The Night Girl: The Complete Series

by Amy Cross

  "She doesn't want it".

  "I don't care," he says, grabbing it from my hands. "When you give a gift, you don't take it back".

  "She asked me to take it," I say firmly, taking it back from him. "I don't have time to stand here arguing. I tried to talk to her, and it didn't work, and in case you're wondering, she was the one who hit me, okay? And before you ask: yes, I'm fine, thanks for your concern. Just a few fractured ribs and some bruising". I glance over his shoulder and see Samantha staring down at me from one of the upstairs windows. Our eyes meet for a moment, and I realize she's re-applied her make-up; you'd never know there was any scarring. "I have to go," I mutter, before turning and walking away from my father. To my relief, he doesn't follow me this time. I guess he finally understands that there's nothing he can do to help me. This is just who I am; it's what I am. I can't change; even if I could, why would I try? It's taken long enough, but I feel like I'm finally learning to deal with my darkness and turn it into something positive. Besides, I have a friend. Jennifer Mathis is the only friend I'll ever need.

  Chapter Eight

  Eleven years ago

  "What about the scarring?" my father asks, sitting at the kitchen table as he talks to Mary on the phone. He listens for a moment. "They can do amazing things these days. They'll probably have -" He pauses for a moment. "I know, but it takes time. They probably have to let it heal for a few weeks or months, and then they can start the process of fixing it properly". Another pause. "I know. But the important thing is to look on the bright side and make sure she realizes this won't affect her forever". He glances across the room and sees me; there's a look of cold anger in his eyes, as if he hates the sight of me. "I'm going to talk to her now. Will you call me as soon as there's any news?" Another pause. "Okay, Mary. Take care. And again, I'm so sorry". He puts the phone down.

  I turn to walk back to my bedroom. It's getting late, and I'm tired.

  "Where do you think you're going?" my father says.

  I stop and look back at him.

  "Well?" he asks.

  I open my mouth to reply, but I have no idea what to say. It's been five or six hours since the ambulance took Samantha away, and I've spent most of the time in my room.

  "Aren't you going to ask how she is?" he continues. "Don't you care enough to wonder?"

  I swallow hard.

  "It's a third-degree burn. Do you know what that means? It means the damage has gone all the way through, and she'll have permanent scarring. It means the nerve endings have been destroyed, and they might never recover. There was also some damage to one of her eyelids, but fortunately it was only on the edge. By a miracle, the actual eyeball wasn't damaged, so there's no threat to her sight". He stares at me. "Another couple of millimeters, Juliet, and you would have blinded her on one side".

  I pause for a moment, before turning to head to my room.

  "Come and talk to me," he calls out.

  I keep going. Once I'm through the door, I hear him following, and I turn to find him standing behind me. "I'm tired," I say. "I want to go to bed".

  "You're going to see Dr. Larson next week," he says, staring down at me. "I called him this evening and told him what happened. He's scheduled an emergency session so he can talk to your properly. He's very worried, Juliet. This is a clear escalation of your problems. You've manifested violent tendencies".

  "It was an accident," I lie.

  "No-one believes that. Juliet, this is serious. It's one thing to be a little weird and to like being on your own, but it's something else entirely to physically hurt someone. What you did today was really, really worrying. Dr. Larson was shocked when I told him. He thought you were making progress. We all did; we thought you were getting better, and then you go and do something that's a thousand times worse".

  "It was an accident," I say again.

  "No, Juliet. It really wasn't". He pauses for a moment. "Why did you do it?"

  "It was an accident," I repeat.

  "You turned the barbecue on by accident? You pushed Samantha's face down onto the hot plate by accident?"

  I stare at him.

  "It wasn't an accident, and no-one's going to accept that explanation. You burned her deliberately. The doctors say that the level of damage is consistent with two or three seconds of direct exposure. You can't accidentally do that to someone. You must have held her down. Why, Juliet? Why the hell would you ever do something like that? What kind of -" His voice trails off, but it's pretty clear he was about to refer to me as a monster.

  "I'm tired," I say again. The truth is, I just want to go to sleep. Earlier today, for a brief moment, I thought I'd finally found someone who liked the same dark things that I like; I thought we might actually be able to hang out together; I thought she wanted to spend time with me. Maybe I went a little bit too far, but maybe she was just too weak to put up with my kind of darkness. I tested her, and she failed. It's a shame, and I wish she'd been stronger, but there's nothing I can do to change things now. I just want to sleep and sleep and sleep until this is all over.

  "Was it fun?" he asks. "Did you enjoy feeling her struggle? Did you feel like you had some kind of power over her? Is this your way of pushing her away and making sure you never have any friends?"

  "I'm tired," I say, turning to walk over to my bed. I only get a couple of paces before he grabs my shoulder and turns me back around to face him.

  "This isn't okay!" he shouts, his face becoming a little red. "Whatever's wrong with you, Juliet, you have to stop it! Whatever crazy ideas go through your head, you have to straighten them out! I'm not going to tolerate this anymore! You're not going to act like this evil little monster, do you understand?"

  I stare at him, and after a moment I can't help but smile. It's that same reaction I get whenever I see someone in an emotional state. Instead of sympathizing with them, or listening to them, or comforting them, I just smile instinctively. I wish I could stop, but I can't.

  "Don't grin at me like that," he says, staring at me with such anger that for a moment I think he might actually slap me. In a way, I wish he'd let go of his inhibitions and show me the full force of his rage, but eventually he steps back. "I'm sorry, Juliet. I shouldn't have said some of those things. You're not evil and you're not a monster, okay? Just... Just go to bed and we'll talk some more in the morning. I'm going to stay up and wait for Mary to call". He turns and walks out of the room, pulling my door shut as he goes.

  I stand by my bed, enjoying the emptiness of the room. It's weird, but I feel like everything is still vibrating slightly from the loudness of my father's anger; it's as if words like 'evil' and 'monster' are echoing everywhere. I've known for a long time that he saw me like this, but it's still kind of strange to have him actually come out and say it directly to my face. At least now I'm certain where I stand.

  "Normal girls don't burn other girls' faces," says the voice of the imaginary normal girl.

  I turn to look across the room, almost expecting to see her in the corner. There's no-one there, though. At least I'm not so crazy that I've started hallucinating. Besides, I know the voice isn't real. I'm not going mad; I'm just imagining someone talking to me. I'm doing it on purpose, and I enjoy it.

  "Normal girls make friends with other girls," she continues. "Normal girls hang out with their friends. Normal girls don't end up hurting other people like this".

  "I'm not a normal girl," I say quietly.

  "Then what are you?"

  "I'm evil".

  "How do you know?"

  "Because I hurt..." I pause for a moment as I realize that burning Samantha isn't even the worst thing I've ever done. "Because I've killed someone," I say eventually.

  "Who?"

  "Martina. My father's girlfriend".

  "And how does it feel?"

  I close my eyes.

  "Do you feel bad about killing her, Juliet?"

  I open my eyes.

  "Well?"

  "No," I say. "It's just something that happened"
.

  "And her cat? Do you feel bad about killing Gizmo?"

  "No".

  "And do you feel bad about hurting Samantha?"

  "No".

  "What does that say about you, Juliet?"

  "I'm tired".

  "What does it say about you".

  "I'm evil".

  "That's right. You've got a cold, black little heart and you'll never change. It doesn't matter what you father or Dr. Larson try to do, they'll never be able to make you good. So you have to decide whether you want to spend your whole life struggling to be something you're not, or embrace the darkness that comes to you so naturally".

  "I'm tired," I say, getting into bed. I don't want to talk to the imaginary normal girl anymore; it was fun for a while, but I'm so exhausted, I just want to sleep.

  "We're not finished discussing this," she says.

  I stare up at the ceiling.

  "Juliet," she continues. "I want you to tell me what you're going to do next".

  "Go away," I whisper, starting to feel a little scared. At first, this voice was something I conjured up out of my own imagination; it was like another side of me, but I was always in control. Suddenly, though, something has changed: the voice has become nastier, and darker, and it no longer goes away when I want it to stop. It's as if it's developed a life of its own, and I'm powerless to do anything about it. I close my eyes, hoping that I can make the room fall silent.

  "You can't get rid of me that easily," she says. "You've gained a friend today, Juliet, but it's not Samantha. Do you know who it is?"

  "Go away," I say quietly.

  "Come on," she continues. "I know you're smart, Juliet. You know who I am. You just have to admit it to yourself. Maybe it'd help if you gave me a name?"

  "No," I say, rolling onto my side. "I'm tired. I just want to go to sleep".

  "Fine," she says, "but I'll be back. You need me. You can't keep all of this inside. You need someone to talk to, and if I'm the best you can come up with, I guess we'll just have to carry on like this for a while. But remember, Juliet... Normal girls don't talk to imaginary friends in their heads".

  After a few minutes of silence, I realize she's gone. I start to relax a little. I need to stop talking to her, because it feels like she's starting to take over. It was okay when she was nice to me, and when she was helpful, and when I could make her go away; now, however, it feels as if she's gaining strength, and the last thing I need is to have an uncontrollable voice living in my head. I take a deep breath as I try to stay calm. All I want right now is to go to sleep and not wake up until... I pause for a moment, as I realize that maybe I don't want to ever wake up. After all, what's the point? Tomorrow's going to be all about Samantha, and about a trip to see Dr. Larson, and I'm going to have to deal with my father's anger. The idea of waking up in the morning isn't very appealing. I'd rather just sleep forever; at least when I'm asleep, I can dream about other things, and the voice in my head isn't talking to me. The only time I can be happy is when I'm sleeping.

  Epilogue

  Today

  It's time.

  I knock on the door, and then I wait. This is kind of stupid. I mean, he might not even be at home. It's getting kind of late, but I know almost nothing about him. Maybe he works night shifts? Maybe he's gone on holiday; maybe I've got the address wrong? After all, he might have moved recently, or he might have dropped dead this morning. The truth is, this is a crazy thing to be doing, and there's no guarantee that it's going to succeed. Even if he answers the door, he might -

  "Hello?" says a voice from nearby.

  Turning, I see a man staring at me from the garden. He looks to be in his forties, maybe a little older, and he's wearing rough, paint-spattered clothes. It might be him.

  "Hi," I say, feeling my throat start to dry up. "Are you Robert?"

  "I am," he replies, eying me suspiciously. "And you are?"

  "My name's..." I pause for a moment, wondering whether I should maybe give him a false name. After all, this could all go very badly wrong, and it might be useful to be able to just run away without any fear of consequences. Then again, I suppose I have that option anyway, thanks to Jennifer Mathis. "Juliet," I say finally. "Juliet Collier".

  "And what can I do for you, Juliet Collier?"

  "I just..." Damn it, I thought I'd planned ahead, but now I realize I'm kind treading water here. "You had a sister," I continue. "Martina Hopkins?"

  He stares at me for a moment. "That's right. But if you're looking for her -"

  "No!" I say, taking a deep breath and trying to stay calm. "I'm not looking for her. I know what happened. I know she's..." My voice trails off as I try to work out what to say next. "I knew her," I say eventually. "Right before she died, I mean. She was dating my father".

  "Uh-huh," he says, clearly a little confused by my presence. "No offense, Juliet Collier, but all of that was a long time ago. More than a decade. If you're here to pay your condolences, that's very nice of you, but... Like I said, it's been a while".

  "I know," I reply. "I just..." All my plans are starting to fall away and I feel hopelessly exposed. Part of me wants to turn and run, but I feel like this is my only chance. "I wondered if you had a photo of her?" I ask after a moment. "I'm... I'm just trying to make a kind of scrapbook about my family, and I didn't have a picture of her, and..." My voice trails off as I realize how completely crazy I must sound.

  "A scrapbook?"

  I nod.

  "And you want a picture of Martina?"

  I nod again.

  "Well... okay. I guess you'd better come on in. Come around to the back door". He gestures for me to follow him, before turning and wandering back around to the other side of the house.

  After pausing for a moment, I hurry after him. This feels like one of the most insane things I've ever done, and I'm surprised he believes my bullshit story about making a scrapbook. Still, I feel like I need to get to know him a little before I tell him the truth about Martina's death. For the past few days, I've been increasingly bothered by a desire to tell him everything. I want to tell him about the cat, and about the jack-in-the-box, and I want him to know that I was responsible for the crash that killed his sister. I feel like this is something that has been bothering me a lot, and it'd be good to get it out in the open. I want to see the look of shock on his face when he finds out what really happened; I want him to get angry, to threaten me, maybe even to attack me. I want to see the pure fury of a man who is finally face to face with the person who caused him such heartbreak. I want to be exposed to his pain, just as I exposed myself to Samantha's pain.

  In many ways, this is a rehearsal for the moment when I finally confess everything to my father. In both cases, I have the ultimate fallback position: I know that I have the option of killing them, and then gaining Jennifer's help to hide the bodies. Everything is starting to make sense. As I walk up the steps and follow Robert Hopkins into his house, I realize that for the first time in my life I'm totally in control.

  Book 6:

  Mad World

  Prologue

  Eleven years ago

  Sometimes - just sometimes - I think that maybe there's a God.

  It's a warm, sunny day and my father's busy work schedule means I'm able to walk home alone from school. This isn't a luxury that comes my way very often; my father has always tended to be over-protective, so he's usually waiting in his car to drive me home, and since the incident with Samantha last week he's been positively clingy. I guess he's worried I'll burn or bite some other girl. Anyway, today he's got to stay late at work and have some kind of big meeting, so I get to walk home, and it just so happens that I know something else of importance is happening this afternoon. In fact, as I sit quietly and calmly in the shade of a large oak tree, mid-way along a dull suburban street, I can't help thinking that God must have arranged for me to have this opportunity.

  "You alright there?" asks a voice nearby.

  I look up and see a middle-aged man staring at me
from a few feet away.

  "I'm fine," I say, before turning back to look at the house on the opposite side of the street.

  "What're you doing?" the man continues.

  "Nothing".

  "You must be doing something".

  "I'm waiting for someone," I say, hoping he'll leave me alone.

  "You are, huh?"

  Without looking at him, I nod.

  "You know," he says after a moment, "this isn't generally the kind of place where people stop and just sit. Do you live around here?"

  "No".

  "Do you have any business around here?"

  "No".

  He pauses. "I'm gonna level with you, young lady. This here, right behind you, is my house. You understand? And I'm not particularly comfortable with having you just loitering out the front of my house. In fact, technically, you're on my property".

  I turn to him. "You want me to move?"

  "I would like that, yes".

  Getting up, I take a few steps forward until I'm on the sidewalk.

  "You're still outside the front of my house," he says humorlessly.

  Sighing, I walk a few paces to the right, until I'm in front of an entirely different house. "Is that better?" I ask.

  "Well..." He's clearly not convinced, but I don't see that he's got my choice. This is a public right of way, so I guess I can just stand here all day and all night if necessary. Without saying anything, the man turns and heads back into his house, and I realize that I managed to wear him down. Still, I feel a rising sense of anger in my gut. I want to follow that man and hurt him; I want to teach him that he shouldn't tell me what to do. If I went into his house, I could find something heavy and crack his head open, and no-one would ever know it was me. No-one should ever, ever talk to me the way he talked to me. I'm -