by Taylor Hale
“Guys, stop. It hurts.”
They pull away, teary-eyed.
“We thought we lost you,” Dad says. “Thank God you’re okay.”
“I’m okay.” I grab Mom’s hands. “Wait, Mom, Keely!”
“She’s okay.” Mom wipes her tears and smiles. “You’re both okay.”
I sigh in relief. “And the others?”
“We’ll get to them.”
Paramedics check me for injuries, but after a quick examination, confirm I’m physically fine other than the cuts. Still, they say I need to get to the hospital and get cleaned up to prevent an infection. But first, the cops say they need a statement. Mom and Dad keep their hands on my shoulders as I explain what happened. One officer, a stout man with a feather of hair on his head, keeps looking at me strangely. Then it hits me: he was the cop I apparently almost attacked the night I saw the dead deer outside my window. The thought is unnerving, so I focus on the other cop, Officer Maggie Jones. But when I tell her about Miles, even she avoids my eyes. I guess it isn’t easy to listen to a girl recount being chased down and nearly drowned to death.
“So, wait,” Officer Jones says, “you’re saying Miles Hendricks chased you through the woods to the lake, where he then attempted to drown you?”
I’ve already explained it to her twice, but I nod again. “Yeah. It was Miles.”
Mom’s grip on my shoulder tightens. “Livvie, can you give your dad and me a moment alone with the officers?”
“Oh, okay . . . sure.”
The cops eye me warily before they step aside with my parents and talk near their car. I look out into the forest, the mix of pine green and jade, the chestnut trunks of the trees, the overgrowth of weeds. It’s not so menacing in the light of day.
“Come on, Olivia.” Dad approaches me, and the cops get in their car. “The paramedics will take you to the hospital, we’ll be right behind—”
“No, I want to stay with you,” I insist.
With an exhausted breath, Dad mutters to a paramedic, “Think we can drive her? She’s not seriously hurt, right?”
The man nods. Mom gives my arm a gentle squeeze and says, “Go on and get in the car, Livvie.”
Something’s off with my parents, but I slide into the backseat. My reflection in the mirror mortifies me—purple lips, blood all over my paper-white skin. I look like a living corpse, and these freezing wet clothes are going to make me sick for sure. Some of my cuts are yellow and bruising. My parents slip into the car and remain eerily silent as the drive begins.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Mom asks. “I can hear your teeth chattering.”
“I just need a hot shower, and to see the others.”
“About that . . .”
As we wind around the bend, more memories return to me. Up ahead, cop cars surround the wreckage of the van. Cops stand around and talk with their hands on their hips. The morose aura in the air is like thick pollution.
“Everyone’s fine, right?” I ask.
Mom lets out a quiet sob. “Olivia, I’m sorry.”
“Why? Did something happen?” At her silence, I scratch at my arms. “I don’t understand. Mom, what’s going on? Dad?”
Dad’s eyes wither in the rear-view mirror, and he refuses my gaze. Mom turns back with tears dripping down her cheeks.
“Miles couldn’t have done all that to you, Livvie. I’m sorry, it’s impossible.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Olivia, Miles is dead. The crash killed him.”
23
My parents always watched the news. Both when we lived in Caldwell and after we moved to New York, our dinners were spent on the couch in front of the TV as reporters talked about politics and crime. I rarely listened—what was happening on my phone seemed far more important. But sometimes, when a story was particularly tragic, I would tune in and wonder what it’d be like to have the firsthand details of something like that. To be a part of it, not just a spectator through a screen.
Now I know. It’s like floating outside of my body, wishing none of it was real.
The flat-screen TV above my hospital bed has been muted since I awoke, but when a grim-faced reporter appears on the screen, I turn it up. His voice bounces off the white walls around me.
“His body was impaled when the vehicle flipped into a ditch, the back of the vehicle colliding with a tree. His death was almost instant, and we think he suffered very little. That’s the only comfort we can offer the friends and family of seventeen-year-old Miles Hendricks at this time.
“Miles’s twin sister, Faye Hendricks, is in the hospital in critical condition, but we’re being told she’ll pull through. The other passengers, whose names are being withheld at the request of their guardians, seem to have escaped the tragedy with minor injuries.
“As for the nature of the collision, all we know now is that an eighteen-year-old male was the driver and that it’s being investigated as an alcohol-related accident.”
I shut off the TV and sink into the bed.
Miles died on impact. Nobody tried to drown me in the lake that night.
It’s been almost two days since the crash, and no one has been in to see me except my parents, not even West. That’s good, though. I don’t want anyone to see me like this, and I don’t know how I’ll face him knowing his brother is dead and I accused him of so many things.
I went catatonic after Mom told me about Miles’s death. My voice just isn’t there, which leaves a lot of room for static noise in my head. And thought-loops. I’ve had a lot of those.
Miles died on impact. Nobody drowned me in the lake.
Dr. Levy once told me that sometimes when you experience something too traumatic for your brain to handle, your mind can trick you into thinking it wasn’t real. Maybe you’ll think, This can’t be happening. It has to be a dream.
But what about when the opposite happens? When I dream of something so real that my mind convinces me it is real?
I can still feel him chasing me. Still hear the hatred in his voice as he bellowed my name through the forest. But I know now it was impossible. The police described to me the way Miles was found. They used nice words like “twisted,” “bent,” and “with God,” but what they meant was crunched, contorted, and slaughtered. It was evident on the faces of the men who pulled him out when they came to interview me: they had seen death. If I thought hard enough, I could picture Miles’s mangled, bloody form burned into their retinas. I can almost see it myself now.
What did you want to tell me before the crash, Miles?
My sadness is chilled by the medication they pumped into me, but it’s there, meshed with confusion and shame.
Mom knocks on the door before she pokes her head in. “Livvie?” When I don’t reply, she steps in and holds out her phone. “It’s Dr. Levy. Do you think you’re up for a conversation yet?”
Only my parents and those two cops know what I thought I saw that night. The officers agreed to keep it a secret, and Mom said I can’t tell anyone what happened. It would be disrespectful to Miles’s family, and to his memory. She’s right. The only person I can talk to is Dr. Levy, but my body is still numb.
With pursed lips, Mom hands me the phone and slips out of the room. Dr. Levy’s face is on the screen with her office in the background. It’s like looking into a world I know so well, but don’t recognize anymore.
“Hi, Olivia,” Dr. Levy says with a warm smile.
“Hi.”
“Are you ready to talk now?”
I’ll probably never be ready, but I nod.
My voice comes out weak, like rust scraping against metal, but I tell Dr. Levy everything. About the dreams of Miles. The animal killer. The lurker outside of Keely’s house. Even West. I allow myself to be an open faucet, and by the time I’m done, Dr. Levy’s eyes are full of a sadness I’ve never seen
on her.
“I’m sorry you’ve had to go through all this, Olivia,” she says. “You weren’t ready to go back. I’m sorry.”
“It isn’t your fault. I wanted to be here, I really did. But Miles—” I lower my head in shame. “I don’t understand why I saw what I did.”
“We’ll have to talk more once you return to New York, but it sounds as though you had a hyperrealistic night terror, Olivia. A combination of that and sleepwalking must have been how you ended up in the lake. And because Miles was with you the night you fell off the cliff, it’s possible you subconsciously associated him with the event. Maybe that’s why you started to view him as evil when you came back to Caldwell Beach.”
So this thing with Miles—it was like the deer outside of my window at the cottage: not real.
I say, “But do you think Miles could really have been the guy outside Keely’s house? Could he have been the animal killer? Or was he trying to warn me who it was before he died?”
“That’s something I can’t answer. You’ll have to ask the police to keep you updated on the case. You don’t have to tell them you suspected Miles, it won’t do any good now. And if Miles was the one killing animals, the town will know if it stops happening. As for what he wanted to tell you before he died . . . unfortunately, only Miles knows that.”
Images of Miles flicker through my mind. It’s like I was blinded, clouded by his bad behavior until that was all I could see. Throughout the summer, every time I’ve thought of Miles, I thought of the time he tried to kiss me, and all the terrifying dreams I had of him, and how petty I thought he was.
But I never stopped once to empathize with him. To imagine what he was going through, watching me choose West over him.
“I’m a horrible person.”
“Please don’t say that, Olivia. You have a condition—you can’t hate yourself for it.”
“It’s about more than my condition. I knew Miles was hurt but I completely ignored his feelings. Now he’s dead, and the last conversation I had with him was in my head. It isn’t fair to him. I had problems with him this summer, but I didn’t want him to die.”
Dr. Levy is quiet. “It’s a horrible tragedy, but I need you to understand that it wasn’t your fault.”
She’s only doing her job and trying to help me, but I don’t want to talk anymore. “Thanks for calling me,” I say. “I feel a little better.”
“Call me if you need anything else. I’ve been in contact with your psychiatrist here in New York and we’ve talked to the doctors there. We all agree that maybe the medication you’re on now isn’t the right one for you. They’re going to prescribe you with something to help you sleep until you get home. They’ll also let you know how to start weaning off your current drugs. I’ll see you when you get to the city.”
“Thanks, Dr. Levy. Bye.”
When Mom reappears, I update her on what Dr. Levy said, and even she is at a loss for words.
“Mom, how could I imagine something so real? I know Miles didn’t do all that to me, but it feels like he did. And now I feel so guilty because he’s dead, but I still—” I choke on a sob. “I remember him as a monster.”
Mom holds my hands. “I don’t know, sweetie. I wish I had more answers for you, but we’ll work it all out once we get home, and everything’s going to be okay, I promise.”
“Okay.” I don’t believe it, but say it because it’s what she needs to hear.
“Keely’s here to see you. Do you want me to send her away?”
“No. I think I’m ready to face her.”
Mom leaves, and moments later, Keely’s arms are wrapped around my neck, her familiar smell surrounding me. “Liv, oh my God, you’re okay!”
I want to say I’m glad she’s not hurt, but the words aren’t there, so I just hug her tightly. Keely pulls up a chair and sits. Bandages cover the cuts on her skin, and the pain of the crash is evident in her eyes.
“I’m so sorry, Liv, this is all my fault. I never should’ve gotten in that stupid van.”
“You didn’t make me do anything. None of this is your fault.”
“And oh my God, Miles . . . I can’t even believe he’s dead. Like, I can’t even process it.”
“I know. I don’t know what to think.”
“What happened to you before the crash, Liv? You were freaking out.”
“Can you just tell me one thing first? Did I cause the crash?”
“No! Last thing I remember, Dean was all pissed off at Miles, and then . . .” She shivers. “No, the crash wasn’t your fault, Liv. No one thinks it was. It was Dean’s fault for being reckless. He must’ve gotten distracted by whatever you and Miles were fighting about.”
There’s no way for sure to know whether I caused the crash or not, but I appreciate Keely not blaming me. Even if I still blame myself.
“What was that, anyway?” Keely asks. “Did you really think he was the animal killer?”
“I don’t know. I was having a panic attack, Keel. They happen sometimes. It’s because of my PTSD.”
“Right, totally should’ve figured that.” Keely plays with the bracelet on her wrist, our friendship bracelet. “But why did you accuse Miles of all those things?”
I swallow, unable to find the words.
“I know he upset you when he tried to kiss you, but I have to be honest, I could never picture him hurting anything. I mean, it’s Miles . . .”
“I can’t really explain it, Keel. I’m sorry.”
“Guess it’s over now, anyway. And I’m here for you no matter what. You’re still my best friend. I know I was a crappy friend this summer, but I was just . . . I wanted Shawn to like me and for everyone to think I was cool. And now Miles is dead and everything is so screwed up.”
“I know, but it’s not your fault either. And I’m sorry too. I was the crappy friend.”
“No, you weren’t. West is somewhere in the hospital. He wants to see you. Should I go find him?”
“No, I should go to him.”
West may not have gotten along with Miles, but I know him. He’ll be destroyed over this. Talking to Keely has given me the strength to see him.
“Okay.” Keely smiles. “Let’s go together.”
I move through the brightly lit halls, a walking corpse. Since we’re under eighteen, we were put in the children’s ward. The walls are painted with Care Bears and cartoon bees, murals of grassy hills and monarch butterflies. I’ve been fed nothing but chocolate parfaits and apple slices, because I can’t stomach anything else.
As we’re turning the corner, Dean’s voice makes my hair stand on end. Even though he’s newly eighteen, they must have just put him in with us. Keely and I turn to see him exiting a room in the jacket and jeans he wore during the crash, and he tugs at the hospital band around his wrist until it tears. He tosses it on the ground and stops when he sees us and frowns, like he wasn’t expecting us to even be alive.
I’ll always blame myself for what happened to Miles, but this is on Dean too.
“Olivia, Keely,” Dean drones out. “Glad to see you two alive and well.”
“How are they just letting you go?” I say.
“I wasn’t drunk.”
“But you crashed the van!”
“Don’t know what to tell you. They found no booze in my blood, so I’m free to go.” He tries to breeze past us, but I grab his arm. Dean slowly turns back. “What?”
“Miles is dead, Dean.”
I don’t know what I want from him. Maybe some hint of remorse, but he just scoffs once. “Don’t act like you cared about Miles just because he’s dead, Olivia.”
His words are scathing and cruel, but they hurt the most because they’re true. Dean adjusts his jacket before he disappears down the hall.
The interaction leaves a bad taste in my mouth, but we continue down the hall. Keely di
rects me toward Faye’s room, where the door is open a crack.
“Faye, just listen to me, please,” West says from the other side.
“No!” Faye shouts. “Get away from me, Weston. You’re only making things worse.”
“I want to change. Just give me a chance, please. I’m sorry I was such an ass. I’m sorry I didn’t try to help you, or—”
“Don’t you get it? I don’t care what you have to say! You’ve been horrible to us our whole lives, and now suddenly you want to fix it because Miles is dead?”
“I know. I was selfish and shitty to both of you. But I’m so sorry. I thought we had more time to fix things. I thought—”
“It’s too late. Go.” Her voice is heartbroken. “Please, West. Go.”
West comes out of the room, and he doesn’t even see me before he disappears through the doors to outside. Keely and I stand there, stunned.
“Should I chase him?” I ask.
“I don’t know, Liv . . .”
West should have a minute alone. I step in front of Faye’s door while Keely stays behind. When Faye sees me, she stares blankly at the wall. Slowly, I enter the room. Her skin is paper white, and blood-soaked gauze is wrapped around her head and arms. The bags under her eyes are sunken so deep, they’re almost purple. The look on her face is hollow.
“Oh great,” she says. “Another one.”
It doesn’t carry the same usual annoyance; the tone of her voice is heavy, like she’s putting all her energy into keeping it together. Maybe acting like her usual self is her way of coping. I don’t know. I can’t even imagine what Faye is going through right now, but it’s much bigger than what I am. Miles was her other half.
“Hey.” I hold my hands behind my back. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
Faye blinks at me. “You know, it’s funny. I think you and Weston are the only two people in the world that I hate equally. I look at you both and I just can’t decide who’s worse. I’ve barely been up for five hours and today has already been the shittiest day of my life. Now I’m being told that Miles’s funeral is in two days. Not really sure what to think about that.”