After You Died

by Dea Poirier

  Sayid sits next to me. Empty hospital beds stretch as far as I can see in every direction. His brown eyes are saucers as he looks at me. The mess of jet black hair, all tangles and knots, tells me he’s been here for a while. Black stubble clings to his jaw. His mouth is slack, like he tried to speak, but lost the words. He grabs my hand, and squeezes it softly. My eyes flutter closed, and I suck in a sharp breath.

  “I was afraid you weren’t going to come out of there,” he finally says, he can’t look at me when he says it. Once the words are out he rests his elbows on the bed, and his head falls between them.

  “Me too.” My throat is hoarse, dry, speaking hurts more than I could have imagined. I reach over and rest my hand on the back of his head. Slowly, I brush the hair from his face. He looks at me, his eyes raw, pink with emotion. I hate that he’s upset, I hate even more that he’s upset because of me.

  “What happened?” he asks, his eyes fall to the floor and his mouth droops.

  A tall, blonde nurse, lingers near, too close for comfort. I shake my head, my voice drops. “I’ll tell you some other time. How long was I in there?” I hold my throat as I talk, hoping it will help the pain. It doesn’t. The days bled into one another, with no lights, no meals, it’s impossible to tell how long it’s been. All I knew was the shift between pain and darkness.

  “A month. That’s why I was so worried. When you’re in there that long, you don’t usually come out alive.” He looks down at his feet, like he’s lost someone that way before. Maybe he’s lost several friends to the white house.

  When he lifts his head, my hand falls limp to the bed. His words lost in my mind. The confusion is still so thick it traps my thoughts in a fog. He takes my hand, and holds it gently, a soft smile curls his lips.

  “A month? That long?” Time seemed to stop while I was there. All I can wonder is how long those other kids have been in there. Or how much longer they have left to live. In the back of my mind, I can almost hear a clock ticking down the minutes, the few heartbeats some of us have left.

  He nods. Sayid looks down, his mouth pressed into a tight line. “I’m really sorry about what I said before.” He looks up at me with darkened eyes. His shoulders are hunched like something heavy is weighing on him. “When Brandon told me you were in the white house, I was so scared I’d never see you again. That I’d never be able to say I’m sorry.”

  I squeeze his hand and offer him a smile.

  “Will you let me make it up to you?”

  I look down, my cheeks burn. “You can try.”

  He smiles, and a soft laugh escapes him. For a long time, we sit in silence, his hand in mine. I wish we could be closer, but the eyes of the nurses are still on us.

  “Have you heard from Eden?” I ask, I feel like I’ve asked him a thousand times. She should have written back, we should have heard something from her by now.

  He shakes his head. “Nothing.”

  A bad feeling grows inside me with every breath I take. There’s something wrong. I need to find out where my sister is.

  After

  I sit at the end of my hospital bed with my knees pulled up to my chest. Leaning against the window, I stare out at the inky sky while everyone else on campus sleeps. Sayid warned me not to go out tonight, not that I would anyway, they haven’t released me yet. Apparently, this is one of the few nights the guards are on duty. Some officials from the Department of Corrections are coming to investigate tomorrow. Or as I’ve heard it, to come pick up hush money. Even so, things have to be above board for a few days, just in case.

  From my window, I can see the guards moving about beneath the scant moonlight and stray street lights. The guards have been scattered, but now they’re starting to congregate, like spilled BBs collecting at the low point in the room, pooling in front of the white house.

  A few go in while the others stand together outside. It’s the most I’ve seen in one area before, there must be fifteen. Slowly, people emerge from the white house, but they’re not guards. Emaciated students hobble out. Many are naked, some still in school issue clothing, now stained, smeared with God knows what. Many of them are so pale they nearly glow. I’m far enough away that I can’t make out the bruises, or their faces.

  Twenty or so inmates file out and line up in front of the guards. A man in uniform steps forward and raises his nightstick, then, picking a student at random, hits them until they fall to their knees, and land first in the dirt. Together the guards move as a unit, like a hive of bees, then I hear gunshots and the bodies slump one, by one.

  They’re executing them.

  I see someone move quickly, darting away from the white house. Sprinting for freedom. A hand raises, a gun fires, and he falls to the ground. I turn away, the sour burn of bile in my mouth. I can’t watch. But, at least now they won’t be suffering, starving to death. Or worse.

  After

  I wake up gasping. Fresh nightmares of Olivia’s corpse haunt me. A large warm hand rests on my shoulder. I flinch away from the touch. As I gulp the air, I look over from the hospital bed I’m still in. Sitting next to me is a tall, lanky guy I know is friends with Sayid, but I can’t place his name. He sat at the table my first full day at Dozier, and probably every day after that.

  David, maybe?

  “You okay?” His large blue eyes assess me as he leans in. His blond eyebrows are furrowed with concern. When he’s this close, I notice lines in his face I hadn’t seen in the dining hall. He has a long straight nose, and high cheekbones. There’s a scar across his right eyebrow, a bald spot where the hair doesn’t grow in. It’s deep, pink, and still a bit puckered—like it only recently healed.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” I lie as I sit up. I try not to be rude as I ask, “What are you doing here?” I’d hoped to see Sayid when I woke up again, not one of his friends. But I know Sayid can’t spend every minute beside me while I’m in the hospital. He’d still be expected to go to work detail.

  He shrugs as he scratches his stick straight nose and brushes his long hair away from his eyes. He leans back in a metal folding chair, one of his long legs is crossed over the other. By how comfortable he looks, I’d guess he’s been here a while.

  “Needed some quiet and an excuse to get out of work. I’m Cameron, by the way.” He extends his hand.

  “Asher,” I say as I shake it, careful not to tweak the needle still taped against my skin.

  “Yeah, I know. But I could tell by the look on your face you had no clue who I am.” He laughs. “How much longer they keeping you?”

  “Not sure, no one’s bothered to fill me in on anything. I’m not in any rush. I can live without shoveling shit for a few days.” I fluff the pillows behind my head and try to get comfortable. Though I do prefer to skip most of the stable duties, I do miss the horses. I haven’t even seen Ginger since she helped bail me out. Who’s taking care of them while I’m gone?

  “Yeah, I’d take a few days off detail, if I could.” He smiles and leans back further on his chair.

  “What’s your work assignment?” I ask to be polite, but I don’t particularly care.

  “I work in the kitchen with Brandon. Won’t be long, I’m counting down the days now.” He teeters on the back legs of his chair, propping his feet on my hospital bed.

  I recognize the name Brandon, one of Sayid’s other friends. The one who always gives me piles of bacon.

  “Then what?” I’m curious what anyone plans after leaving here. I still can’t imagine having a life without Olivia. Maybe, it’s because I’m not planning a life without her. If I do ever get out of here and have to come up with a plan, the first thing I’m doing is getting the hell out of Florida and never looking back.

  “Going back to Gainesville, finally going to marry Marleen.” He smiles, he’s looking off in the distance. His eyes lost in thought. “She’s my girlfriend, been together for five years. Got her pregnant before I left. Was so mad I could only go to the first appointment. I’m hoping I’ll get out before the baby comes.”
He sighs, he looks so happy, blissful. Jealousy pricks at me. “I want to be there, even if she’s not going to let me in the room.”

  The life I wanted, the life I’ll never have. I keep my face straight, I lock down the jealousy before it can claw its ugly head all the way to the surface.

  “Do you want a boy or a girl more?” I ask, because I’m really not sure what else to ask when someone talks about babies.

  “A girl. If it’s a girl, we’re going to name her Sadie.”

  “What if it’s a boy?” I ask, only to keep the conversation going. The days in the hospital get long, lonely, talking to Cameron is a nice distraction. Even if it does make me miss Olivia.

  “Not sure yet, she likes Davy, but I hate The Monkees.” He shrugs.

  The happiness on his face crushes me. Ahead of him is the future I wanted. A future I’m not so sure I want anymore.

  His chair clinks to the floor and leans onto my bed on his elbows. “So, what’s your story?” he asks.

  “What do you mean?” I know what he means, but I want to know what information he’s looking for specifically. If I know what he wants, I can give as little information as possible.

  “What are you in for?” He looks at me like he’s trying to guess. Like he can pin down the likely reason I’d be in here. He probably thinks I stole a car, skipped a class, maybe even got caught with a joint. I wish I could see the list of everything people expect I’m guilty of.

  “Sayid didn’t tell you?” A few months ago, I’d be surprised. I figured since murder is so rare around here that the news would have spread fast. But now that I’ve grown to know, and trust Sayid, I know he’s about as tight-lipped with information as I am.

  “Nope. He’s zipped it up and thrown away the key.” He mimes zipping his lips.

  “I don’t really want to talk about it.” I look away. This kid will not understand. He has his own Olivia. He’ll imagine if he could kill her. That’s when he’ll see the monster I am.

  He leans even further onto the bed and drops his voice, like we’re sharing a secret. “You wanna know what I did?” he offers.

  “Sure.” I don’t really want to know, but I can tell by the look on his face, he’s going to tell me anyway. The more he talks about himself, the less I’ll have to talk about myself.

  “So back home in Gainesville a couple years back, Marleen told me she’d caught her stepdad peeking at her while she was changing, getting out of the shower, stuff like that. Well one night she calls me because he touched her. I go over and I lay the law down. I tell this puny fuck if he ever touches her again, I’m gonna waste him.” He’s really animated when he’s talking, like he’s directing traffic.

  I raise an eyebrow, “Why didn’t Marleen’s mom get involved?”

  He shrugs. “Drugged up, asshole. She didn’t give two shits about Marleen. Anyway, after I threaten this shit biscuit, a few weeks go by, all is fine. Then he grabs Marleen when she’s getting out of the shower. Prick picked the lock. Long story short, he tries to rape her. She fights him off, but calls me frantic. I come over and nearly beat him to death with a crowbar. If it weren’t for Marleen stopping me, I’d be looking at life.” The way he puffs out his chest, the smile that crosses his lips, you can tell he’s proud of himself.

  I pick my jaw up and manage to say, “Wow.”

  He shrugs like it’s no big deal. “I’d do anything for her, ya know.”

  I nod. I do know. I would do the same thing for Olivia. And for Sayid. No questions asked.

  “So come on,” he nudges me, “will you tell me now?”

  Knowing his history now, I think it’s an even worse idea. “Look. I’m here for murder, I really don’t want to talk about it though. I told Sayid, so if you have questions, please just go ask him.” My tone isn’t harsh, but I still feel like a jerk after I say it. I know even if he presses Sayid, he won’t tell. My history, my secrets, are safe with him.

  He looks me over, like he’s inspecting me. Then he looks me straight in the eyes. “There’s no way you killed anyone.” he says, his voice is so sure that I’m envious of it, “I can see it in your eyes, you’re not a killer.”

  “You’d be correct,” I confirm.

  “Were you set up?” His eyebrows are perked up as he leans on his right hand, peering at me.

  “I have no idea. I can’t remember anything about what happened that night.”

  His face drops, he leans in further. “Seriously? You don’t remember anything?”

  “All I know is that they found me next to…” I pause, considering my words, how much information I want to give him. I give him the usual run down about the memory loss. I leave it at that. No information about Olivia, no hints who the ‘victim’ was.

  “You seeing the shrink?” he pries.

  I nod.

  “You know,” he drags out the words, “he can pull some strings. If he thinks you’re bad enough off, he can dismiss you from work detail, I mean, you still have to go sometimes. But mostly you can just stay in your room.”

  “Really?” I love the stables, but some days I’d rather just hide in the library.

  “Yep.” He looks toward the clock, and one of the bells sounds outside. “Crap, I’ve gotta get going. Dinner calls. Was good chatting with you Asher.”

  “You too.”

  Before

  Date Unknown

  The night thickens around me as I walk through the empty streets. This close to dawn, the city is all but abandoned. The fake journal is heavy in my jacket. She’s already planted one. Dominic didn’t take it from me like I’d expected him to, so now it’s my turn. We have to throw him off our trail, we have to keep him from knowing how close we are. Well, how close she thinks we are.

  There are so many obvious choices, so many places that I know he’d look. But it can’t be in the first place he looks, or the second. The real journal I’ve already tucked away, it’s important that I’m the only one able to find it. Every lifetime I’ve detailed things I’ve learned, things that might not come back to me right away. Normally, the first mortal wound should release my memories, but this time it didn’t happen that way. Each time, it’s been easier for her to get her memories back in pristine detail, while sometimes mine aren’t as clear, and lately it seems to be getting worse. She’s always stronger than me for some reason, and she keeps getting stronger.

  As the row houses give way to the cemeteries, I know I’m running out of time. I don’t have more than an hour to plant it. If I don’t get back soon, she’ll be vulnerable. Now that he’s here in the city, we’re on borrowed time. A cold breeze slips through the streets, it’s so sudden, so out of place that I stop walking. My eyes sweep the street. Darkness hides the secrets of whoever might be out there, but I can feel them. I can feel him.

  I choose one of the shotgun houses on the edge of town that I’ve used as a decoy time and time again. He’s seen me here before, it won’t be much of a surprise. I climb the steps and sweep through the front door. Slowly I walk through every room in the house, once I’ve found every room empty, I stash the journal in a hidden compartment in the fireplace.

  The second I step onto the front porch, I see Dominic waiting for me in the street.

  After

  I stand outside Dr. Lennox’s office. I can’t do it anymore, I need answers. But how can I trust him when he lets these things go on here? Beneath his nose kids are disappearing, being beaten, or worse. How can he sit here, with his booze and his cigarettes while he lets the rest of us die around him?

  He may not know.

  How could he not know? He had to have noticed that I’ve been missing for weeks. But he doesn’t mention a single time that I missed our sessions, like it doesn’t surprise him.

  He knows.

  Someone had to send those boys to those small rooms that Sayid told me about. Someone had to decide they were too crazy to be with the rest of us. Will he do that to me? If I share the wrong information with him, if I share too much information wit
h him? I have to decide how important the truth is.

  Frustration pools inside me. For weeks, months, now, Olivia has haunted my dreams. I need to try the regression again. The answers are locked inside my mind somewhere. Not knowing, the questions, the guilt—it’s killing me. And then, after I have the answers, I’ll never have to see him again. I’ll never have to see Dozier again.

  My hand trembles, barely able to knock. My blood boils and my breaths quicken, fear coils inside me. Today I might finally know for sure.

  “Yes?” he calls from inside, his voice is muffled by the door, like he’s underwater.

  I open the door slowly, just as Dr. Lennox closes a book. He shifts in his chair and slides the book onto the side table. He looks over his glasses and says, “Hello, Asher, how can I help you today?”

  “I want to try the regression hypnosis. I need to know what happened.” I try not to beg. My voice quavers.

  “Are you sure you want to try so soon?” he asks.

  I nod. “I’m not going to change my mind.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to discuss anything else? I’m still here to listen, Asher. You don’t have to lock yourself away.” He tilts his head to look at me over his glasses, his milky eyes bore into me.

  “I’m only here for the regression.”

  He motions toward the couch, displeasure clear on his face. “Please lie down, then. Make yourself comfortable, you’re going to have to relax.” His voice is deadpan, and edges on frustration. I know he doesn’t want to try again, he thinks my mind will just keep failing me. Maybe it will. But I have to try.

  I walk over and fall backwards into the plush couch. Rough tweed fabric digs into my arms, and the scent of stale cigarette smoke hovers around me. The pillow on the end is too thin. I fold it over and shove it under my neck.