by Amy Cross
At that moment, I spot a familiar dark red car turning onto the street. Instinctively, I step back and watch as the car pulls up at the house on the other side of the street; after a moment, Mary gets out and walks around to the passenger side. She opens the door, and Samantha steps out with a large bandage covering one side of her face. It's been a few weeks since the 'accident', and I would have thought Samantha's injury would have started to heal faster, but I guess it'll take a little time. As they walk up the driveway and into the house, I can't help feeling a little proud of myself. After all, it's my fault that she looks like that. In a way, I created her, which means I'm her god. I doubt she sees it like that, and I know it's something of an exaggeration, but it's still fun to think of things in those terms.
Once they're inside and out of sight, I turn and start walking along the street. I only wanted to see Samantha once, and I don't have any plans to ever come back. I really don't regret what I did to her; I thought she was like me, and I thought she'd be able to deal with something as shocking as having her face damaged. I was even maybe willing to let her do the same thing to me, as a symbol of our closeness. Frankly, I think everyone has over-reacted a little, although I'm fully aware that my perception of the world tends to be a little out of line with the perceptions of other people. My father, for example, is still shocked by my actions, while Dr. Larson seems to have decided that I'm more dangerous than he'd originally thought.
The funny thing is, they still don't know the truth. They don't know about Martina; if they knew what I'd done to her, with the jack-in-the-box in the car, they'd soon forget about the incident with Samantha. I mean, scarring someone is one thing, but killing someone is something else entirely. It's as if I have this wonderful secret, but I can't tell anyone. I was actually, briefly, thinking about telling Samantha; it's a good job I kept quiet, though, because she'd probably have blabbed to everyone. I guess this is an important lesson: there's no-one in the world who understands me, and consequently there's no-one in the world who can be trusted to know my innermost thoughts. I had a close shave with Samantha, and I'm still a little shocked by how quickly I started to crave her friendship. That part of my life is over now, though, and I'm completely focused on the future. I have to get rid of Dr. Larson and my father, and I have to do it in that order. I have a session with Dr. Larson tomorrow, so I guess I need to make sure my plan is in place.
Chapter One
Today
"What?" Mr. Taylor asks, looking up from his desk.
"This new guy," I say again. "Are there any special medical or dietary requirements I should know about?"
"Oh". He pauses for a moment, before grabbing a file from his briefcase and taking a quick look. "I don't think so. No. Nothing I know about. Nothing on here, anyway".
"Are you sure?" I continue. "If he's got diabetes or a heart condition or something, I should know about it. It could be important". I wait for Mr. Taylor to show that he understands the importance of this matter. "You know, in case anything happens? Maybe the insurance wouldn't pay out if -"
"Good point," he says, checking the file more thoroughly. "Let's see. Male, seventy-one years old, no family in the area so he's ended up here because he can't walk. The guy's in a wheelchair. There you go. There's your special medical condition. He's in a wheelchair".
"So it might be a fire hazard?"
He shrugs. "I guess". He pauses for a moment, staring at me with a slight smile on his face. "Something's different about you, Juliet".
I stare back at him, suddenly feeling a cold chill. I didn't mean to draw attention to myself; in fact, by trying to do my job properly, I was hoping to just fly under the radar.
"You seem more... professional," he says eventually.
I clear my throat. "Well... I guess I've been reading up a bit". It's true: I've been reading some general medical websites, so that I might have an idea what to do in case of an emergency while I'm working alone overnight. The truth is, I'm taking this job a lot more seriously these days, since I'm starting to think more and more that I might abandon my college plans and just stay here at Crestview.
"I'll be sorry to see you go at the end of the summer," he replies.
"Yeah," I say, "about that... I was thinking of maybe... not going?"
"Not going?"
"To college. Not going to college". I pause for a moment. "I mean, if you think there's maybe a job for me here long-term, I was thinking I might like to carry on".
"Seriously?"
I nod.
He smiles. "Juliet, you've been a life-saver this summer. While I'd never want to dissuade you from going to college, I've got to admit that I'd welcome you here on a full-time basis with open arms. You're not only the best night girl we've ever had; you're one of the best members of staff, period".
"Thanks," I say, feeling a little awkward. I knew I'd have to have this conversation at some point, but it's come a few weeks earlier than planned. "So there's definitely a job?"
"There's definitely a job". He pauses for a moment. "So is this a definite thing? Are you really going to skip college?"
I take a deep breath. I've certainly been thinking about committing to Crestview for a while, but now that I'm on the spot, I'm not certain what to do. "Yeah," I say suddenly, surprising myself. "Yeah, if... I mean, if that's something that would be okay, then I'd totally stay". My heart is racing. Did I really just do that? Did I just accept a full-time job here?
"I'd send you on a training course," he replies. "Just a basic thing to cover first aid, that sort of thing".
"Okay".
"There wouldn't necessarily be anymore money for you..."
"It's not about the money," I say with a smile. "It's about doing a job that I love, and helping people, and generally being a part of Crestview".
"Well that's what I like to hear," he says. "Juliet, welcome to the Crestview family. There aren't many of us. In fact, there are less and less with every passing month, but the modernization program is going splendidly". He smiles. "By modernization, I mean streamlining. As long as you're okay working alone overnight, the job's yours".
"And there aren't any problems with the regulations?" I ask.
"Regulations?"
"About me working alone overnight. I thought -"
"Oh, forget about that," he replies, leaning back in his chair. "As long as no-one finds out, I don't see that it's a problem. The only person who's ever kicked up a stink about anything around here is old Piotr Cymbalista, and even he seems to have decided to give it a rest. Haven't heard from the bastard for more than a week".
"Huh," I reply, thinking about Mr. Cymbalista's body rotting in the abandoned ward.
"But seriously," he adds, leaning forward, "you can't let anyone know. Not ever".
"It's fine," I say. "I should probably go and check on the residents".
Checking his watch, Mr. Taylor stands up and starts cramming the various files and pieces of paper into his briefcase. "I didn't realize it was so late," he says, clearly distracted. "I have to be somewhere, Juliet. Are you going to be okay tonight?"
"Of course," I reply, slightly offended that he'd even ask. I grab the new patient's file from the desk and wander over to the door. "So there's no sign of anyone joining me on the night shift in the near future?" I ask, making sure to sound as if it's just a casual question.
"Uh, no," he replies as he heads past me. "To be honest, Juliet, it's a real help for the budget if you can carry on working alone. The economics of this place are insane. Everyone wants the best care for their relatives, but they won't pay one cent more than minimum". He pauses for a moment. "It's easy for you. You can just see them as human beings, but I have to see them as financial burdens. Every minute you spend helping one of them is a minute that costs money. That's just the way things go around here".
Once he's hurried out the door, I go to the window and watch him walk quickly to his car on the other side of the darkened parking lot. Charles Taylor might be right when he s
ays that people don't want to pay for their relatives to receive top quality treatment, but there's one thing he conveniently left out: he's been cooking the books for years. Piotr Cymbalista gave me the basic details before I killed him, and since then I've managed to get a look at some of the accounts for Crestview. Mr. Taylor has been skimming profits off the top for quite a while, but his greed is starting to snowball and his 'skimming' exercises have become more and more blatant. I know it's a little ambitious, but I can't help thinking that I'd do a better job as the head of this place. With help from Jennifer Mathis, I must just be able to take over.
Anyway, I'm ahead of myself. I turn and head through to the wards, making sure to check in each room. Fortunately, all the residents seem to be sleeping soundly, and eventually I get to room 111 on the red ward. This is where the new resident has been placed; I carefully open the door and peer into the darkness.
"Hello?" calls out a frail male voice.
"Hi," I say quietly, unable to make out anything more than a vague shape in the bed. "It's okay, I'm just checking on you. You can go back to sleep".
"I'm not tired," the voice replies.
"Do you want a sleeping pill?"
He pauses for a moment. "I suppose so".
"I'll be back in a minute," I say, pulling the door shut and hurrying through to the supplies cupboard next to the rec room. The last thing I want tonight is to have some new guy wandering the halls, so I figure a sleeping pill won't cause too much harm. As I grab a glass of water to help him wash the pill down, it occurs to me that when I started at Crestview a few weeks ago I'd never have been able to just casually offer someone some medication. To be honest, I'm not even sure if I'm technically allowed to do this. I'm sure there are loads and loads of rules about such things, but I figure it can't hurt. I've got a kind of natural affinity for this job; for the first time in my life, I'm actually good at something.
"Here you go," I say as I return to the resident's room. "Do you want me to switch the light on?"
"If you want," he replies.
I flick the light switch and see that he's a thin old man with a thick head of gray-white hair. He smiles at me as he takes the pill and the glass, but as I wait for him to finish, I can't help feeling as if I recognize him from somewhere.
"Didn't realize there was room service around here," he says, setting the glass down.
"I like to do anything I can to make sure you're comfortable," I reply. It suddenly occurs to me that whereas all the other residents were here when I arrived, and saw me when I was timidly following Lizzie around, this guy is meeting me for the first time; he probably thinks I'm some kind of professional. I have to admit, I feel a slight thrill of pride at the thought that someone would actually be impressed by me.
"So tell me," he continues, "if I can't sleep, am I allowed out of my room? Or do I have to stay in here and fester?"
"You're not really supposed to get up," I reply. "You can watch TV. Just make sure you keep the volume down".
"Forget about it," he says, lying back down. "I'll probably just nod off after a while".
"If you need anything, just hit this button here," I say, indicating a small button near the bed. "Anything at all, just go ahead and call for me, okay?"
Once I've left the room, I wander along the corridor on my way back to the office. I don't need to go and do more checks for a few hours, so I have a little time to spare. Unless I hear anyone getting up and shuffling about, I guess I'll just start going through some more of the facility's files. I need to build up a compelling case against Mr. Taylor, to prove that he's taking money from the budget and spending it on himself. While I'd like to just kill him and hide the body, I figure I need to take a more subtle approach if I'm ever going to have a chance of taking over. Once I'm in the office, I take a seat at the desk and pause for a moment. Picking up the new patient's file, I open it to the first page and see a photo of his smiling face. I glance over at the basic information and -
I freeze.
Reading the name over and over again, I try to tell myself that I'm making a mistake. It's not possible that it could be him, but at the same time the name is right there in front of me, in black and white. Looking back at the picture, I realize it's true. After all these years, fate has somehow conspired to bring us back together. Eleven years ago, I was Dr. Stephen Larson's patient; now he's my patient.
Chapter Two
Eleven years ago
"Hi!" says the receptionist brightly, looking pleased to see me. "You're here for eleven o'clock, right?"
I nod cautiously. Although Dr. Larson's receptionist seems nice enough, I still don't trust her. To be honest, I don't trust anyone here. It's almost as if they're part of some elaborate conspiracy to get into my mind and change things around. I wish they'd all just understand that I don't want to be changed. I'm fine as I am.
"Dr. Larson's running a little late," the receptionist explains. "If you can just wait out here for a little while, he'll be with you shortly". She looks over at the door. "Isn't your father with you today?"
I shake my head. My father had to work, so he dropped me off outside and he's going to pick me up in an hour.
"Well, just take a seat, Dr. Larson will see you soon. Can I get you a drink while you wait?"
I shake my head, before walking over to a seat at the other end of the room and sitting down. It's weird, waiting for something that I hate; I'd rather be anywhere else right now, but at least the lateness means the session should be reduced a little. I'm dreading today, because I know we'll have to talk about Samantha. He'll ask all these stupid questions about why I bit her and what I thought I'd achieve. It's going to be useless and boring.
"Would you like a biscuit?" the receptionist calls out.
I turn and stare at her. Why does she keep trying to be nice to me? All she has to do is sit there, answer calls and occasionally let people know if things are running late. "No," I say. "Thanks".
Turning to look out the window, I find myself wondering how many more times I have to come to see Dr. Larson. The first time was kind of fun in a way, because it was new and I wanted to see how it'd work, but since then I've started to hate these sessions. Dr. Larson is always so focused and searching, and my attempts to outwit him have mostly come to nothing. I've tried various different strategies, but he's managed to anticipate them all. I've never met someone before who is so completely able to avoid being manipulated. When I started coming to see him, there was a part of me that thought it might be a fun game; these days, I dread every visit.
After a few minutes, there's some noise over by one of the doors and I see a woman emerge from Dr. Larson's office along with a young girl. About my age, the girl has red, puffy eyes, as if she's been crying, and she's wearing a bright blue dress. Her mother gestures to a nearby seat, and the girl sits down. While her mother is busy talking to the receptionist and paying for the session, the girl sits obediently. She stares down at her feet, but I can tell she wants to look over at me. Eventually, she turns her head a little and glances at me; as soon as she sees I'm returning her gaze, she looks away.
Once her mother has finished talking to the receptionist, the girl gets up and heads out of the room. As she reaches the door, she looks back at me one final time. For a moment, I can't shake the feeling that there's some connection between us, as if she might be the one person in the whole world who could come close to understanding what it's like to be me. I watch as she heads outside and gets into her mother's car, and a moment later she's driven away. Taking a deep breath, I realize that I'll never see her again. That was my one and only chance to ever meet someone like me, and it's over. I can't help but feel a little sad.
"He'll just be a few more minutes," the receptionist says.
I turn to her.
"Just hold tight," she adds with a smile. It's almost as if she thinks I should be looking forward to the session. I guess she doesn't know what Dr. Larson's really like. She just sits out here and deals with his patien
ts as they arrive and leave, but she doesn't ever go into the treatment room and find out what really happens. I'd kind of like to find some way of dragging her through with me. She seems pretty nice, and I can't help wondering if she'd help me if only she knew the truth about Dr. Larson's methods. Then again, she seems so calm and happy, I guess she doesn't care. As far as she's concerned, I'm just some kid who's here for treatment. Then again, maybe she knows all about me? Maybe she's read my file, and listened in at the door when I'm with Dr. Larson? If that's the case, she probably knows I'm evil, and she's just pretending to smile at me.
"You can't hide it, you know," says the voice of the imaginary normal guy. I've been hearing her for quite a while now; sometimes I choose what she says, but lately she's been starting to force her way into my head a little more often. "You used to be able to hide it, but it's getting harder. You want to know why it's getting harder? Because of people like Dr. Larson. He's going to do something today that'll hurt you. You need to be very careful, Juliet".
After a moment, the intercom buzzes and the receptionist looks over at me. "Juliet? You can go in now".
I stare at her. I feel like my legs won't work; it's as if my body is rebelling and refusing to go in to see Dr. Larson.
"Juliet?" She stares at me, waiting for me to get up and go to the door.
I take a deep breath. I can't just sit here. I have to get up and go through. If I don't -
Suddenly the door opens and Dr. Larson comes out into the waiting room. "Hi, Juliet," he says calmly. "Are you ready for our little chat?"
Getting up from the chair, I walk slowly across the room. Glancing in the other direction, I see the door that leads outside. That's where I want to go. More than anything, I want to turn and run and never, ever come back. I know everyone would start looking for me, and they'd probably find me eventually, but at least I wouldn't have to see Dr. Larson today. Still, I know this isn't an option. Walking past Dr. Larson, I head into his office. Finally, I stop by the large leather sofa and glance back; just as Dr. Larson pulls the door shut, I spot the receptionist still smiling at me. Maybe I'm reading too much into the expression on her face, but as the door closes, I can't help thinking that she looks as if she feels a little sorry for me.
