by Shade, S. M.
Thunder rumbles, and I close my eyes, letting it surround me, and drag me into a darkness where nothing hurts.
Chapter Twenty-One
PAST
“Darcy, your game isn’t until this evening. Stop being a pest. Go play in the backyard.” Mama shoos me away, turning her attention back to the TV and the laundry she’s folding.
I wasn’t being a pest. Mama always says that. I just wanted her to see my new T-ball uniform. It’s orange and white with a sun on the back. That’s our team. The Suns. The backyard has a swing set and a sandbox, but it’s boring when Louie’s at school. Playing by myself is no fun.
If Louie was here, he’d walk me down to the playground. Maybe I can walk myself there. It isn’t far. If I go down the alley, then Mama won’t see me from the front window. Only Louie and I know about the space under the fence that we can wiggle through into the alley.
The back screen door swings shut behind me with a thwack, and I run across the yard to the fence. The ground is cool against my belly when I climb through. I’m probably getting my uniform dirty, but it’ll get dirty at the game anyway. No big whoop, as Louie would say.
The alley smells bad, like garbage and dirty water. It’s where everyone sets their trash cans out for the garbage men to pick up on Wednesdays. Sometimes, I help Dad drag ours out here.
The backyard across the alley from me is empty. Ms. Karen lives there. She doesn’t like kids. Only her little yappy dogs. I hear something coming from Joey’s backyard. He’s usually at school when Louie is, so I’m surprised and happy to see him when I peek over the fence.
“Hi Joey! What’re you doing?” His head jerks up, and he smiles at me, but he doesn’t look happy. As soon as I get through the gate, I see why. A fluffy white cat lies at his feet with blood all over her mouth. “What happened to Snowpuff? Is she hurt?” Snowpuff is the kitty who lives with Mr. Barnes at the end of the street. She likes to come up and be petted.
“Yes, she is.” Joey tilts his head a little, like a puppy, and looks at me. “How old are you now?”
“I’ll be five next week!”
He rubs his chin with a dirty hand. “Is almost five grown up enough for you to keep a secret? A really important secret?”
Nobody ever trusts me with a secret! “Yes!”
“Snowpuff was run over by a car.”
Oh no. “Is she dead?”
“Yes, I’m afraid she is.”
“Is that the secret?”
“Part of it.” Joey kneels down in front of me. “You know Mr. Barnes is old and sick?” He continues when I nod. “Well, it wouldn’t be good for him to find out that his kitty died, would it?”
“He’ll be sad.”
Joey nods his head. “Yes, he would be. That’s why I’m going to bury her right over there where he won’t find out.”
“But he’ll know Snowpuff didn’t come home.”
“He will. But wouldn’t it be better for him to think his kitty ran away to have adventures? Then he won’t be as sad.”
It makes sense. “That’s a good idea.”
“That means you’ll always have to keep the truth a secret. If Mr. Barnes asks you, or even if your parents ask. Do you think you can do that?”
“I’ll never tell. I promise. I don’t want to make Mr. Barnes sad.”
“Good.” Joey stands up. “And I won’t tell your Mom you’re out of your yard by yourself.” He chuckles at my guilty expression.
“I want to go to the playground, but Louie’s at school.”
“I’ll tell you what. As soon as I’m done here, we’ll ask your mom if I can take you to the playground for a bit.”
“Really? Thank you!” I’d hug him, but there’s blood on his hands. It makes me wrinkle up my nose.
“Go back to your yard before you get in trouble, and I’ll be over as soon as I’m done.”
It doesn’t take me long to crawl back under the fence, and when I peek through the back door, Mama’s still sitting on the couch. Whew. Never even knew I was gone. It’ll be my secret. Now I have two secrets.
There’s a slat in our wooden fence that’s slightly crooked, and I smash my face against it so I can see into Joey’s yard. He’s digging with a shovel. Poor Snowpuff. At least Mr. Barnes never has to know. Mama says animals and people go to heaven when they die, but I heard Dad tell her not to teach us that bullshit. He says bad words all the time, and Mama doesn’t like it. This time he might be right though, because Snowpuff doesn’t go anywhere but into the hole Joey digs.
When he covers it, the ground looks different, but it looks like that in a few other spots too so probably no one will notice. It’s nice of Joey to do that to keep Mr. Barnes from being sad. Maybe someday he’ll be my boyfriend, and we can get married. Then I’ll get a kitty. A pretty white one like Snowpuff.
A few minutes later, Joey waves and starts around the front of the house. He’s coming over! “Mama!” I run inside to the living room. “Can Joey take me to the playground? Please?”
She looks up from her show. “I suppose. If he’s willing to look after you.”
My feet carry me quickly to the front door, and I yank it open before he can knock. “No school today?” Mama asks as he steps inside.
“High school has the day off. Conferences.”
Mama nods, half looking at the TV screen the same way she does when I tell her something she doesn’t care about. “Have her back in an hour for lunch.”
“Sure thing.”
The streets are empty like they usually are while everyone is at school and work. Not me! I’m out in the sunshine. “Mama said you have to look after me,” I tell Joey, grabbing his hand when we cross the street.
He smiles one of his biggest, best smiles at me. “I’ll always look after you.”
“Are you coming to my tee ball game tonight? I’m going to whack that ball!” Joey laughs, and I grin up at him. “Can you come and watch? I don’t know where I’ll be, but Mama does.” We enter the playground where a few other kids near my age clamber over the equipment.
“No worries. Wherever you are, I’ll be there. I wouldn’t miss it.”
My smile when I look at him takes up my whole face. No one’s as nice as him. “Will you be my friend forever?”
He leans down and holds out his pinky for me to lock mine with his.
“Forever, Darcy.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
My eyes open to a white ceiling and the distinct smell of hospital. My head thumps, and my body aches, but nothing is as bad as the pain that pierces me when I remember.
Reeve’s dead. I watched him die. He showed up because I needed him and it got him killed. He said he’d always bleed for me, and it was a promise I forced him to keep. How am I supposed to live with that?
The question makes me laugh.
I’m not. Why the hell would I?
The room I’m in looks vaguely familiar, and faint memories come back. This isn’t the first time I’ve woken up. The other two times I’ve tried to tell them who Reeve was. What I know anyway. There’s no way that what was left of him is going to be recognizable, and the thought of them tossing his remains in some pauper’s grave or incinerator is awful.
Both times all it got me was a sympathetic look and a sedative shot into my arm. Maybe they’ve already found ID or ran his DNA, and know who he is. They wouldn’t care. To them he’d just be some homeless guy who sleeps in the woods and doesn’t contribute to society.
A non-person.
Not my Reeve, who was strong and beautiful and brave. Ruthless and protective. He was better than any man I’ve met, but they’ll never see that. I won’t talk about him again.
What reason is there to talk again at all?
I’m not sure how long I lie there, damning my heart for continuing to beat and my lungs for drawing air. Eventually, a nurse walks in and gives me a cautious smile. She’s familiar. She’s the one who sedated me the last time.
“How are you feeling?” she asks, and I
turn my head to look away.
What a stupid question. At the very least they must know someone who was with me is now a stain on a railroad track, and that I was trying to turn myself into one.
“It’s okay,” she says. “You don’t have to talk to me. I’m just going to get your vitals.”
Her cautious nature around me makes me wonder what I’ve forgotten in my grief and the haze of meds they’ve given me. The expression on her face reflects the wariness you’d give a dog that may snap.
After she’s checked my blood pressure, oxygen level, and pulse, she turns my arm over. “I’m going to remove your IV, and someone will be in to talk to you in just a moment.” She pulls the tube out and plasters a bandage over the tiny hole. Before exiting the room, she wheels a small table over where I can reach it and pours me a glass of water.
Once she’s gone, I consider her words. Someone will be in to talk to me. Not a doctor, or she would’ve said that. Police maybe? Am I going to be arrested for a suicide attempt? Whatever. It doesn’t matter. I’m just along for the ride because I can’t summon an inch of will to care.
My answer isn’t long in coming. Less than ten minutes later, a man and a woman enter with a gurney. The woman smiles at me. “Darcy, you’re being transferred to Homewell Psychiatric facility. They’ll check you out and get you the help you need.”
My silence doesn’t rattle her in the least. I imagine they’re used to patients fighting them. She doesn’t have to worry. There’s no fight left in me today. After I move onto the gurney, she covers me with a sheet and fastens two belts across my body. I’m wheeled out of the room, into and out of an elevator, and down a hall to a waiting ambulance.
Homewell Psychiatric is a prestigious, high end mental hospital. Only the best for the suicidal with money and insurance. The intake process is quick, considering I have no personal belongings with me. Only the hospital gown that won’t stay put over my ass.
I’m given a comfortable pair of sweatpants, new underwear, a t-shirt, a sweat shirt, and slippers. Everyone I’ve come into contact with so far has shown a sort of bored kindness as they do their job, despite my refusal to answer questions or talk.
I’m led through a room where other patients watch TV, play cards, and hang out. Curious looks are thrown my way, but I don’t pay any attention. Down the hall is my room, and the woman who escorts me steps inside behind me. She gives me a rundown of the place and hands me some literature that explains most of the same things she’s rattling off. One page is a list of the medications I’ll be on and their possible side effects. Another is a list of the meal times, rules, and an activities schedule. When I continue to stare blankly at her after she asks if I have any questions, she nods. “I’ll let you get some rest.”
Rest. There’s no rest. Every time I sleep, the nightmares come. It’s a twisted mess that leaps between scenes of blood, Reeve naked and fucking me, Joey coming out of my parents’ room, Reeve holding a trash bag with the remains of the senator, a train bearing down.
Reeve smiling.
Reeve with his hand in mine.
Reeve swearing he’ll always be there.
Reeve exploding into red.
Sobs wake me more often than not, to the gut wrenching pain of realization that he’s gone. That my nightmares are true. There’s no waking up from that.
Days pass, and I stumble through them. The small amount of food I manage to take in is only because they’ve threatened a feeding tube. Dr. Childers, the psychiatrist who meets with me, doesn’t show her frustration, but my refusal to engage or speak has her scribbling in her little notebook.
Hours are spent just zoning out. Whether it’s because I’ve lost all will to do anything, or because of the meds they’re giving me isn’t clear. It doesn’t matter. This is my life. Eat, sleep, stare at a wall, miss Reeve.
I’m not violent. I don’t fight the meds or their rules. They take me to group therapy where I watch, but never speak, no matter how hard they try. When we’re taken outside, where the tennis courts, basketball court, and walking paths are located, I plant myself under a tree to stare at the sky until I’m brought back inside.
By the end of the first week, they’ve made a new rule for me to keep me out of my room for most of the day, so I can’t spend it in bed. It’s fine. The overstuffed chair by the day room window becomes my new home.
For the first time in my life, I’m not thinking ahead to anything. There’s no drive in me to get out of here or even to try again to die. It’s like I’ve pressed pause on everything. It isn’t until nearly three weeks later, that a report on an afternoon news show shocks me awake again.
Like every other day, I’m curled up in the chair by the window, watching the clouds chase each other across the sky. The TV is nothing but a buzz droning in the background until a familiar voice catches my attention.
“We need to get this bill passed. It’s a bipartisan effort to protect children and families that has been met with very little opposition. Hopefully, we’ll have good news regarding it tonight.”
It’s Senator Miller. He stands with a few microphones pointed toward his face, smiling down at the reporters. Just the sight of him twists my stomach, and I have to swallow multiple times to keep vomit from rising. My attention drops to the banner at the bottom of the screen, fully expecting to finally see the breaking news that he’s missing. Instead, it reads.
Senator Miller confident Percy’s Law will pass. Vote will be held today.
Today’s date is displayed at the corner of the screen and the camera stays on him while he turns to walk into the US Capitol building.
Something pulled tight inside me snaps. “They’re lying!” Half the patients in the day room jump, and all heads turn my direction at my shout. “What the fuck? That didn’t happen today! It couldn’t! It’s fake! It’s fucking fake!”
It has to be. His blood is soaked into the soil of my yard. What kind of shit are they trying to pull? Is it a lookalike, a body double? A twin?
He’s dead, and all I can feel is fury that I’m the only one who knows. You can’t just replace a monster like that. Reeve took him out, kept him from hurting anyone else. They don’t get to bring in a ringer.
“Darcy?” One of the nurses approaches me, shocked at my outburst when I never make a sound. “What’s upsetting you?”
Her condescending tone only infuriates me further. They’re acting like I’m crazy. Like I’m the one who needs to be locked away in here when there’s an imposter posing as an elected senator right now.
I grab the back of a chair and shove it in her direction, preventing her from getting any closer to me. “He’s dead! It isn’t real!”
Senator Miller turns back to give the camera another glance, and I can’t bear it. The heavy book in my hand flies toward the TV before I realize I’ve thrown it. A large crack splits the screen, and smaller fissures emanate out like a spiderweb.
Two orderlies grab me, and the sting of the needle in my arm is quickly followed by a weakness in my legs. They hold me while I start to lose consciousness. “Not him,” I mumble. “Can’t be him. Reeve killed him.”
Gauzy gray gives way to blackness.
* * *
“Darcy, it’s nice to see you again. How are you feeling?” Dr. Childers asks when I’m led into her office. Nonplussed by the silence she’s always met with from me, she adds, “Have a seat. It seems you had a hard time yesterday. Do you want to tell me what happened?”
As crazy as it’ll sound, and even though I know it won’t be believed, I’m desperate to tell someone. To put what I know, what I’ve done, out there. It’s too much to carry alone.
“The news was lying. They showed a video of a senator who wasn’t really there. Senator Miller.”
She looks pleased that I’m finally talking. “Okay. What makes you think he wasn’t really there?”
“Because he’s dead. He’s been dead for weeks.”
Nodding, she keeps her face impassive. “How do you know th
at he’s dead?”
Do I dare? Does it even matter now? Reeve’s gone. He won’t pay for any of this. It doesn’t matter if I admit what happened. “Because Reeve killed him.”
She visibly perks up at the sound of his name. “I’m pleased you’re ready to talk about Reeve. You haven’t mentioned him since you were brought here.”
Of course I haven’t. No one at the hospital cared about his death, only my attempt at joining him. Even now, this doctor isn’t concerned about who he was or why he died. Only how that relates to me, what it can tell her about the crazy woman who survived. Even the news reports that ran for a few days after I was admitted only tell about the bestselling author who lost her shit and tried to dive in front of a train. There was no mention of the man who actually perished there. No one cares about him. It breaks my heart that he was as alone in this world as he’s left me.
“I tried to talk about him. The doctors at the hospital kept sedating me. They wouldn’t tell me anything. No one cared.”
“I care. He was an important person to you, wasn’t he?”
A knot grows in my throat when his green eyes flash through my mind. “He was everything.”
Sympathy softens her face. “I’m sorry. I know this must be hard.”
She doesn’t know shit and her next question displays that.
“Has it occurred to you that maybe Reeve only told you he killed a senator? Wouldn’t that make more sense than a dead man showing back up?”
“No. Because I was there. I watched him slit that monster’s throat. It took me an hour to get all the blood out of my shed. He borrowed my hatchet to dismember the body, and I burnt his clothes in my firepit. The man is dead. They’re using a body double, a twin, something. Seeing it pissed me off, and I lost control.”
There’s no shock or judgement on her face, only curiosity. She reaches into the little fridge she keeps in her office and offers me a soft drink, which I accept. “Anything you say to me is confidential, Darcy. I’d like to know more about Reeve. Would you like to tell me about him?”
