The Girl In Between (The Girl In Between Series Book 1)

by Laekan Zea Kemp

  I was hiding out in the art room, breathing in the smell of charcoal and acrylics and catching up on homework while I waited for Felix to update me on the files he’d decrypted.

  Apparently he and Dani weren’t speaking. She and Matt had gotten into a huge fight in the middle of the school parking lot in front of everyone. Something I’d missed because I was taking a make-up history test. She’d run to her car, peeling out of the lot. Then Felix punched Matt in the face.

  I tried to find somewhere neutral to meet up, not to mention quiet. I wasn’t sure how much trouble Felix might get in if someone found out what he’d done.

  I used to eat lunch in the art room with Mrs. Castillo a lot during freshman year. She’d even let me keep the spare key and I used it to grab extra supplies now and then or to hide from the rest of the world.

  I was working on stats, trying to solve the problems in reverse from the answers in the back of the book while I waited to hear from Felix. I cleared the page, the metal around the eraser letting out a shrill squeak. Then the door clicked open. Shit. I’d forgotten to lock it. Mrs. Castillo was supposed to be in a meeting until two. I thought maybe she’d gotten out early but then I saw Drew. He closed the door behind him, reached for the light switch.

  “Don’t.”

  I’d spent the last week on edge, waiting for another episode, waiting for Felix to send me the files he’d found. I couldn’t sleep and had spent the night before scrolling through tour photos on Mismatched Machine’s website. Nothing turned up, not yet, which only heightened my anxiety even more. If Drew knew what was best for him he would have backpedaled right then and there. But he didn’t.

  “How’s it going?”

  “Stats,” I said, not looking at him.

  He let his bag slip onto the table, someone’s drawing crinkling under the weight as he sat down in the seat across from me.

  “You busy?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Bryn, I wanted to ask you something.”

  I let out an annoyed breath. “Whatever. We’re friends.”

  “Not that.”

  He was waiting for me to look at him. I didn’t. In the corner of my eye I saw him reach for my stats book.

  “I wanted to know if—”

  But then there was a shudder. I looked up and Drew’s hands were at his sides and he reached for the book again, repeating himself.

  “I wanted to know if you’d go to prom with me.”

  “What?” The lead in my pencil cracked. Prom?

  “I know you’ve kind of been avoiding me—”

  Another shudder.

  “I know you’ve kind of been avoiding me. I’ve tried to give you space. I just thought maybe we could start over.”

  I was frozen, trapped in some kind of loop.

  “Did you hear—?”

  He stuttered, the scene resetting again.

  “Did you hear me?”

  I gripped my neck, trying to will the echo to stop. Stop. Stop.

  “Bryn. Prom?” His voice was normal again but his face wasn’t. He almost looked angry.

  I finally managed to speak. “What?” There were other words—expletives mostly—flitting in that elusive place between my mouth and my brain. But I couldn’t pin them down. I gripped the side of the table, afraid I was about to fall over.

  What the hell just happened?

  “Prom?” His voice quavered, anxious. “With me?”

  I looked back down at my book, still trying to compose myself, but not before I got a good look at his face. It looked strange in the corner of my eye, the boy I’d first met hidden under sharp cheekbones and a permanent tan—older than I’d ever seen him.

  “Um, I’m not going,” I said.

  “You’re not? It’s our Senior Prom.”

  “I went last year.”

  “Yeah. With me.”

  “I remember.”

  Drew had gotten drunk and tried to rip my dress off in Candace Johnson’s bathroom. I’d walked home alone.

  “We had—”

  “Fun?” I stood, my pulse still racing. “You had fun getting shitfaced while I cried myself to sleep.” I chewed on my lip, cheeks burning. Why did I just say that?

  “I didn’t know you were that upset. I…don’t even remember much about that night after the dance. I’m sorry.”

  “It was a long time ago.” I headed for the door, desperate for some air.

  He reached for my hand, stopped me. “Let me make it up to you? This year we’ll—”

  “I have to go.”

  “Bryn, would you listen to me? Look I get that you’re pissed but Jesus, it’s been months. Fucking get over it. I have.”

  I looked him in the eye. “Well, good for you.” I flung my bag over my shoulder, reached for the door.

  “I didn’t mean that. I shouldn’t have—”

  But I was already wading into the fray of students getting back from lunch. When I glanced back Drew was already walking in the opposite direction, shoulders tensed.

  My cell phone buzzed and I looked down to see a message from Felix. He told me to meet him in the library.

  The row of computers lining the windows was mostly empty despite the fact that every student should have been studying for finals. I found Felix sitting down in the far corner of the room, out of sight.

  I sat down next to him. “So?”

  He reached in his pocket and pulled out a flash drive. “Done.”

  I reached for it but he pulled away.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” he said.

  I wondered what he’d found—about me, about my disease. Bad things I might rather not know. The truth.

  “Yes.”

  He loaded the flash drive and opened the first file. There were over a thousand images, all scans of someone’s hand written notes, the shadow of the binding clear at the edge of every page.

  “What is this?” I asked.

  Felix was quiet.

  “I know you’ve already looked at this,” I said. “Spill.”

  “It’s about a girl,” he said.

  “A girl with KLS?”

  He nodded, clicking through a few more images.

  “These look ancient,” I said.

  “Late 1970s. At least I think so. That was the only date I could find.”

  I looked at Felix. “How long have you had these?”

  He was quiet.

  “Felix.”

  “Since last week.”

  “What?”

  “I just wanted—”

  “What? To make me go crazy?”

  “Actually, the opposite.” He lowered his voice. “Look, I know you can handle yourself, I just…”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “If there was something bad in there, I mean really bad…I didn’t want you to freak out.”

  “You didn’t want me to have an episode,” I clarified.

  “Or worse. You’re my best friend, Bryn, and I know how you are. When shit’s bothering you, you don’t say a word and if I’d sent you these files and you’d found something, that’s exactly what you would have done. Keep everyone in the dark so you don’t have to deal. So I read it. Most of it. Okay, a lot but most of it’s pretty boring. The point is, I’m not letting you deal with this alone.”

  I swallowed. “Felix…”

  “No way. Don’t give me that face.”

  I hugged him and he patted me once on the back.

  Mrs. Mendoza came around the corner, cleared her throat.

  Felix pulled away. “That’s…good. Thanks.”

  I had a free period next and Felix skipped Health while we scrolled through the journal from the beginning. It read like notes taken by a doctor—names and dates and dosages all concerning a girl named Eve. But it was all in German and we mostly just scanned every other page, hoping for some bit in English, some kind of clue.

  “This folder looks familiar,” Felix said. “I th
ink I saw a few short letters in English the first time I looked through everything.”

  We spent another hour opening file after file before I finally spotted the word Dear scribbled across the top of one of the pages. There was a date too but the cursive was so manic I could hardly make it out.

  Patient X responded negatively to electroconvulsive therapy. Voltage was delivered in progressive increments up to 300 V both during and after a neurological episode during a three-week period.

  I clicked on a few more images before I found another letter.

  The staff was made aware of the new protocol. The nurse in question has taken temporary leave and Patient X is now being supervised at all times.

  “Patient X? Wait…” I scrolled through the muddied scans of the journal again, the print easier to read. I scanned every sentence, flipping through page after page. And then… “There.” I pointed. Next to Eve’s name was “Patient X”

  Felix found another letter in English and opened it.

  Neurological episodes seem to be increasing in their frequency. Patient X is often lethargic and mildly delirious even in times of wakefulness. Other motor skills seem to be deteriorating. She is still complaining about having strange dreams.

  “Dreams…”

  “Like you,” Felix said.

  “Like me.”

  Before becoming unresponsive Patient X suffered an episode lasting approximately nine weeks. She was unresponsive during that time and showed no physical response to food or water. Electroconvulsive therapy was once again unsuccessful in waking the patient and despite intravenous therapy the body slowly deteriorated. Time of death was 3:36 AM, December 20th, 1979.

  “What?”

  Felix shook his head. “We shouldn’t have looked at this.”

  “She…”

  “Bryn…”

  He reached for me but I pushed out of my chair and grabbed my bag. I glanced at the clock. I had fifteen minutes until my Spanish final, yet another test I’d barely studied for in the past week.

  I used to care about grades, about being able to measure my success in numbers and letters, the culmination of an entire semester boiled down to a few small digits in black and white. But that was when I thought going away to school was more than a possibility. That was when I was certain I’d get better. But after reading about Eve, about her dreams, about her death, I wasn’t so certain anymore.

  “Bryn,” Felix reached for me. “Where are you going?”

  I headed for the door. “To find out the truth.”

  ***

  Dr. Sabine was in her office when I pushed through the door.

  “Bryn.” She stood.

  But I wasn’t there to see her. I was there to see Dr. Banz.

  “Who is Eve?” I said.

  Dr. Sabine took a step toward me. “Bryn, what’s wrong?”

  Dr. Banz was still, his face pained. He tried to get to his feet.

  “Who is she?” I pressed.

  He clutched his cane, let out a deep breath. “My daughter.”