“Where is she?” I say.
“I told you,” Mom says. “You never had a sister.”
49.
She tells me that when I was a baby, I used to sit in my crib and talk to someone who wasn't there. That I would laugh and point and giggle. As I grew up and started to talk, I'd have entire conversations with the same invisible person. Sometimes they were conversations in a kind of made up language that they couldn’t understand. That’s when they took me to doctors who said it was just a phase, a habit that I would outgrow only I never did. And then it got worse. One of the doctors told them to play along. That Julia was just an invisible friend and once I made some real ones then eventually she'd go away. Mom took me to playgroup and enrolled me in camps but Julia never left.
"I knew she was more than an imaginary friend," Mom says gently. "You were always so haunted. I tried to be there for you, to get you through this but it took its toll on me and I'm ashamed to say that I stopped trying. I'm sorry."
But I hardly hear her. I'm plowing through the box of photographs, looking for just one that shows us two girls together. The ones with us in matching clothes. They used to be around the house and then one day they just disappeared. They have to be here.
"What have you done with the pictures?" I say desperately.
"I told you, there aren't any."
"Just because there aren't any here, that doesn't prove anything. You could have stashed them somewhere or destroyed them."
She nods solemnly. "True," she says. "I could have but what would be the point to that? You came here for the truth and I'm giving it to you. The full on truth with no more lies. I never should have played along in the first place. All of us joining in with your delusion, it only made it stronger. We helped to make you believe that Julia was real and now I'm going to help you see that she wasn't."
I stop spilling the pictures on to the floor and look up at her.
"Now you want to help me?" I say. "Where were you before? You had your head buried in a bottle, that's where. I needed you then. Now it's too late."
"It's never too late Ana," she says.
"It's never too late?" I laugh. "I've killed people Mom. Do you know that? Actually killed them and all the while I believed that the ghost of my dead twin sister was haunting me and that she was the one who was doing all these horrible things but you know what? It wasn't her at all. It was me. Now I'll probably go to jail for the rest of my life for crimes that I don't even remember committing. And I should. I deserve to be locked up so that I can't hurt anyone anymore. I’m a monster. That’s what I am."
She's crying now, a single tear rolling down her face but I don't care. I want her to help me but not like this.
“You’re not a monster,” she whispers. “You’re my daughter.”
I stop trying to find the pictures. I know they have gone. I just don’t know whether they were ever there to begin with. Part of what she says makes sense. But deep down I can’t believe it. Every fiber in my being believes that I had a sister. A twin. That I was always just one part of a whole. We fit together like a key in a lock. We were always the answer to each other’s question. All these years I’ve felt lost without her. If she hasn’t been missing, then what has?
50.
I always thought I wanted to know the truth. That it would set me free. I was even prepared for it. Had come to the realization on my own that I was never haunted by the ghost of Julia. But I never believed for a second that she wasn't real.
My mother sits there crying silently. Pepper barks at the door, begging to be let in. A single dragonfly taps against the window. Its wings beat against the glass and I can see the brilliant green and blue on its tiny body, reflecting in the sunlight.
"If you see a dragonfly," I whisper. "That means everything is an illusion."
"What did you say?" Mom asks through her sobs.
I can't remember where I heard it or who told me but it's always stuck with me. The dragonfly signifies a lie. The wool being pulled over your eyes. Everything not being what it seems.
"You’re lying to me," I say.
"I'm not," she says. Then she stands. "Wait. I can prove it."
She runs from the room as I call out after her.
"There is nothing you can do to prove that Julia wasn't real," I shout.
But when she comes back, I'm suddenly not so sure. She has a DVD in a plastic case.
"What is that?" I whisper.
"Your birth."
"I don't want to see it," I say.
She ignores my protests and turns on the television anyway. I watch in horror as my parents come into view. The quality of the video is bad, it’s grainy and white stripes flash across the screen but I can see them. Mom on the hospital bed, Dad holding her hand. She screams and when she stops he coaxes her through her breathing. She looks at the camera and smiles.
"You'll be here soon," she says breathlessly.
I can hardly breathe as I watch. Her legs are up in the stirrups now, the doctor telling her it's time to push. It seems to go on forever. The screaming, the pushing, the panting. They tell her she's doing a good job. That soon it will be over. Hair is plastered to her sweaty red face, Dad looks just as bad. Then suddenly the baby is out, all slippery with blood and blue.
"Why isn't she crying?" Mom screams. "What's wrong?"
They take the baby and the video doesn't follow. It just watches as Mom cries and Dad holds her. Then out of the frame you hear it, that gurgling cry of a baby that's just been ejected out into a cold, hard world.
"Is she okay?" Mom screams.
"She's fine," the nurse says.
Then the baby is in Mom's arms. They are crying and smiling and holding it, now pink and swaddled in a hospital blanket.
"She's perfect," Dad says.
"She is," Mom nods. "My little Ana. Welcome to the world. I'm never going to let anything bad happen to you."
I want to throw up. She's never going to let anything bad happen to me? That was an empty promise if there ever was one. The screen goes snowy white and then turns to black, just like my heart.
"Where is she?" I scream at my mother. "Where is Julia?"
"I told you. There never was a Julia."
"And I'm telling you, you're wrong."
I have to get out of here, away from her and the lies she is spinning. But the truck is trapped in the garage so I just run out of the front door and down the road.
"Come back," she screams after me. "Ana."
I look over my shoulder but she's not following. In fact she disappears inside the house. Afraid that she's going to get her car keys and come after me down the street, I cut across yards and gardens. No one cares that I'm running through their vegetable patches and crushing their flowers. I knock over a garden gnome. His arm falls off as he topples down the pathway. Someone peers out through the blinds into the hot sun but I'm too afraid to stop and ask for help. And I know deep down that no one can help me now. Not my mother or Noah or the police. I'm the person everyone wants to help and no one can.
I stop behind a bush to catch my breath. There is a stitch in my side and a sick feeling in my stomach. I lean over and throw up my mother’s sandwich over the parched grass. Now my throat burns too. I stand shakily. There is only one way to end this. I've done it once. I'll do it again. So I run on, a little slower this time now that I've decided my fate. I'll go to the river. I'll end this once and for all. And this time, I won't let anyone save me.
51.
On the other side of town a bridge crosses the river. Back when I was growing up there was a rash of suicides. People throwing themselves off the bridge onto the sharp rocks below because they lost their money and their homes in the recession. It was sad. Awful. As a child I was fascinated. The river would wash the bodies downstream and they'd end up on the shore by the church. The bodies not that far from the graveyard. One stop delivery of the dead. Not bad really when you thought about it. People couldn't have planned it any better if they tried but t
he county wasn't amused. They closed off the bridge and redirected traffic around the river and the rocky crags below.
Teenage me used to come here anyway. When I felt sick or alone or Julia's voice got to be too much in my head. I'd come to this bridge and stand there looking down, wondering what it would take for Julia to push me over the edge. Thinking that maybe one day I'd wake up downstream. Or maybe I wouldn't wake up at all.
It's older now. No one has been here in a long time. I have to wade through tall grass and brush to get to the old planks they nailed up to keep people away. Half of them have fallen down, the wood rotted by rain, the rusty nails still sticking out in defiance. Daring someone to try and make it through without getting tetanus. Daring me.
I climb over and out onto the bridge. Planks are missing and I have to step across gaping holes. The wood creaks and groans. Maybe I won't even have to jump. The bridge could give way at any moment. Just a sad accident. A girl trying to run away who slips and falls to her death.
The dragonflies are back. They flit about my head, dancing their way across the bridge with me. I pause to try and find a steady plank to step on and one lands on my arm. It tickles and its wings twitch as it looks up at me with little beady eyes.
"Is any of this real?" I ask but the dragonfly doesn't answer.
At the middle of the bridge the water rushes underneath in a deafening roar. The rocks are sharp and cruel. They know what they want and I know what they'll do. It will all be over soon.
Someone has left a cross made out of white fence planks. It has a dried garland of miniature roses wrapped around it. I can't help but wonder if my mother will come here in the days following my death and leave flowers for me. Probably not. She looked so happy. Happier than I've ever seen her in my whole life. My death will be a relief to her because this time it will be permanent. Sure, she'll grieve but she'll smile through the tears and tell people I was sick. That I'm in a better place and I'm happier now than I ever was in life. Then she'll go on with hers as if I never existed. Just like she’s pretending Julia never existed. I might not be able to tell what the truth is anymore but I know Julia was and always will be real.
52.
I'm standing on a bridge, knowing I will die. I've been here before, on the cusp of death. So many times, I've flirted with the dark abyss. Let her take me, only to spit me back out again. She doesn't want me but I'm going to ram myself down her throat and force her to swallow. I can't keep doing this over and over again. Eventually one death has to stick.
"Deja vu."
I spin around and there he is. God damn it. How did he find me? If he thinks he’s going to save me this time, he has another thing coming. I won't let him do it again.
"Stay back," I say.
He leans against the old wood at the edge of the bridge, still wearing the jeans and plaid shirt I saw him in last. He doesn't look worried but I know underneath that calm exterior is a guy who wants nothing more than to run up and grab me. He can't help himself and I love him for that. But it’s also why I have to go through with this.
"I can't keep saving you," he says slowly.
"I don't expect you to."
He rubs the stubble on his face. "So why are we here again?"
I look down at the water and the rocks. I know he'll jump in to save me. Maybe even kill himself in the process. I can't let that happen. It ends here and now with me and Julia.
"Go away," I say. "I hate you. Why can't you leave me alone?"
He takes one small step back but then stops. "I know you don't really hate me."
"I do," I scream. "I hate you. You should never have jumped into the lake to save me last summer. All of this is your fault."
"If you like," he says. "If that makes you feel better."
"The only thing that is going to make me feel better is when I'm gone.”
"Perhaps," he says. "But then again maybe not."
"If I'm dead, at least it will be over."
I put my hand on the rail. It wobbles back and forth. It won't hold me if I try and lean on it. I think about how I'm going to get over the edge.
"Do you think this will ever be over?" he asks. "You know it won't. There is only one way this ends and that's with you."
"Why the hell do you think I'm here? I can't go on like this any longer. I've killed people, Noah. I'm a murderer. Don’t you understand?"
"You didn't kill anyone Ana," he says. "It wasn't your fault. You weren't you."
"Then who was I?" I scream at him. "Julia? Because my mother says I never had a sister. It was all just me. That means I've been responsible for everything bad that's ever happened. I can't live with that guilt. I just can't."
Tears stream down my face but I brush them away. The weight of the life I've led weighing down on me, a giant boulder of lies. Noah takes one small, hesitant step forward. I know he wants to come and comfort me but he can't.
"And what will happen to our baby when you throw yourself over this bridge? What happens if you live and she dies?"
Now I'm laughing. I can't help it. I'm crying and laughing hysterically.
"Do you really think this baby was ever yours?" I say.
He looks down at his feet. "I know Mark is her father," he says. "I've always known that and I don't care. He's gone Ana and I'm here. I want to be a Dad. I want to provide a good life for you and the baby. Why can't you let me do that?"
I can't believe he knew all along. All the whispered lies behind his back so that he wouldn't find out and he always knew. And he still loved me. The guy deserves a medal. Or a straightjacket.
"Because I'm crazy Noah, that's why. I'm a crazy fucked up girl with voices in her head and hallucinations floating around her brain. I have no fucking clue what's up or down, right or wrong. I'm dangerous and I'm going to hurt you. Might kill you one day and not even realize I'm doing it. And what kind of life do you think it would be for this baby?" I point to my stomach. "How would you like to grow up with a fucked up Mom who does crazy shit for no reason? I mean, God Noah, I thought this baby was the spirit of my dead twin sister. That she was sending out evil energy and controlling the people around me. I saw things," my voice trails off.
I can't tell Noah all the things I've seen. The hallucinations, the nightmare I've been living. He'd never believe it anyway. I'm not even sure I believe it anymore.
I put one leg over the railing. It sways precariously.
"There's only one way to end this. I'm sorry Noah, I truly am but one day you'll thank me for this. You'll meet a nice normal girl and get married and have kids. You'll look back on the few months you spent with the crazy girl and be grateful that I set you free."
"Ana, no," he shouts.
But it's too late. I'm already falling.
53.
The first time I drowned, it was one of the most peaceful experiences of my life. I walked into that shimmering lake with rocks in my pocket and it gently swallowed me whole. But the river does no such thing. It smashes me about, into sharp rocks and stone walls. Pain explodes all over my body, eventually merging so I can't tell where one stops and the other begins.
I see the sky in flashes of blue above my head, followed by the dark depths of the river as I bob up and down. Choking on water, I want more than anything for this part to be over. To know that I have gone and everyone will be safe.
This time I don't do it to free myself from the voice in my head. I do it to free everyone else. And despite the pain and the fear that this truly is the end, part of me knows this is a sacrifice I have to make and surely that has to count for something.
54.
I am the girl who will not die. And now they’ve locked me away for good.
55.
We learn about a guy who was hit by lightning five times. Five times and each time he survived. I think maybe I'm like that guy. Standing out there in the storm with my metal pole held high, waiting for death to take me. The girls in group say that it's not my time and I suppose I have to agree.
I've given up trying to kill myself. Obviously there is no point. They still take my shoelaces away though and we all have to eat with plastic spoons. It's just like the last time only this place is better. Kinder. I think I might get well here but it's going to take a long time.
56.
I tell my new shrink about the woods at Millhouse Monastery and the summer at Victoria College. I tell her everything. All the sick things I've done and the lies I told. The truth is clear now. The lies washed away by the river and my brain set right by the new medication they have me on. Then I tell her about that summer when I was a little girl.
This interests her more than all the other lies. In fact she doesn't think it's a lie at all. I know what she's thinking. I was molested in those woods. Assaulted. Raped. I think maybe she is right. She wants to put me under. To pull out all those repressed memories and set them free. Tease them out like a gossamer thread. I'm thinking about letting her. I don't want the lies inside my head anymore. I only want the truth.
Part of me is scared though. The truth is real. It's something you can't escape. But I bet it's better than the lies that change and grow and become things you never meant them to.
She says this horrible thing that happened to me could have started it all. I'd like to know for sure. Part of me wants to know something else too. Was Mark really there? Did I meet him back when I was a little girl? I wish I could ask him but I know the truth now. Mark is dead for real. No lie.
57.
They called them the Millhouse Molestation's. The hypnotism brought out the truth. My mother reluctantly confirmed the rest. Three girls were raped and killed by four priests at that monastery in the woods. I was the only one who got away. A local artist who was foraging for mud to make his clay heard my screams. Only the police report will tell me if it was Mark or not but I know that it was. He saved me. He must have known it was me years later.
The Half-Truth (Drowning Book 2) Page 12
