I pick a chair and drop my bag on the floor beside me. The good doctor sits down opposite me so I have to face her. Not that Dr. Spencer has a bad face. She actually looks really good for someone probably old enough to be my grandmother, but I still don’t want to stare at her for the next hour.
“Viv, before we get started, I want you to know that anything you say here is completely confidential. I won’t share it with anyone, not even your mom. This is a safe place for you to heal.”
Yeah right. Like there’s a cure for being completely unequipped to deal with anything resembling real life. “I thought the mystery cocktail you guys juiced me up on took care of that already.”
Dr. Spencer leans back in her chair, her fingertips joined to create a temple in front of her chest. “Your body is healed. It’s a miracle and a marvel of science. But that’s not why you’re here. And you know that.”
I sit on the edge of my chair, waiting for her to say more, but she just sits there with her lips pressed together and her eyebrows raised in anticipation of what I’m going to say next. She pulls down the cuffs of her jacket. I examine the nails of my right hand and make a mental note to trim them when I get home. She uncrosses and recrosses her legs. I close my eyes and do a visual run-through of the program I want to start writing tonight. A bajillion doctor appointments have taught me the fine art of waiting.
It doesn’t matter what she has to say, I guarantee I’ve already heard it. Every new hospital thought they could get me to open up and share. And every single one failed. What was the point of “finding inner peace” when my body kept trying to peace out? I’ve survived the first eighteen years of my life without sharing my secrets or being a productive member of society. Why start now?
She remains silent so I sit back in my chair, my elbows up on the arm rests and my head tilted back so I can stare at the ceiling. I count the dots until a tiny headache breaks out in the space between my eyes. Sitting up, I squeeze the bridge of my nose until the pain releases its hold.
“Did you know that headaches are a common side effect of major life changes?”
I roll my eyes and let out the loudest sigh possible. “So I guess there is a down side to my survival.”
Spencer drops her hands and lets out her own heavy breath. “Viv, I understand that you don’t want to be here. I also know that despite this rough shell you insist on putting up between you and everyone else, you’ve got a lot going on in your head. VALR brought me in to work with you because of the work I’ve done with other survivors. Soldiers who come back as the only surviving member of their unit. People who lost their family to tragedies. Normal, regular Joes who all of the sudden face the reality of living the rest of their lives as if nothing has changed when the truth is everything is different.”
I stare back at her, my lips pinched tight against the traitorous words that try to escape. The ones that scream she’s right. That I don’t know what I’m doing. That I was supposed to die, and now I’m not going to, but I’m not sure how to live.
“Why don’t we start with the headaches?” She gestures to the bridge of my nose. “How often do you get them?”
This is a safe, normal question. “A couple times a day. If I overdo it, I get dizzy and then I’ll get a headache.”
“It’s only been three days. You laid in a bed for almost a month. Your body just needs time to catch back up.” She smiles at me as if this is a perfectly normal conversation. “What about your appetite? Are you eating?”
I shrug. Not enough according to Mama. She shoves food at me practically all day. But nothing tastes right, and I haven’t really been hungry.
“You need to make sure you are taking care of your body so your mind can recover as well. Plenty of rest, healthy foods, stay hydrated. The cancer may be gone, but you’re still not one hundred percent.”
We stare at each other some more. Her gently lined face is a beacon of acceptance and honesty. I know she means for it to be welcoming, but it only initiates my flight or fight instinct. After twelve years of doctors taking over my body, my thoughts and feelings are the only part of me that’s just mine, and she isn’t getting them. Maybe talking it out would help me to sleep or better understand why everything feels so different since I got back. But it’s not worth it if it means telling this woman things she has no business knowing. I’ll take those questions to the grave if I have to.
“It’s okay that you aren’t ready to talk to me. I hope in time you’ll get to know me better and let me get to know you. Maybe you’ll come to think of me as a friend.”
I resist the immediate urge to laugh out loud. A friend? Nope, gave up on those when it became clear I was a ticking time bomb. The fewer people I meant something to, the fewer people I would hurt when my body finally gave out on me.
“It’s up to you to decide how you want to use this gift of life. How long do you want to feel this way?” She tilts her head and looks at me with the question burning in her eyes. “Someday you’ll be ready to finally start living. Until then, I’m here. You’re scheduled to come in once a week, but if you need to talk before then, my door is always open to you.”
I dig into my bag, pull out my phone, and glance down at the clock. “Does this mean I can go?”
She nods and I’m out of my seat and to the door so fast I have to grab the door frame to stave off the wave of vertigo that hits with the sudden movement.
“I’ll see you next week.”
I wave a hand over my shoulder and inch my way into the hallway, keeping one palm pressed to the wall to guarantee I stay on my feet all the way to the elevator. I take it down to the lobby and walk a bit steadier across the pristine marble floor out into the overwhelming sunshine. It’s another gorgeous day, even though it’s unseasonably warm. I’m not going to complain. Pulling on my sunglasses, I head to my truck, the dizziness gone.
The cab is too warm, so I open the door and lean against the hood so it can cool off a bit.
“Wanna hear a joke?”
I turn to the right, and there’s Grant, making his way toward me from a few cars down. Despite the heat, he’s wearing jeans and a baggy sweatshirt that must be at least two sizes too big.
“Are you serious?” I mumble the words under my breath but don’t really care if he hears. This guy is starting to test the limits of my patience.
He stops a few feet away and stands in the empty space between my truck and the non-descript sedan parked next to me. “How do you throw a party in space?”
“I don’t care.”
“You Plan It.” Grant slaps his own thigh and lets out a barking laugh. “Get it? Like the planets.”
I stand up and move around to my still-open door. Too hot or not, it’s time to get out of here.
Grant moves to follow me, but I shoot him my best death glare—which I’ve perfected over the years, scaring away overly attentive nurses and the kids who were always trying to recruit me to their support groups. “Go away, Grant.”
He stops and takes a few steps backward. “Okay, I’m leaving, Butterfly.” He turns away but then stops and spins back around. “By the way, nice shirt.”
I climb into the cab and slam the door behind me, watching him walk back through the rows of boring cars that fill the parking lot. I pinch the bridge of my nose against the headache threatening to derail my ability to drive home. After a minute, it passes, and I blink my eyes to shut out the residual effects. My eyes water up, and I use the sleeve of my favorite t-shirt to wipe at the salty tears. My favorite black Have you tried turning it off and back on again? t-shirt.
C:>SEVEN.exe
I gun the engine and peel out of my spot, driving as fast as I can. It’s been two days since I met Grant, while wearing this same shirt. I wouldn’t put it past my mom to wash it and have it already back in my closet. She knows it’s my favorite, and she’s spent the past three days catering to everything I can’t even think to ask for.
What did I wear yesterday? I scroll back through my memories of
the day, but I can’t even remember what I did, let alone what I wore. I think I spent the whole day at home with Mama. Maybe I just stayed in my pajamas. I should be able to remember, and the fact that I can’t is driving me nuts.
There’s only one way to settle this. I pull into the driveway and make a beeline into the house.
“Home already?” Mama is waiting for me in the living room with another plate of food and a can of Coke so cold, there’s already condensation forming. “I made you something to eat.”
“In a minute, Mama.” I stare at her standing there holding more food, and a chill runs down my back. Why does everything about this minute suddenly feel so weird? “Have you done my laundry since I’ve been home?”
She shrugs, the plate and Coke can moving up with her shoulders. “Of course.”
I let out a slow breath. Nothing out of the ordinary here. I wore this shirt. She washed it. I put it on again. So why do I still feel weird, and why can’t I remember anything about yesterday?
“Why don’t you sit down and eat? You can tell me how your visit went with Dr. Spencer.” She walks to the couch and motions to my usual spot.
I should sit with her. Soak in the gift of this extra time with her. But my brain won’t let go of the idea that something isn’t right. “I just want to…” I wrack my brain for an excuse to go to my room. “To check on a program I have running really quick.”
“Okay, mija.”
I give her a quick peck on the cheek and rush down the hall to my room. I close the door and sink into the comforting sound of my tower fan keeping my drives from overheating. No matter what crazy is going on in my head, I can count on my code. It never changes, never falters. If the code doesn’t work, it’s my fault, and I can fix it. The code always performs the way you tell it to. If only life were that simple.
I check my hamper for yesterday’s clothes, but it’s empty. I walk to the closet and pause with my hand on the knob. It’s silly. I’ve opened this closet almost every day of my life. But this time my fingers itch as if what’s inside could change everything. I swallow back a sour taste in my mouth and ignore the headache building behind my eyes. I open the door and crash to the floor, my legs falling beneath me.
This closet has never held an extensive wardrobe. I’ve never really cared that much about clothes, and even if I did, we didn’t have the money to buy them. But this…
A perfect row of neat-as-a-pin hangers stare back at me. The left half filled with jeans identical to the pair I have on now. The right half, a sea of black t-shirts. I reach out and pull one back at random. The front reveals an old desktop icon, and in white print, Have you tried turning it off and back on again?
I drop the shirt as if it’s made of black magic and dirty code.
It doesn’t make sense. Where are the rest of my clothes? Did Mama go out and buy two dozen exact copies of my favorite t-shirt? Did I wear the same thing yesterday and not even notice? I don’t have any answers, but I have a feeling I know who does.
Standing up, I slam the closet door shut and rush back out of my room, quick to put distance between myself and the row of shirts giving me a distinctively creepy feeling. Back in the living room, Mama is still sitting in the same spot on the couch with food.
“Is everything okay with your program, mija?”
“Um, actually, it’s not.” I stare down at my mother and really look at her. On the surface, she’s exactly the same as she was the day I went into the hospital. I’d be willing to bet she even weighs the same down to the ounce. But something is off. Her smile is a little too unfaltering, like it’s been etched on. But the eyes. I sit down and stare into them. Mama looks back at me, but she doesn’t; at least, not how she used to. There’s something missing, some essential element that is all Mama and can’t be duplicated.
She holds the plate of food up to me, but I just shake my head.
“I need to go see someone. A new friend.”
“About your program?”
“Yeah, I’m hoping he can help me figure out what’s wrong.” I stand up, suddenly uncomfortable sitting next to my own mother.
“That’s good, mija.” Mama puts the food down and stands up next to me. “Look at you, making new friends.”
“Right? Must be the drugs they gave me.”
Mama swats at my arm and smiles up at me. The same way she always did. Maybe I’m losing it.
“Okay, go talk to your friend, and I’ll see you at dinner.”
I give her another kiss on the cheek and resist the urge to run to my truck.
Once inside the cab, I’m not sure where to go. I don’t know anything about Grant other than his name and that he used to be a coder, but now he’s not. I head over to Rocko’s store, but when I pull into the lot, there’s only one other car there, and Rocko is getting into it.
I pull into the spot next to him and cut the engine.
“You looking for more drives to wipe already?” Rocko leans against his open door and talks to me through my open window.
“Not today.” I tap my fingers along the edge of the steering wheel, mocking out the code for a new program I’ve been thinking about writing. “I’m actually here to ask about a customer. Do you happen to know the guy who was talking to me the other day? Grant?”
Rocko frowns at me. “You mean the day you picked up all your gear? You were the only one in the store for the rest of that afternoon.”
“No, but there was this guy there when you were getting the resale drives out of the back.” I tap faster, certain that I’m missing something.
“Sorry.” Rocko shrugs and grabs the top of the door frame. “He must have left without coming to the counter. We were dead the rest of the day, and I closed up early.”
“Oh.” I don’t know what else to say. Grant was there. I know he was talking to me. Did he just come in, chat me up, compliment my shirt, and leave?
“If you want some more drives, you can stop in tomorrow. I’m already closed up today.”
“Okay, that’d be great.” I turn the key, my brain already searching out ideas on where to look next. “See you tomorrow.”
I drive out of the parking lot and pull into the flow of traffic. All I can do is head back to VALR in the hope he’s still there. If he even exists at all.
C:>EIGHT.exe
I push my truck to go slightly faster than is advisable in a parking lot while my eyes scan between the rows of cars. He’s probably not here. Why would he be? Of course, I don’t know why he was here to start with. Maybe he was on his way in to see someone when I was leaving. Or, he’s been stalking me. I don’t know what to think anymore.
I turn the corner and head down the last row, skimming past the rows of identical cars to one three rows back. There; a head of black hair, bobbing in and out of sight between black sedans.
I take off and push my poor baby to her limits, narrowly missing taking the back bumper off the car on the end of the row. Grant doesn’t even look up as I zoom down the aisle and screech to a stop right beside him. He keeps walking so I honk the horn.
Grant stares up and squints into the open car window.
“We need to talk. Get in.”
Grant stares at the door and shakes his head. “Wow, you really need to work on your people skills.”
“I’m going to work on my people-beating skills if you don’t get in the truck.”
Grant shakes his head again. “I can’t get in, but we do need to talk. Do you know the coffee shop on Johnson Street?”
I nod. I know the exact place he’s talking about. Small enough that it doesn’t draw the huge crowd of high school fake chocolate coffee drinkers, but big enough that each table has some space. It’s perfect for a conversation that potentially needs to stay private.
“I’ll meet you there in ten minutes.”
I don’t know why he can’t just get in the truck. If he really wants coffee, I’ll even drive both of us there. But Grant just stands there, waiting for me to leave, so I do.
It only takes five minutes to get to the coffee place. The parking lot is filling up, but there are still a few good parking spots left. By the time I get a spot, turn off the truck, and walk to the door, Grant is already there waiting for me.
Anger brews in my gut. Every interaction with him feels so cloak and dagger. “How did you get here so fast?”
In answer, Grant tilts his head toward the door and steps back, clearly waiting for me to open it for him. I clench my fists and resist the urge to punch him.
“Fine.” I jerk the door open and don’t bother waiting for him to follow me in. I slump into a hideous paisley chair and stare down Grant while he slides onto the seat next to me without pulling it out, contorting his body as if touching the table will electrocute him.
“Hi, there. What can I get you today?” The petite, blond waitress is too perky, but she’s probably hopped up on a mountain-sized portion of caffeine, so I only shoot her a mildly annoyed glare.
“Coffee. Black.”
I glance over at Grant, my mouth already open to ask what he wants, but he sits silently shaking his head back and forth.
“Was there something else I can get you?”
I stare up into the waitress’s giant blue eyes, my mouth still gaping open but my brain running through thoughts faster than I can process them. Unable to convert the chaos in my head into words, I simply shake my head. It’s enough for her to dash off back to the counter.
“She can’t see you.”
Grant’s lips are a thin, disappearing line, and his eyes droop closed. “No one can.”
My stomach rolls as if I just took a triple dose of chemo. “I’m gonna need you to start talking now.”
“Do you have any headphones?”
I bite back a sharp response and pull a set of cheap ear buds from my bag.
“Put those in and set your phone on the table. That way it will just look like you’re talking to someone or jamming to a song instead of conversing with an empty chair.”
Ghost Code Page 4