Girl Incredible

by Larsen, Patti

  Some kind of office space, with bookshelves and a heavy wooden desk, tall windows with thick, velvet curtains. I turn to face him, the soda clutched in one hand.

  “Kit,” he says, voice low and soft, a smile on his face. “So nice to see you. I was hoping you’d come.”

  He was hoping… I take a drink of the flat soda to clear my throat, watch his smile widen and deepen.

  “Not sure why,” I say at last. “You’ve been doing your best to make me feel miserable since the first day of school.” And following me around like a creeper since kindergarten. I don’t say that out loud, obviously. I just don’t have that much mean in me. But it makes me feel better to run it in my head.

  He waves that off like it’s nothing, circles around to sit on the top of the desk, patting it with one hand. An invitation to join him? He’s lost his mind. I take another drink, look away in the hope he’ll think I didn’t see his offer.

  This pop is terrible, the salty taste killing the sugar. But my throat is dry and it’s all I have.

  “I’ve been thinking it over,” Tom says, crossing his arms over his chest, eyes narrowed as he focuses on me. His pants are too short for his long, skinny legs and there’s a scuff on the bottom of his sneaker. Makes me think of the smear Tate talked about earlier today as he goes on. “There’s no need for the two of us to be enemies.”

  My chest feels tight, a headache starting in my right temple. I take another sip, hoping the normal action will relax me, but it just grows worse. I need to get out of here. He’s on to me or something. No way is he all nice out of the blue like this.

  “What are you suggesting?” It feels like Kitalia talking, not me. My left knee buckles slightly and I catch myself, wondering why the room seems to be slowly spinning. When I blink, it settles down again. Weird.

  “Only that we work together,” he says, sitting up straighter, arms falling to his sides. I gulp the last of the drink, throat and mouth parched suddenly. But the soda does nothing to cut through the cotton feeling. “I know you’re brilliant, Kit. No matter how hard you try to hide it.” He grins as I sway. Why are there two of him? One is more than enough, thank you. “You always have been, since we were little. Buying college textbooks online is a dead giveaway for a closet genius.”

  I shake my head, but the movement is disorienting and I stagger, catch the bookshelf with one hand. Tom comes to my side, steadies me, bless him. I’d fall over otherwise. Not sure what’s wrong with me, but I feel…

  Whew…

  “So, tell me,” he whispers in my ear as he eases me into a chair. “Why would a genius like you be hiding from everyone? What would drive you to pretend you weren’t smart?” There’s something in his eyes that tells me he knows. Knows things I don’t. Wait, no. Knows things I don’t want to think about.

  My mind runs, like I want to tell him everything as flashes of the girl with the blue eyes and the sweet smile pass through my mind, but I can’t seem to make my lips function. They feel like they grew ten times in size, along with my tongue. Nothing works the way it’s supposed to—

  ***

  The bastard. He drugged me.

  I leap to my feet, though the world around me wavers. My partner is nowhere in sight, but Tatiana hasn’t proven to be much help in a fight. I’ve finally talked M. and D. into allowing me to go back into the field—escorted, as it were, by Tatiana—and I go and fall for the oldest trick in the book.

  T.B. grins at me over his glass. “Should watch what you drink,” he says. He stands as I fall into my chair again. “Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he straightens the front of his suit jacket, “I have a target to acquire.”

  My target. My assignment. I’ve failed and he’s going to make sure he ruins me over it. I have to act, have to do something. And yet, there’s nothing I can do but shriek at him, falling forward onto the carpet and dragging myself forward through the crowd of people at the art gallery opening while T.B. leads my target away.

  ***

  Someone flashes photos of me and I’m shouting before falling sideways into temporary darkness. Then, there’s more shouting, not mine this time, punctuated by laughter and loud music while I swirl back and forth, in and out of Kit, of Kitalia, wavering and wobbling while the girl with the blue eyes laughs and laughs—

  ***

  J.J. is there, arms around me, lifting me into his grasp, pulling me out of the milling crowd.

  “What’s MI6 doing here?” I barely understand my own words. He doesn’t speak and I can’t any further, my head lolling backward, my whole body going limp as the dark takes me.

  I knew he’d have my back.

  ***

  Chapter Twenty One

  Beeping is the most irritating sound I’ve ever heard. I make that decision as I groan and try to roll over, the incessant sound so loud I want to scream at whoever is making it to shut up already.

  Hands hold me down, voices I know as I open my eyes. Promptly turn on my right side and empty the contents of my stomach onto my father’s shoes.

  I feel better as I roll back, but the world is still wonky and I’m not sure I’m going to be okay ever again. The ceiling overhead is punctuated by white panels, a thick, green curtain wavering as my dad steps away, face contorted, while Mom turns her back, choking on something.

  “Sorry,” I whisper.

  Dad shakes his head before taking my hand while a young woman in green scrubs appears, a wad of paper towels in her possession. She disappears over the edge of the bed, seemingly unconcerned about the task of cleaning up my vomit. I’ll have to thank her for her selfless act later.

  Once I’ve figured out what I’m doing in what has to be a hospital with my parents hovering over me and a police officer standing nearby. I spot Jimmy watching me from outside the little fabric cubicle where my bed rests, but when I reach out to him, he turns and leaves.

  I vaguely recall him picking me up, but the rest of the details are fuzzy. At least it’s further confirmation he has my back, something to feel good about. Because right now there’s not a whole lot I can feel good about. Not with my head pounding and my stomach threatening to emerge once more through my mouth.

  What happened?

  I must have spoken those words aloud, because before Mom and Dad can say anything, the hulking police officer in his dark blue uniform and broad, scowling face, says, “I think that’s what we all want to know, Miss MacLean.” He flips open a black leather notebook, pen poised over it. “Care to tell me where you were this evening?”

  So Jimmy didn’t tell them about the party? There! I almost sigh in relief. I remembered something. The party.

  “Abigail Simmons,” I say, throat dry. I glance longingly at the glass of water on the end table and Mom makes a dive for it, offering me the straw. I sip, smile gratefully up at her, though smiling hurts. “She was having a party.”

  “Address?” I give it to him. “Were you drinking, Miss MacLean?”

  I shake my head, wince at the pain it causes. “No, sir,” I say. And am about to confess there was alcohol present, but hold my tongue. I’m no tattler, and giving up details like that could get Abigail in trouble. None of this was her fault.

  None of what? I close my eyes as the officer speaks again, trying to remember what happened. And tell them all in halting words as I scrape together what I recall.

  “I only had a soda, I swear.” A yucky soda, mind you, but just sugar and water and chemicals. “The next thing I knew, everything was wobbly and I woke up here.” It’s the truth, at least mostly. They don’t need to know about the conversation I had with Tom Brown or the fact I’m starting to suspect he had Tate invite me to that party so he could find a way to get me alone and drug me.

  That’s what it feels like, or what I imagine being drugged would feel like in the aftermath. But, how?

  “Who gave you the soda?” The officer stares down at me like my life depends on my answer. And I squeak out the response before I can stop myself.

  “Tate Cradle,�
�� I say. But it couldn’t have been Tate.

  He reacts like I slapped him, jerking back from me, face paling before he slams shut his little notebook. It’s only then I notice he’s wearing a nametag. His last name, etched black in shining silver, is Cradle. Huh. What a coincidence.

  “You’re sure you didn’t attend this party looking to have a good time, Miss MacLean?” Why is he so angry all of a sudden? My sluggish mind works around and around as he leans over me while Mom and Dad look on with an anxious exchange. His breath smells of pepperoni and cheese and I’m leaning over the edge of the bed again, this time missing anyone’s feet, thank goodness, the result of my encounter with anything resembling the smell of food.

  When I lay back again, Dad is between the bed and the officer, Mom holding my clammy hand.

  “Kit has been nothing but compliant,” Dad says. “If someone at that party drugged my daughter, I want them arrested.” Wow, I’ve never seen my father act so authoritative before. Go Dad.

  The officer backs off only when a woman in a white lab coat with a stethoscope around her neck enters the cubicle, staring back and forth between the two angry men.

  “Showdowns are only permitted in the lobby,” she says, so dry and smart I can’t help but giggle. And groan at the pain my amusement caused me. She comes to my side while Dad and the officer back down, Mom still clutching at me like I’m falling and she has to hold me back.

  “I’m Dr. Jo Carmody,” the woman says with a smile. I smile back.

  “Hi, Dr. Jo.”

  She laughs. “Love it,” she says. “Kit, you’re a very lucky young woman, do you know that?” The doctor turns, stern all of a sudden. “She was definitely drugged,” she says. “We found traces of GHB in her system.”

  Mom gasps. “The date rape drug?” She’s super pale, hand shaking around mine.

  “It has recreational uses,” Officer Cradle says, but even he looks guilty after he says it, partly because Dr. Carmody glares at him before nodding firmly to Mom.

  “We were able to test quickly enough thanks to the young man who brought her in and a new test strip. Good thing, it’s notoriously hard to catch in the body.” She tucks her hands into the pockets of her lab coat. “She had a small enough dose it’s run its course, but she’ll feel the effects for a while yet. Definitely enough to disorient her and cause a blackout.” She pats my free hand. “And no, Officer Cradle,” the doctor says with that same sarcastic snark to her tone, “this form of GHB isn’t the kind of drug one takes willingly, in case you’re new to this or something.”

  He scowls at her. I think it’s a permanent expression for him and wonder if he even knows how to smile. “Thanks for the info, Doc.”

  She shrugs, lips pursed. “I’m tired of seeing cases like this, officer. Unfortunately, they don’t all turn out as well as Kit’s has. And I wonder how many go unreported because girls are too afraid to come forward.”

  Or don’t remember anything. I shiver and squeeze Mom’s hand. I might not run in the circles where this kind of thing is a regular occurrence, but even I know what terrible assaults could happen to someone who can’t defend themselves against those who drug them.

  I should tell them about Tom Brown right now. Turn them onto his trail. But, there’s no proof, is there? The only people who are about to get into trouble are Abigail and Tate.

  Oh, that’s what I missed. My muddled mind finally makes the connection. “You’re Tate’s dad.”

  The officer grunts, doesn’t meet my eyes.

  “I’m positive she had nothing to do with it,” I say, trying to sit up too quickly, to get my words out faster than I should. The world wobbles again, Mom supporting me on one side while the doctor eases me back down. “She’s my friend.”

  Why is Dr. Carmody looking at me with such sympathy? She just feels sorry for me, I guess.

  “I’d like her in overnight for observation,” she says to Mom and Dad. “Any further questions will have to wait for morning.” She shoos the three adults out of the space, looking back over her shoulder at me with one hand on the edge of the curtain. The bustle of the ER on the other side is making my headache worse. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

  I lay my head back and close my eyes, chest clenching. He drugged me. But why? What was his purpose? For a moment my world collapses inward as I choke on the truth.

  But my clothes are on, I can feel them under my hands, even my shoes. Panic fades as the fear he’d done to me what was done to Betsy and the other girls fades as quickly as it came. Besides, Jimmy was there, he rescued me. So Tom didn’t have time to do much.

  Still. The fact he tried at all makes me want to throw up again. And to think about Tate. She was there, she handed me that drink. The beer first, then the soda. She seemed so desperate I take it… but she couldn’t have known what was in it. I can’t even bring myself to contemplate she might have been in on it.

  No, she’s being bullied, manipulated, just like the rest of the school. Tom has something on her. But what could he possibly have against the daughter of a principal and a police officer? Surely she’s never been in trouble in her life.

  My bag chirps at me. I turn my head, looking down at the chair next to the bed. My phone. For the first time, my hand hesitates reaching for it, but I can’t help it. I need to know, to see what Tom has on me.

  Because it’s him calling. I just know it.

  My body complains when I sit up, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, fingers fumbling inside my bag for the weight of my phone. I run one shaking hand over my face before my thumb unlocks the welcome screen and I check my texts.

  Three videos wait for download. I select each one, stomach clenched, shoulders hunched so far forward I feel like I’m folding myself in half. When the first one begins to play, I finally exhale and stare.

  It’s me, staggering around the room where we’d spoken, yelling my head off.

  “THE CIA WON’T STAND FOR THIS!” I try to kick at whoever holds the phone. It’s Tom, I can hear him laughing at me. “YOU HEAR ME? OUR BOSSES WILL TAKE YOU DOWN, YOU TRAITOR.”

  He’s still laughing as I stumble and fall. Out the door and into the hallway. Into Jimmy Jones. He steps back, lets me go. But no, he saved me. I know it.

  Not that it matters. I’ve given her up, given away the life I never meant anyone to know.

  My secret. My alter ego. My fantasy world. Exposed to Tom Brown. And, through him, to everyone.

  ***

  Chapter Twenty Two

  I’ve never been embarrassed of Kitalia before, or the escape I’ve built into my existence, the one place I can go to be so much more than myself. I feel horrible about her suddenly, like this elaborate creation I’ve made is just a stupid kid’s game, one that I need to shun, to be ashamed of. This is the real world. She’s just… what? A way for me to occupy myself while the world goes on without me.

  Well, the world knows now. And I don’t know if I can live with that.

  I clear my throat, turning off my phone completely, stuffing it in my bag before rolling over on my side and hugging myself. The thin hospital pillow smells of disinfectant, the loud ambiance washing away into silence as I retreat, wishing for the dark again.

  Just to swallow me up, please, and never let me out.

  I close my eyes and jerk them open again. She’s waiting for me on the other side. The girl with the blue eyes, with the sweet smile, pointing and laughing at me. She’s not alone. There are other girls there, all of them pointing and laughing. At me. Endlessly. I clench my eyes shut, willing them to leave me alone, but they won’t go, a wash of terrible memory trying to rise, to devour me even as I fight it off.

  It’s a long and horrible night.

  I refuse to talk to anyone, including the kind Dr. Carmody, pretending to be asleep. I’m just too ashamed to face the world right now. Ashamed of being so optimistic when all I’ve been is deluded. Embarrassed by Kitalia who’s only ever been there for me but whose exposure means I have to give her up, do
n’t I? I’ll never be able to think about her the same way, or retreat again without feeling guilty, like everyone will know.

  Who cares? I sniff into my pillow at about 3:30 AM to the sound of someone sobbing not too far away. Who cares what they think? But I care. I’ve cared for a long time.

  Ever since the girl with the blue eyes pointed and laughed.

  I keep my head down when Mom escorts me to the car the next morning, after standing from the wheelchair she insisted on, passing through the front doors of the hospital. I hoped fresh air might clear my mind, but no luck. The horror of what’s happening still hovers around me like a thick, black blanket. I buckle up without being asked, exist in stunned silence all the way home.

  Dad waits for us in the living room and I sit down on the couch, waiting for the talk I know is coming. They’re going to ask me all kinds of uncomfortable questions and I just don’t want to answer right now.

  Please, let them not have heard about the videos. My heart hardens a little as Mom sits beside me, if only out of self-defense. What do I have to be ashamed of? I haven’t hurt anyone. So what I play make believe.

  So what?

  “Kit.” Mom tries to hold my hand, but I’m done with that.

  “Can I go to my room, please?” I just want to have a shower and change my clothes. I stink and feel disgusting.

  “We need to talk about last night.” Mom hesitates. “Kit, did something happen?”

  They didn’t see the videos, then. I shake my head. “I just want to go to my room.”

  They let me go, surprisingly enough. I don’t run, finding it hard to trudge that far despite my need to get away from them. The hot water scalds my skin but I don’t care as I scrub and scrub at the surface of my flesh with my big, pink pouf, wishing I could clean my mind the same way.

  She won’t leave me alone now, the blue eyed girl with the laughing mouth and the pointing finger. She clings to me, popping up constantly, the echo of her amusement making me cringe inside every time I hear her laugh. I towel off at last, the steam so thick I can’t see my reflection in the mirror, and I’m okay with that. I don’t think I can live with looking myself in the face right now.