For keeping me. But now seems like a good time to check out.”
As he turns to leave, he glances at the clock. It’s past five. “This week we’ll have some family meetings, maybe arrange for a video conference with your mom.”
I want to say something but he keeps rambling on as if he’s making up for his missed weeks of care—it’s not going to happen.
“I’ll be in and out doing evaluations with you,” he continues. “Let’s get you up and about to see how you’re doing, but if things look good, we’ll be able to talk about where to discharge you in about a week. Okay?”
He smiles and doesn’t wait for an answer. “Oh and Happy New Year!” he chimes as he leaves.
Waiting a week is not okay. I can’t let the trail grow any colder. I am tired, though, so maybe another twenty-four hours. And then I’m outta here, medical advice or no. But the doc’s mention of discharge has me wondering: Where can I crash? I can’t go home. I won’t go to Peter’s. What’s left? I gulp. I’ve crossed that thin line. I’m not just an employee of Annie’s Kitchen, I’m about to become a client.
Chapter 23
<
I follow Paradise57’s link.
Assured Reconstruction! reads the title of my Kickstarter campaign. I’m gripping the laptop screen.
There’s a video followed by text.
On December 11th, the Assured Destruction recycling facility burned due to arson. It’s the home and life of the Rose family. The insurance company won’t pay for repairs. And the Rose family needs your help.
It goes on to explain the services we’ve offered for years. Plus how I once served as a consultant to the police department’s High Tech Crime Unit. And am a regular volunteer “dish coordinator” and “food inspector” at a local soup kitchen. LOL. Nothing like leveraging my forced community service to show my good nature.
Mother Rose suffers from MS and is currently in the hospital—my mom won’t like this—as is the fire-injured Janus, her daughter, who is recovering. Okay, it’s worse than that. She’s in shock, a zombie. And like the stray cats Janus feeds, both she and her mother have nowhere to turn. They need your help.
Jonny’s laying it on thick, but I’m glad he mentioned the cats; hopefully it means he’s taking care of them.
I click on the video and gasp.
The camera pans the wreckage of Assured Destruction. I knew it would be bad, but nothing like this.
“Thanks for listening to our Kickstarter campaign,” Jonny says onscreen, dressed in a blue parka, and holding the camera out as far as he can. I can tell by his red cheeks that it’s so cold.
All the store windows are shattered, even several on the second floor. Icicles hang like teeth over a blackened maw. The camera jiggles as Jonny approaches the former front door and steps through the broken frame, ducking under police tape.
There are advantages to our no-frills existence. The walls are mostly cinderblock so although blackened, they look reparable. Can Chop-chop be saved? It’s covered in soot. Our counters are fried, but the charred conveyor appears functional. Boots crunch over glass. The rafters are steel. Doesn’t fire strengthen steel? The worst damage is at the front of the shop, mostly wood and glass, and the center where whatever was used to set the fire had exploded. Here, water and ash froze into icy puddles of black mud.
The camera continues on into the warehouse, showing the relatively untouched racks and staging area. I shudder as we enter the fire exit stairwell, skin itching at the remembered heat. Upstairs, all the furniture is sopping and tinted with smoke. In fact, the water and smoke damage are what make Assured Destruction unliveable. Everywhere frost and ice glazes the surfaces.
Jonny continues: “With your support, we can clear all the damaged furnishing and rebuild the storefront and its counters. It’ll be a lot of work but we have the people who want to help.”
The video cuts to a series of brief interviews.
“Without Jan, I don’t think I’d be alive today.” Hannah—Child Predator Survivor, reads the subtitle. “I went into a building ready to kill and to die. With Janus’s help, I came out knowing I had at least one friend. Maybe even something more. Reborn.”
I’m glad to see Hannah okay.
“Jan scares me a little.” Ellie—Class President. “She’s kind of that person you know you should be more like, but don’t want to be because it would be hard, you know?”
My fist hurts where I’m biting it.
“When I’m training for a swim meet, and I don’t want to finish practice …” Karl—High Performance Athlete. “I think of Jan and how she struggles to help her family and about everything she’s gone through and yet still is always there with a snarky remark to make me laugh. Then I dive back in again.”
I start to cry.
“Jan doesn’t make fun of me. It’s as simple as that,” Harry says. “I’m a short Greek Jewish kid with an afro and an affinity for video gaming, chess, and RPGs. There’s plenty to make fun of.”
His subtitle reads: Short Greek Kid With Afro and too Many Letters in his Last Name.
I burst out laughing.
“Miss Rose is a talented programmer who, if given the chance, can make a real difference in our world. She could be a force for good.” Chippy—Computer Science Teacher. “Don’t call me Chippy, muh!”
“Jan reminds me of myself when I was young.” Detective Williams—Ottawa Police Department. “Except I had more mentorship. I wasn’t able to be there for Janus when she needed me. Maybe I can be now.”
Jonny’s back and he’s turned the camera on his face.
“Some people wanted to be here but couldn’t due to challenges of not being human, so they’ve offered tweets of support.”
A fly-through of various tweets begins and I giggle.
Jan’s like a mom to me. Frannie Mouthwater. Maybe a big sister. Always there to clean up my barf.
When I want to play chess, and ya know, geek out, Jan’s there. Always. Hairy.
I don’t know what it is, but when I think Jan, I think superhero mash-up with haute couture and—bam! Inspiration! Tule.
Jan’s the change I wish to see in the world. Gumps.
Jan fills my mouth with vitriol. How many more reasons does one need to love another? Heckleena adds.
Jan’s the Eve in my paradise.
Paradise57.
Jonny’s back: “So what do you say, great Interweb? We’ve got the hands; help us pay for materials and assure the reconstruction of Jan and her mother’s home and business this cold winter. Besides, who can turn down these perks?”
I glance over to the perks as the video ends.
For a one-dollar pledge you receive a heckle from Heckleena or an inspirational quote from Gumps.
Tule has offered a fashion tip for five dollars. “Because you’re worth it.”
Also for a fiver, Harry will evaluate the Feng Shui of your blog. Say what?
Twenty-five dollars buys you a short poem from Hannah. Really, Hannah? I’m learning a lot about people today.
Trin is selling a limited quantity of scarves for twenty dollars each. Aw, Trin, you really didn’t have to do this.
Ellie is willing to help you with your colors and act as your personal shopper for a day for fifty dollars.
Also for fifty dollars, Ottawa police officer Ethan will teach a karate class, online or off. Ethan! I don’t believe it.
Or fifty dollars can earn you a small graffiti sketch by Jonny.
One hundred buys you a mural.
Chippy will help your computer run faster for one hundred dollars.
I laugh hard at that one.
For fifty, Karl is willing to give a swimming lesson anywhere in the city. Since he’s wearing nothing but a Speedo in his video interview, this one will sell out quickly!
Everyone who contributes receives a coupon for half-off hard-drive destruction. For ten dollars more you get to run the shredder yourself.
I’m pretty sure Jonny came up with this last idea. Self-serve assured destruction.
Assured Destruction: The Complete Series Page 41