by Amy Cross
"Anything else?"
"I feel scared. What if I'm losing my mind? What if I've gone completely off the deep end?"
"Do you think that's possible?"
"No," I say after a brief pause. "I think I'm sane. I feel sane."
"So he hadn't been slipping pills into your food?" she asks.
I shake my head. "The bottle was empty because I'd used them all to kill him. I never would have realized the truth, if I hadn't tried to kill him again. It's just..." I pause for a moment. "I thought I was in control. All those times I was talking to him, I was just talking to myself. Those times when I thought he was doing things, I must have been doing them. I even remember him driving me to places, but I must have been the one behind the wheel."
"And he had enough money to keep you from being found out?"
"He wasn't rich," I reply, "but he had enough stashed away. He was saving to buy a boat some day, so he had almost twenty thousand dollars by the time he died. I didn't need much money, so I made it last. All those years. All those nights of sitting with him, and talking to him, and listening to him, and being mad at him... and he wasn't really there. It was all in my head. Every word he said; it was all coming from me, and I was looking after myself without remembering any of the things I was doing."
"So now what are you going to do?" Jennifer asks.
"Nothing," I say. "What am I supposed to do? I need to start earning money, but I've got this job, so that shouldn't be a problem. The money from my father isn't going to last much longer, so I have to make sure I'm okay. I've got the house, but I need a few basics, and I need to keep paying the bills."
"Is that all you care about?" she says. "You just want to get by? You just want to find a way to make sure you don't have to move on from what you did?"
"What else is there?" I ask. "I've spent my whole life trying to find something that makes me feel as if I belong. I've finally got that. It's this place. I feel like I belong here. I was never going to go to college; that was just something I talked about in order to keep him happy. Not that there was a 'him' to keep happy anymore. I guess he was just a hallucination. But..." I pause for a moment, realizing that I'm getting ahead of myself. "I just have to focus on what's real. I've spent too long allowing hallucinations and dreams to rule my life."
"Where's the body now?"
"Still in the garden," I continue. "I was thinking I should maybe move it, just in case someone finds it. Maybe I'll bury it. I kind of don't want it there. I just want to forget everything and move on. I can do this. I don't have to fall apart. I just need to keep my head, and focus on what's important." I turn to her, and for a moment I find myself wondering if I can trust my own eyes anymore. "You're real, aren't you?"
"Me?" She smiles. "I think so."
"But how do I know? I mean, I can see you and I can feel you, but how can I be certain?"
"You saw through your father," she points out. "Now that you've seen how to get past an illusion, surely you wouldn't fall into the same trap again?"
"Maybe," I reply, still not entirely convinced.
"I guess you have to just trust me," she continues. "But you've seen the effects of what I can do. I'm the one who helped you cover up the other deaths, remember? Unless you think you've been secretly doing that all along?"
I shake my head.
"I'll always be here for you, Juliet," she says after a brief pause. "I know people have abandoned you in the past, but I want you to be absolutely certain that I'll never, ever go anywhere. I'll always be right here, sitting next to you, listening to you. You know that, right?"
I nod.
"I don't judge you," she continues. "I listen to you, and I try to help. You're the most important thing in the world to me, and I just want to help you deal with your problems." She takes my hands in hers. "You can always, always trust me, Juliet. Even if there's no-one else, you've always got me. Is that clear?"
"Yeah," I say taking a deep breath.
"And I certainly don't think you're evil."
"I am."
"No, you're not."
"I should get going," I reply after an uncomfortable pause. Standing up, I take a deep breath, feeling as if I'm finally ready to face the world again. "I need to go and check on the residents."
She frowns. "You do?"
I nod. "This job is all I have right now. I need to make sure I do it right. Besides, if I'm going to have a chance of taking over when Charles Taylor's gone, I should really knuckle down and get on with doing everything properly."
Jennifer stares at me for a moment. "Juliet, I'm not sure I understand."
"I want the job," I tell her, heading over to the door. "I've never wanted anything so much in my entire life. Taylor's going to be out of here as soon as I've got all the evidence together, and I want to be the new boss. I know that might sound crazy, but I figure it's the next logical step, right?"
"It certainly sounds logical," she replies, "but that doesn't mean it's going to happen."
"Maybe not," I reply, "but I'm going to give it my best shot. You want to come with me?"
She shakes her head. "Not yet."
Walking through to the main part of the building, I can't shake the feeling that I'm finally feeling good about myself. It's a weird sensation, after years and years of seeing myself as a complete failure. Night after night, I'd work here at Crestview and then have to go home and face my father; now, however, I know that the house is empty, and I can just relax. Sure, it's going to be a little strange for a while, but it's nothing I can't handle. As I wander through to the red ward, I remind myself that I need to focus exclusively on Crestview for a while. Despite Jennifer's incredulity, I genuinely think I could have a good chance of becoming the new boss around here. Opening the door to Kenneth Jenkins' room, I glance inside and -
He's not there.
I flick the light switch, and find to my surprise that not only is the bed empty, but all his possessions have vanished. He used to have a small collection of magazines and newspapers on his bedside table, but now there's nothing; I hurry to the wardrobe, but there's nothing inside: all his clothes are gone. Starting to panic, I hurry out of the room and check the next room, but Mrs. Chester has also disappeared. I head to the next room, and then the next, and then I try the other wards, but it's the same story with each room: all the residents have vanished, and their rooms seem to have been stripped bare.
Rushing to the reception area, I go straight to the office, but the door seems to be locked. I look through the small window and see that there's nothing in there: the desk, the filing cabinets... everything has gone. Turning, I see that the sofa from the corner of reception is also missing. It's as if someone has been in and taken all the people and all the furniture. Suddenly I realize that the place is also getting kind of cold, which is pretty strange since Crestview is usually kept warm for the benefit of the residents.
"Something wrong?" Jennifer asks.
I turn to find that she's come through to find me.
"What happened?" I say. "Where the hell is everyone?"
"Didn't you notice when you arrived tonight?" she asks, with a hint of a smile on her lips. "Crestview's been closed down, Juliet."
"No," I say, feeling my heart pounding in my chest. "No way, that's not possible!" I try the office door again, and eventually I take my shoe off and use it to break the window, before reaching through and finally managing to turn the lock. The door opens and I step inside. "Where the hell is everything?" I ask.
"Charles Taylor's luck ran out," Jennifer explains. "The owners finally discovered he'd been cooking the books. By the time they'd sorted everything out, they figured they might as well cut their losses and shut the place down. The residents have all been moved to other homes. Kenneth Jenkins, for example, is in a new retirement center in Florida, of all places. I'm sure he's much happier there."
"No!" I say, raising my voice. "This isn't possible! Everything was fine last night!"
"You weren't here last
night," she replies.
"I was!" I shout, turning to her. "I talked to you! I sat with you and told you about the pills!"
She smiles. "Juliet, that was almost a month ago. The next night, you didn't come to work. Or the next night, or the night after that. Taylor had to cover your shifts himself, and then a few weeks later his little scheme was uncovered. Crestview has been all shuttered up for more than a week now. Everyone was let go. You'd have known all about it, except you hadn't been showing up for work."
"I was here last night!" I shout. "I was here, and then I went home, and then this evening was when I realized the truth about my father, and then..." I pause, realizing that I can't trust my own memories anymore. "I was here," I say, trying to calm down. "I was here. You know I was here!"
"You weren't here," she replies. "You were here a month ago, telling me about the pills, and then I didn't see you again until tonight." She steps toward me and puts a hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry, Juliet. I thought you knew. Crestview's been shut down and sold off to a development company. They're moving in tomorrow to start knocking the whole place down."
Chapter Eight
Eleven years ago
I should be in bed, but I'm not. I'm up late, past midnight, using my father's laptop to go online. Lately, I've had so many questions, so many problems to solve, that I've turned more and more to the internet. There's a whole world out there, filled with answers; I never have to ask my father a question these days, since I can just look it up via the laptop. For example, right now I'm researching blackouts. I'm trying to find out what makes a person have blackouts during the day, and how to stop them. I need to fill these holes in my mind; I need to know what I've been doing, and whether it's something that's dangerous. After all, the most important thing right now is that I remain in control of my actions.
Then again, maybe it's not a huge problem. I've been having these blackouts for a few days now, and nothing bad seems to have happened so far. It's just that every so often, I'll be doing something and suddenly time will flash past. It's as if I shift from one moment to another, with no memory of what happened between the two points. It happens during the day sometimes, but it's definitely worst at night. These 'night shifts', as I call them, are becoming increasingly common, and sometimes I find myself wondering what happens during those missing hours. What am I doing? Where am I going?
The internet doesn't seem to have any answers, though. For the first time, I'm drawing a blank, and I'm starting to get worried. What if I've got some kind of medical problem, like a brain tumor or Alzheimer's? Even worse, what if I've got leukemia like my mother had? I've been obsessively looking for the symptoms online, and so far I don't seem to match any of the lists I've found. Still, some types of leukemia are apparently linked along family lines, so my mother's illness makes it slightly more likely that I could get sick. What if the blackouts and 'night shifts' are an early symptom that most people don't notice? What if I'm dying?
I need to make sure I don't go crazy.
Getting up from the chair, I wander through to the lounge, where I find my father sitting on the sofa. He's not doing anything; he's just staring straight ahead, almost as if he's waiting for instructions. I go over to the stereo, select one of his favorite jazz CDs, and set it to play. I hate this kind of music, but I figure I need to do something to cheer my father up. After all, it's pretty sad to have him just sitting around the place, looking like his mind has become completely blank. As the music plays, he turns to me and smiles, and it's almost like I can see the lights come on in his eyes. He's responding to this simple little gesture that I made, and he looks normal again. This has been happening a lot lately. Something's changed, though I'm not sure what. He just seems... different, somehow.
"What time is it?" he asks.
"Late," I reply.
"How late?"
I look over at the clock. "Almost two. I've been up looking at stuff online. Is that okay?"
"Of course it is. What have you been looking at? Cartoons?"
"No. I've been reading about things. Just medical stuff, you know? Nothing totally important."
"Is there anything you want to ask me about? Are you worried about something?"
I stare at him for a moment. The last thing I want to do is start up a conversation about leukemia; besides, I'm pretty sure he'd just change the subject. Best not to even try. "No," I say. "I'm not worried. I just wanted to find out about some symptoms, but I think everything's okay. I was just being stupid."
"If you're concerned about something -"
"I'm not," I say firmly, feeling a little annoyed by his persistence. "I'm fine. I just wanted to make sure about a few things." I pause for a moment, feeling as if there's something slightly strange about our conversation. He seems slightly stilted, almost as if he's not quite asking the questions he'd normally ask. "Why did you email Dr. Larson and cancel my visits?" I ask eventually.
"Why?" He stares at me. "Well, to be honest, I didn't want to put you through all of that. Last time we were there, I saw such a horrible, pained look in your eyes, and I realized I had to give it up. It was worth a try, and I'd have been a bad father if I hadn't at least made the effort, but it wasn't working." He pauses. "Do you think it was working?"
I shake my head.
"That's exactly what I thought. The guy had diplomas and accreditation coming out of his asshole, but that doesn't mean he was the right person to look after my little princess. I guess maybe it was a bad fit."
"I'm glad I'm not going anymore," I say. "I didn't like him. I hope I don't ever see him again." I wait for my father to say something; when he stays silent, I realize he's fallen asleep. Deciding not to wake him, I quietly head out of the room and go back to the kitchen. Since I'm still not tired, I grab the model kit that Samantha bought for me. I arrange the pieces on the table and get ready to build the replica model fighter jet. At the last moment, however, I discover that there's no superglue. I check and re-check the box, but it's definitely not in there, even though the packaging clearly states that there's a tube inside. As I put the pieces back into the box, I suddenly realize that this has happened before. In fact, I think it's happened several times. I keep getting the model out and discovering that there's no superglue. I swear there was some superglue yesterday, though. Where did it go?
Book 8:
The Final Shift
Chapter One
Today
"Okay, so..." He looks down at the piece of paper, reading it over one final time. "Juliet Collier, right? Won't you come in and take a seat?" Stepping back, he gestures to a chair over by his desk.
Smiling awkwardly, I step into the room. I feel so totally out of place right now. I'm in the offices of a law firm on the far side of town. Elstion and Mainhew is one of these establishments that strives to look up-market and wealthy, even though the mere fact of their presence in this scabby little town means they're automatically feeding off the bottom rung of the social ladder. There's something slimy and obsequious about all the people who work here, as if they think they deserve a better class of clientele.
"I've got to admit," says Matthew Fox, the lawyer who's agreed to see me this morning, "I'm not entirely sure why you're here, Juliet." He walks around to his side of the desk and takes a seat. "My secretary said something about Crestview, which would be..." He grabs another piece of paper and takes a quick look. "Yeah, Crestview's the retirement home that was closed down a couple of weeks ago. I understand you used to work there?"
"That's right," I say, trying to sound professional. It's crazy, but when I was on my way here today, I had a big speech all worked out; suddenly all the words have melted away.
"Such a crazy story," he continues. "I mean, I don't know how much you know about what went on, and obviously I can't say too much, but the place was being run into the ground. It's hard to believe Charles Taylor managed to get away with so much, for so long, but sometimes these things just slip right through the cracks." He looks at the piece of
paper again, as if he's reacquainting himself with all the details. "So. Juliet. I think I know why you're here, and the honest answer is that it's possible you won't receive your final paycheck. There's just nothing I can -"
"It's not that," I say. "It's about my job."
"Well," he replies, sighing, "I'm afraid that's well and truly gone."
"It doesn't have to be," I say, opening the little briefcase I brought with me and pulling out a set of files. "I've prepared a little presentation for you," I continue, my hands fumbling as I open the files and set them out on his desk. Damn it, I feel so stupid right now. I spent the whole night printing out these documents, but in the cold light of day, they look so pathetic. "This is my plan for how Crestview can keep going."
He stares at the files. "Right..." He says slowly.
"It's a good plan," I say. "The basic idea is that I'd run the place myself, for free. I wouldn't need many staff. In fact, I'm not even sure I'd need anyone. I could run the whole retirement home myself. I wouldn't need to be paid a salary. The only thing I'd need is that I'd have to live on-site, but that'd actually be helpful because it'd make it easier for me to be in charge." I slide the introductory page out of the files and across the desk. "I know it probably sounds kind of ambitious, but I know I can do it. I just need you to see that it's possible, and that I can run Crestview in a way that generates a good profit for the new owners."
"I see," he continues, looking down at the piece of paper. "Let me explain something, Juliet. When the dire state of Crestview's finances was laid bare and Charles Taylor was fired, the owners divested themselves of the operation as soon as possible. They did this by selling Crestview, and all its assets and debts, on to this law firm. That's kind of a side thing that we do. We buy up toxic assets, re-fit them, and sell them on so that we can make a profit. That's what we're doing with Crestview."
"My plan can make you a profit," I say, taking a deep breath. "It's all outlined in this presentation."
