by Amy Cross
Eventually I hear the front door open, and a bleary-eyed Mr. Taylor heads to the office. I go through and find him opening his briefcase on the desk.
"How did it go?" he asks, clearly exhausted.
"Fine," I say. "No problems at all."
"Everyone still alive?"
"Yeah," I say, trying not to smile. If only he knew the truth.
"Any walkers during the night?"
I shake my head. "Everyone slept soundly." I feel pretty pleased with myself, being able to give such a glowing report. I guess I did a pretty good job after all.
"Great," he says, taking a seat. "I've got to admit, Juliet, you're a constant source of surprise. Not many people could keep the place running overnight like this."
"It was nothing, really," I say. "I could do it again."
"You might have to," he replies. "I'm still working on getting someone to help you tonight, but -"
"I don't need anyone," I say, interrupting him. "In a way, it's actually easier doing it by myself. I mean, this way, I know what needs to be done, and..." I pause, worrying that I might seem too eager. "I'm just saying, I can work by myself if it helps. If you're having trouble finding someone to replace Lizzie."
"Are you sure?" he asks. I can see that I've caught his attention; he's probably thinking about how he can save money by only employing one person overnight. Obviously he's breaking several rules and regulations about how the retirement home should be run, but given the precarious state of the facility's finances, I'm pretty sure he'll go for my idea. "Well, I suppose we could give it a try," he says eventually. "You're with us until the end of the summer, right? And then you're off to college?"
"Yeah," I say. "I mean... that's the plan at the moment. I don't know if..." Suddenly it feels silly to be even considering leaving for college. I have everything I want, right here. I have a world I understand, and a job I kind of enjoy, and I have Jennifer... Why the hell would I want to throw all of this away, just to go off to college and have to deal with a bunch of strangers? "To be honest," I continue, "I might not even go to college. I might just stick around. I guess it depends on a few things."
"Well, I probably shouldn't say this, but there's a part of me that'd be pretty happy if you stayed. You're a life-saver, Juliet."
I smile. "I should do one more round of checks before I finish," I say. "Just to make sure everything's okay." I turn to go back through to the wards.
"That's weird," Mr. Taylor says.
I stop at the door and look back at him. "What's wrong?"
He runs his finger along the leg of the desk, and holds it up for me to see. "Does that look like blood to you?"
"No," I say, realizing I must have missed a spot when I was cleaning up after Mr. Cymbalista's death. There wasn't much blood, and I thought I'd got it all. "I mean, maybe. Did you cut yourself shaving?"
He runs his hand over his jaw. "I guess," he says, seeming a little confused.
I head through to the wards, where I check on all the patients and find that - as expected - the whole facility is running like clockwork. Finally, I walk over to the door that leads into the abandoned ward; there's no sign of Jennifer, but I can't help thinking about the bodies of Lizzie and Mr. Cymbalista, wedged into their hiding places. No-one knows what I've been doing, but it feels as if this is the start of something that could work out pretty well. All I have to do is keep my head down, make sure I don't make any mistakes, and watch out for a chance to get rid of Mr. Taylor. Right now, though, I need to get off my shift and head home, via a short detour.
There's something important that I need to do.
Chapter Eight
Eleven years ago
"So," my father says, sitting next to me on the park bench.
I stare straight ahead, watching as people walk past. It's a bright, sunny day; in fact, it's the kind of day that makes most people rush out of the house and come down here to play. I totally accept that the majority of people enjoy being outside, hanging out with each other and generally being social. It's just that I know I don't fit in here; I don't see why my father seems so determined to turn me into someone else.
"Did it scare you when Dr. Larson talked to you?" he asks.
I shake my head. Down by the lake, a couple of boys are talking to each other as they dangle nets in the water.
"Really?" There's a pause. "I'm going to be honest with you, Juliet. It scared me. A little. I mean, this is a serious thing. You understand that, right? This isn't just about being a bit weird. This is about a serious psychological problem that could seriously harm your entire life."
I take a deep breath. Lately, I've been finding that I'm slightly breathless at odds times of the day. It's probably nothing, but I can't help wondering whether my body is reacting to all the pressure.
"Did your mother ever talk to you about this kind of thing, Juliet?" he asks.
I sigh. Why does he keep bringing my mother into this? It's almost as if he thinks he can blame her for everything that's wrong with me, even though I know it's not her fault. Not really, anyway. After my parents divorced, I didn't see my father for a while, and my mother raised me pretty well. However, I'm absolutely certain that my problems were already evident much, much earlier. As far back as I can remember, I've felt disconnected from the rest of the world; sometimes, I feel like I'm an alien who was dropped down here to observe the human race. I tried to fit in, but eventually I realized that there's no way I can ever be like everyone else. The more I try, the worse things get. My mother seemed to accept me for who I am, but my father's determined to twist me and bend me until I fit his idea of the perfect daughter.
"Well," my father says, sounding as if he's a little happier, "you know what? It's you and me, kid. You might want to drift along like this for the rest of your life, but I'm not going to let it happen. Like it or not, I'm your father, and I'm going to do what's best for you." He reaches over and puts his arm around me. "One day, you'll be heading off to college and you'll have friends, and you'll thank me. A little pain now is a small price to pay."
I watch as the two boys continue to talk down by the water. They seem to be having fun. I've never done that; I've never hung out with a friend like that. I've never really had a friend at all. I guess there are people out there who'd like me, but I haven't bumped into any of them yet. To be honest, I'd be slightly nervous if I met someone who felt the same way as me about the world.
"Come on," my father says, taking my hand and leading me away from the bench. We walk across the grass until we reach the tearoom, where he buys me an ice-cream. As I remove the wrapper, I notice an old woman watching us; she smiles at me, and I realize she thinks I'm just an ordinary girl. She has no idea what happens in my head, and she'd probably be horrified if she could hear my thoughts; she certainly wouldn't smile at me.
"That's a nice dress," she calls out to me. "You look very pretty, honey."
I scowl at her, before carefully dropping my ice-cream onto the floor.
"Juliet!" my father says. "What happened?"
"I dropped it," I say, feeling pretty pleased with myself as the old woman looks away. She still doesn't know how bad I am, but at least she can see I'm not very nice.
"Did you do that on purpose?" my father asks, clearly annoyed.
"Yes," I say, looking up at him.
He sighs. "You know what? Forget this." Dumping his ice cream in the bin, he takes me by the hand and leads me to the car park. "I tried, Juliet," he continues. "I really tried to give you a nice trip out. I guess I'm pushing you too fast. You're not ready to be treated properly. We'll come back here when you've grown up a little." When we reach the car, he lets go of my hand and searches through his pocket for his keys. While he's distracted, I turn and run back to the tearoom. Thankfully, I'm able to get all the way to the old woman again, without my father noticing that I'm gone.
"Hi," I say, tapping her on the shoulder.
Turning to look at me, she seems a little surprised that I've approach
ed her. "Hello, dear," she says, smiling cautiously.
"You were looking at me earlier," I say. My heart is racing, but I feel as if I have to make sure she understands me. "Why were you doing that?"
"I just noticed your pretty dress," she says. "You're a very pretty -"
"You're wrong," I reply, interrupting her. "It's not a pretty dress. It's an ugly, cheap dress, and I hate it." I take a deep breath. I've never talked to anyone like this before, but I feel like I want to experiment with the way I interact when I'm out in the world. "You probably think I'm good," I continue, "but I'm not. I'm bad. I'm horrible. I'm the worst person in the world. I've done things that'd shock you. Have you got any idea how awful I am?"
"Well..." She pauses, looking shocked. I guess she has no idea what to say. "Maybe you should go and find your father?"
"He doesn't know where I am," I tell her. "He's pretty stupid. I just wanted you to know that I'm evil. All the way through, right to my heart, I'm the most evil person you've ever met." I stare at her. "Do you believe me?"
She opens her mouth to reply, but she just looks at me for a moment. "Yes," she says eventually. "Yes, I believe you."
"Good," I say. "At least you're -"
"Juliet!" my father calls out.
Looking back across the room, I see him hurrying toward me. I knew he'd find me pretty quickly, but I'm glad he took so long that I managed to tell the old woman that I'm a bad person.
"I'm sorry," my father says, grabbing me by the hand. "Juliet, you weren't bothering this nice lady, were you?"
"How do you know she's nice?" I ask.
"Juliet!" my father adds, raising his voice. He turns to the old woman and smiles. "I'm so sorry. She's going through some emotional issues at the moment."
"That's quite alright," the woman replies, although she's clearly a little troubled. "Have a nice day."
Once again, my father leads me out of the tearoom and across the car park. This time, though, his grip is firmer and he's walking so fast, I have trouble keeping up. It's obvious that I've annoyed him, and I'm pretty certain he's trying really hard to hide his anger. It's weird, but when he's in this kind of mood, I find it hard to stop smiling.
"What's so funny?" he asks, opening the car door and forcing me into the passenger seat.
"Nothing," I say, still unable to wipe the grin from my face.
"Nothing?" he replies, slamming the door before walking around the car and getting into the driver's seat. "That's an awfully big smile for nothing." He stares at me for a moment. "This isn't going to work, Juliet. You're not going to get me to change my mind. You need help, and I'm going to make sure you get it. The more you act out, the more you try to cause trouble, the more I'll be determined to sort you out. Do you understand? You're not in control of this situation. Your only choice is whether to be a good girl and help, or whether to drag your heels and make this harder for everyone. Got it?"
I try to stop smiling, but it's too difficult.
"Fuck this," he says, putting his hands on the steering wheel and taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Juliet. I'll try to be more understanding, but you have to meet me halfway. This is going to be so tiring for both of us if you insist on acting like this." He turns to me. "Stop smiling."
"I thought you wanted me to smile," I say. "I thought you were worried I don't smile enough."
"Don't be smart with me," he replies. "You know what I meant when I said that."
I take a deep breath and force myself to stop smiling. It's not easy, but eventually I'm able to look vaguely normal. My original plan was to pretend to be the perfect daughter so that my father and Dr. Larson would leave me alone, but it seems I can't manage to trick them. My other option would seem to be to go to the other extreme and start embracing my evil side. After all, I've already killed Gizmo and Martina, so it's clear that I'm evil through to my core. Why not turn this part of my personality to my advantage? As my father starts the car and drives us out of the car park, I stare straight ahead and decide that I need to be true to my real self, which means allowing myself to do the things I enjoy. I turn and look over at my father. In many ways, he's the biggest problem in my life right now. If he didn't exist, I wouldn't have to go and see Dr. Larson and I wouldn't have to do all these things that are supposed to make me more normal; if he didn't exist, I'd be able to be more myself. If only I could find a way to get rid of him.
Epilogue
Today
I reach the cemetery just before 7am. The sun is starting to come up, but I'm fairly certain I won't be disturbed as I hurry over to the small garden of remembrance in the corner. Kneeling next to the spot where my mother's urn is buried, I throw my backpack onto the ground and immediately start digging with my bare hands. If I'd been able to plan ahead, I'd have brought a spade, but I can't wait a moment longer. Fortunately, the ground is soft enough to let me pull the soil out of the way. After a while, and with the hole getting deeper and deeper, I start wondering whether I've maybe got the wrong spot. Finally, however, my fingertips brush against something hard, and a few minutes later I'm able to lift my mother's urn out of the ground.
Glancing around to double-check that no-one's nearby, I carefully unscrew the lid. I take my spare t-shirt from the backpack and spread it on the ground, and then I tip out the contents of the urn. A small cloud of dust rises up, but eventually I'm confronted with the ashen remains of my mother. I feel my chest tighten a little as I see that there's not really very much of her, and at first it looks like nothing more than a pile of gray and black powder. Feeling a little nervous, I gently brush some of the ashes aside, and after a moment I spot a small white object mixed up in everything else. Pulling the item out, I hold it up and realize that Jennifer was right: I've found a piece of bone.
"Hello," I say, immediately feeling a shiver run through my body. It's as if, after eleven years, I've been reunited with my mother. It occurs to me that maybe I should kiss the bone, but then I remind myself that I don't want to be too weird. After all, it's just a bone, and it's not like any part of her soul is here.
"Sorry it took me so long to realize I could do this," I continue after a moment. "I didn't know that there'd be anything to find. I thought you were just dust."
Sitting there, staring at the tiny piece of bone, I find it hard to believe that this was actually part of her, and that it's been underground, in the dark for all these years. It's only a fraction of an inch long, but it's still hers. Setting the piece of bone aside, I sort through the rest of the ashes and find two more pieces.
"More of you," I say quietly, feeling slightly in awe of the moment. I glance over my shoulder, partly to check that no-one has wandered into the cemetery, and partly to make sure that my mother's ghost isn't standing behind me. I don't believe in ghosts, not at all; nevertheless, given all the crazy stuff that's been happening with Jennifer Mathis lately, I guess I shouldn't be too quick to rule out any possibilities.
Eventually, realizing that I need to get home soon, I crudely push the rest of the ash back into the hole, before shoveling the soil back on top. It's pretty obvious that something has happened here, but I figure no-one going to pay too much attention. They'll probably just think it was a wild animal. I gather up the three pieces of bone and put them in my pocket, before hurrying out of the cemetery. As I reach the gate, I briefly look over at Martina's grave. I suppose I could dig her up as well, but I feel as if my grave-digging days are now well and truly over.
The walk home is strange: I feel somehow separate from the rest of the world, as if the recovery of my mother's bones has somehow changed me. It's odd to think that, after all these years, she's finally with me as I walk the streets. Every few minutes, I put a hand in my pocket and feel the three pieces of bone jiggling about. By the time I get to my father's house, I'm feeling almost euphoric, and I can't stop smiling. I pause by the front steps. My father's probably in the kitchen, eating breakfast before he heads off to work. There's no way I can let him see me with this stupid grin on
my face, so I take a moment to calm down. If he knew that I'd gone and dug my mother's urn up and taken out the pieces of bone, he'd probably want to send me straight back to Dr. Larson. The last thing I want is to have to go through any of that stuff again. As soon as I'm certain that I've wiped the grin from my face, I take a deep breath and head inside. For the first time in many, many years, I feel as if things are starting to get better.
Book 5:
Juliet on the Moon
Prologue
Today
This is it.
This is the place.
Standing on the sidewalk, I stare at the small apartment block. It's so weird to think that he's in one of those rooms right now. After all these years, after spending so much time wondering whether I should come and track him down, I'm finally so close. All I have to do is go and hit the buzzer for apartment 4a, and then wait, and then hear his voice, and then tell him who I am, and then...
I take a deep breath.
Am I really going to do this? Am I really going to introduce myself, and get to know him, and then tell him the truth? There's a part of me that wants to run screaming and never look back, but there's another part of me that desperately wants to go over to that door right now and tell him everything. It's time. After all these years, I feel like he deserves to know what really happened. No-one should have to live in fearful ignorance forever. Besides, secrets can't stay hidden forever. Eventually, they have to come out into the light. When I was younger, I thought you could take a secret, screw it up into a little ball and keep it inside for the rest of your life. Now I know that's not true: I've tried to keep this secret to myself, but lately it's been tugging at me, reminding me, urging me to let it out. And I will.
