Hysteria

by Megan Miranda

  My hands were shaking as I pulled at the handle to the car door. And they were shaking still when I pushed down the lock.

  “You can’t stay here,” Dad said as he started the engine. “Not until everything gets cleared up.”

  “But you can continue your coursework remotely,” Mom said.

  “We’re going home?” I saw Reid in the distance, across the field, just standing there. Alone. I placed my palm against the window, but he didn’t see me.

  “You can’t,” Dad said, and I remembered Officer James telling us to stay in town. “I’ll set you and Mom up in a hotel nearby.”

  I thought that this must be what purgatory was like. Can’t go forward. Can’t go back. Awaiting some official judgment.

  Dad said my dorm room was sealed off by the cops, so I didn’t have anything. No toothbrush, no clothes, no computer. The only thing the cops returned was my phone, and only because it hadn’t been used to make any calls. It was useless. But I gripped onto it like it was worth something while Mom made a visit to the campus store so I’d have stuff to wear.

  Great. Looked like I’d be living in Monroe T-shirts and gym pants until I was allowed to leave. Or return. Whichever.

  Dad said we were going to a hotel, but there weren’t any, not really. Not what he would consider a hotel, anyway. More like an upscale motel, two miles away from school, on the same road past the diner. It was clean, and kind of set up like a suite, but there was no lobby or anything, just doors opening directly to the outside, like the motels that bordered the beach on the party side of the shore.

  I checked my cell: no service. This whole place was like one big dead zone. So I powered it down but left it out on the bedroom dresser, like it was a picture frame.

  The set-up wasn’t too bad: two separate rooms with queen beds sharing one common living room. Dad scribbled the number listed on our phone, told us not to make any calls, and left. Then it got dark, and the walls felt so thin. Not like in the dorm, where I couldn’t hear the crickets. Here, the outside sounded so close. And occasionally a car pulled in and the headlights cut through the shades, and I had this fear they could see me, a shadow against the wall.

  I didn’t know where my sleeping pills were. I guess they were confiscated. And it’s not like I trusted myself to ever sleep again, anyway. When the boom, boom, boom started that night, part of me wanted to crawl into Mom’s bed and watch TV with her—I could hear it through the two walls. But the other part of me wondered whether she had locked the door, and I didn’t really want to find out.

  Mallory, the room whispered. I rifled through the bedside table and pulled out a penlight. Wait, it said. But I didn’t. I pulled on a sweatshirt, slid my feet into my sneakers, and snuck out my door. I listened for the television, and when I heard laughter (the television, not Mom), I let myself quietly out the front door.

  I didn’t turn the flashlight on until I was on the main road, and then I realized how useless it was, with a narrow beam of light. But I figured it would keep me from getting hit by a car, if there were any. I kept on the pavement, the lights from the motel fading into the distance, and when I could only see blackness behind me and blackness in front of me, I started to jog.

  I ran away.

  And only when I was a good ways past the diner and the gas station did I realize I was running toward something.

  No, not something. Someone.

  CHAPTER 16

  I wanted Reid to know the truth. I wanted him to know I didn’t do it. I wanted him to believe me. It mattered. I jogged along the edge of the road, the flashlight beam catching nothing but fragments of trees. Road. Sky. And then that M came into focus, darker than the night sky, black on black. And I entered.

  I stopped running and skirted around the edge of campus, trying to catch my breath and keep away from the outside lights. When I reached Reid’s dorm, I froze. The doors were alarmed at night. He was on the second floor. I shook my head at myself as I picked up a pebble. I used to think it was so ridiculous when people did this in movies. Turned out, it was the best option out there.

  I counted windows and knew I had his because there was a faint glow behind the blinds. Seemed right that he wouldn’t be sleeping right now.

  Unfortunately, my aim was horrific. It hit the brick next to the glass and the pebble bounced off, landing silently in the grass somewhere. I tried again, and this time connected.

  A hand gripped my elbow from behind, and I shrieked.

  I spun around and Reid put a finger to his lips. Then he took my hand and pulled me behind the dorm.

  In the shadows, gasping in air, I said, “What are you doing out here?”

  “Same thing you’re doing.”

  I shook my head. “I was looking for you.”

  “Yeah, and I was on my way back from looking for you.”

  “I’m not supposed to be here.”

  He shifted his lower jaw around.

  I clarified, “I’m not allowed to be here.”

  His eyes were unnaturally wide, like he was trying to take in all the light he could. I think I was probably doing the same. I couldn’t stop the quiver in my jaw when I said, “I didn’t do it.”

  He took me in his arms and said, “I know, I know.”

  “I didn’t,” I said. And then I kept saying it. And Reid kept pushing me farther into his chest, like he was trying to muffle the noise or something, but I just ended up saying it louder.

  But then I thought about him saying I know, like maybe he knew more than I did. “How? How do you know?” Maybe the cops suspected someone else. Maybe the secrets had made their way to Reid.

  “Because I know you,” he said.

  He said it so simply. So convincingly. I wanted, so badly, for the me he saw in his head to be the real me—a girl who couldn’t possibly be capable of that. Of killing Jason Dorchester. So I clutched his sweatshirt, like it was the only thing keeping me on this side of the world.

  I tilted my face up and my lips found his and I felt his grief and fear—or maybe that was mine—and, underneath it all, I felt like I was atoning for something. It wasn’t for this, but I took it. I took it.

  And I tasted salt. Like I had been crying without even realizing it. I took a breath and wiped at my face, and I kissed him again, but I still tasted salt. I put my hand on his cheek and felt his tears. Not mine. His. He looked at my hand, like he was surprised by it too.

  Or maybe he was surprised that he was kissing when he should’ve been grieving, yet again, because he took a step back.

  He led me to his car, and we crept out of campus with the headlights off, coasting in neutral until we hit the main road.

  I directed him to the hotel, and because I didn’t know what to say, I said nothing.

  He squinted out into the dark, even though there wasn’t really a reason for that. “How did you get there?”

  “Where?”

  “To me. Campus.”

  “Oh,” I said, looking down the dark road, which looked so much darker and less inviting now that there was nothing waiting at the end of it. I shrugged. “I ran.”

  “You ran,” he said, and he was staring at me, and I could see him perfectly from the outside lights, but nothing else. So it really was like he was the only thing in the world at that moment. And it really looked like he was going to say something I wasn’t ready to hear. But it didn’t matter anyway because I had basically already said it by admitting I ran to see him.

  He didn’t say anything. He shook his head, reached out his hand and put it on my face, like he had so long ago. And he was looking at me, like he did back then. But he was seeing this me, and not the old me. I could feel it, in the blood running hot under my skin. I closed my eyes, just for a second, and when I opened them, he was focused on something over my shoulder. “Is that—”

  I whipped my head around, expecting Brian’s mom to come jumping out of the shadows, hair wild and claws bared. But instead I saw my mother, standing in the open doorway, the light behind
her, watching me.

  “My mom.”

  “Um, maybe I should come in—”

  “No, actually that’s a terrible idea.” Reid made a grab for his door handle. “Reid.” And since I couldn’t think of a way for the words not to hurt, I said, “This isn’t the best time.”

  He nodded and moved his hands back to the wheel. “I’ll be by tomorrow.”

  I smiled and closed the door. I waited at the curb for him to back out of the parking lot before walking down the path of closed doors to the one with my mother waiting, half in, half out. His taillights faded away and I stopped smiling.

  “Where have you been?” Mom asked as I walked past her into our shared living room. Like the answer wasn’t obvious.

  We were thirteen when Colleen’s dad moved out. Her mom had shrugged it off and went to work the next day like nothing happened. By the time I’d gotten there, Colleen had trashed half the house. I’d walked in the front door, and she was breathing heavily through her nose, like some wild animal. Chairs knocked over, a broken lamp, magazines on the floor. She looked at me, reached her hand out to the side, to the television stand, and sent the picture frames crashing to the floor with a quick swipe of her hand.

  I’d walked over to where a frame lay bent but salvageable, and I dug my heel in until the glass shattered into an infinite number of pieces, beyond repair. And that’s what we did for the next hour. We ruined things, without speaking.

  Her mom came home, and she looked at us standing in the middle of all the debris and said, “Who did this?”

  Colleen leaned forward and said, “I did.”

  And then her mother let out this low sob and Colleen broke into the kind of crying that sounds like laughter but isn’t, and they fell into each other’s arms.

  They didn’t notice when I left.

  And now my mother was standing there, like Colleen’s mom had done all those years ago, and I wanted to come clean, to feel some forgiveness, something. Anything.

  “That’s Reid,” I said. And in case she couldn’t figure it out, I added, “Carlson. Remember?”

  “I remember,” she said. “I’m just wondering what you were doing with him in his car.”

  “I’m kind of seeing him and I had to tell him—”

  “Are you a fool?” she said, her eyes wide. “You’re kind of seeing him? The day after you’re accused of murder? Are you out of your freaking mind?”

  “I had to tell him—”

  She put her hands up. “No more. No. More.” I didn’t know whether she was talking about my words or me seeing Reid, but either way, it wasn’t the reaction I’d hoped for.

  My mother was picking up groceries Monday morning when the cops came back. I thought about just standing silently on the opposite side of the peephole, pretending I was out as well, except I hadn’t heard a car pull in recently. So I figured they’d been sitting there for a while, waiting for a chance to talk to me alone. Like maybe they knew there were things I didn’t want my mother hearing about.

  “Good morning, Mallory,” Officer Dowle said when I opened the door. “We wanted to talk through a few of the events from two nights ago once more. This isn’t a questioning—we just want to make sure we have our facts straight.” And the fact that they didn’t ask if my mom was around confirmed that they knew she wasn’t. I also knew that they could get in trouble for this—and I was fairly certain they didn’t know I knew it.

  Which is why I said, “Come on in.”

  Officer Dowle sat on the hotel-green sofa, but Officer James stood near the front window, staring out the curtains like Mom did at home, like he was waiting for something. Worried about something.

  “Look,” said Officer Dowle, “I’m just going to lay out the story that’s being painted by the other statements we’ve gotten. So you can understand our concerns.”

  “Okay,” I said, and I planted my feet firmly on the carpet and crossed my arms over my chest, because this part I was used to.

  “You invited Jason Dorchester to your room.”

  “What? No! I wouldn’t ever—”

  Officer James cleared his throat. “We’re just telling you a story.”

  Officer Dowle grinned. She continued. “You invited Jason Dorchester to your room late at night. He snuck over. You gave him something—a drink, maybe—with a bunch of your sleeping pills dissolved in it. And you waited for him to fall asleep. Then you took your knife and slit his arms and he bled out, a very slow death. And then you took a sleeping pill yourself, so you could claim you were asleep when it happened.”

  They were both staring at me, heads cocked slightly to the side. I was blinking rapidly, because I was so irritated. Because it made sense. Because the knife was mine and the sleeping pills were mine and Jason was dead in my room.

  “So tell us,” Office Dowle said as she crossed her legs and leaned back on the sofa, which definitely wasn’t for reasons of comfort. “What part of that story is wrong?”

  I shook my head. “All of it. I don’t know who took the knife. But I took one sleeping pill, like always. Bree knew I took sleeping pills. She knew because I gave her one. That’s it.” And then I saw a slight nod to Officer Dowle’s head, which seemed really out of character for her. “You should talk to Bree,” I said.

  “Is Bree your friend, Mallory?”

  “No. She doesn’t like me. She was supposed to be my roommate but she moved out.” I left out the part about why she moved out.

  “You know what doesn’t make sense? Why you would give her a sleeping pill if she wasn’t your friend?”

  “She came to my room a few nights ago. Totally freaked out about something. She asked to move back in . . . but then . . . changed her mind.” Again, I left out the why. “And the next day she apologized for freaking out on me and said it was because she hadn’t been sleeping much, and I said I hadn’t either. And then I gave her a sleeping pill.”

  “You only gave her one?”

  “Yes. Just one.”

  “Unfortunate for you, because Jason had at least four in his system.”

  I shook my head, trying to understand. “She could’ve stolen them,” I whispered, though I didn’t quite believe it.

  “Ah, but you see, she didn’t claim to be sleeping in her room that night. And she has an alibi.”

  I choked on my laughter. “Jason’s cousin, I’m sure.”

  Officer Dowle narrowed her eyes and flipped through her notebook. “Jason’s cousin?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “You know, Krista Simon.”

  Officer Dowle kept flipping pages and looked up at me, then down again, then at Officer James. “Jason doesn’t have a cousin here,” she said. “Krista Simon is a ward of the state.”

  “No, I thought . . . I mean, I heard . . .”

  “What did you hear, Mallory?”

  Lies, apparently. “Jason called her his cousin once. And people think it. I mean, they look similar enough. I thought she lived with his family . . .”

  “Kids being kids, I guess. Probably a fun rumor for them to start.”

  This was all becoming a case of he said, she said. Or she said, she said. And this particular she now had what the cops in New Jersey referred to as a history of violence.

  “What about Bree’s roommate, Taryn?”

  “What about her?” Officer Dowle stood up, like she was done with the conversation, even if I wasn’t.

  “Does she have an alibi?”

  “Does she need one?”

  “I didn’t do it,” I said as Officer James opened the door.

  “You’ve already said that,” he said.

  They had enough to arrest me. Or at least to hold me. And they weren’t. I took a step toward the door. “No, I mean, you don’t think I did it,” I said.

  “Come again?”

  I pressed my lips together.

  Officer Dowle looked at me. “You think we have enough to arrest you if we wanted to?”

  I kept my mouth shut. Again.

  “Ma
ybe,” she said. “But it would help if there were any prints on the knife.” She grinned, or at least I thought it was a grin. “You still need to stay in town.”

  They were giving me something. A story. And I had to give them a different one.

  The lawyer in New Jersey had done the same thing. He gave me a story. But that time I stuck to it.

  “You left the party,” he’d said, and I did nothing. I didn’t nod, I didn’t speak, I wasn’t doing any of those things at the moment. Just staring at the blood caked under my nails, wondering when they’d let me wash it all off. They’d already scraped samples from underneath, which was unnecessary, really. It was obvious where it came from.

  “You walked straight home, and you locked the door behind you. Sometime later, Brian Cole broke into your house, through the living room window. He broke the phone when you tried to call 911. He pushed you into the china cabinet. He chased you into the kitchen. You took a knife to defend yourself.”

  He repeated it to me, and asked me to say it back. And I did, in this detached, monotone voice. Repeated it over and over to him and anyone that asked. And a lot of people asked that first day. I said it over and over, with my lawyer nodding slightly beside me. I said those words until it was the only thing I remembered at all.

  CHAPTER 17

  Mom answered the door when Reid knocked the next day. I’d told her he was coming. Told her and held it out like a dare, wondering what she would say, what she would tell me to do. “No, he’s not,” she’d said.

  “Oh, okay, so how about you drive me over there so I can tell him not to come.”

  She glanced at the phone that we weren’t supposed to use, shook her head, and actually smiled to herself. “Never thought I’d miss cell phone towers . . .” And that was the end of the discussion.

  And now Reid was introducing himself—reintroducing himself—like he was trying to make a good impression, and it was kind of painful to see. Because Mom didn’t care.

  Mom said, “Reid, I don’t want to seem rude here—”

  I choked on a cough. “I have to get out of this room,” I said, brushing past Mom. Mom opened her mouth, then tilted her head to the side, like she was realizing, in that instant, that I wasn’t about to listen to her. Not after she’d sent me away. Not after the months where she’d done nothing. Not now.