by Lisa McMann
She hesitates. “Morning?” she guesses.
“Yes, morning.”
She breathes again. “What day?”
There is a short silence. “It’s Sunday morning, sweetheart. March 5.”
“Is Stacey O’Grady in this room?”
“No, baby. She’s down the hall.”
“Is the door closed?”
“Yes.”
Janie doesn’t understand, but her brain is still fuzzy, like her eyes. And then slowly, bits of things return.
And she knows there are two very important things she told herself to remember, even when everything was out of control. She speaks slowly.
“Cabel?”
“Yes?”
“GHB. Mr. Durbin cooked it up himself out of paint stripper and lye. That’s my guess. I looked it up before. I didn’t see him do it. But he has the stuff. And, obviously, the ability.”
She breathes, exhausted. “Only twelve hours before it’s out of the body. Urine tests. Everyone. Every fucking one.”
She doesn’t see him blink.
“Good job,” he murmurs, and he’s on the cell phone. Talking gibberish.
She’s trying hard to focus. There’s something else. What is it? She can’t remember.
He stops talking on the phone, and he’s rubbing her arm.
And then she remembers. “Meatballs,” she says. “The drug was in the punch, but I swear to god I didn’t drink the punch. Not that I can remember. I tested it. The tests are in my jeans pocket. Right side.” She pauses. Sobs a little. “He must have put the GHB in the meatball sauce, when I was in the bathroom, testing the punch. God, I’m so stupid.”
She drifts off, still blind, and sleeps fitfully for a few hours.
9:01 a.m.
Janie blinks awake. The light above her on the ceiling is blinding.
“Where the hell am I?” she asks.
“Fieldridge General,” Cabe says.
She sits up slowly. Her head aches. She holds her hands to her face. “What the fuck,” she says.
“Janie, can you see?”
“Of course I can see, you asshole.”
He does a double take, looks at the woman next to him, who chuckles, and he closes his eyes briefly. “You feel like talking?” he asks carefully.
She blinks a few more times. Sits up. “Where the fuck am I?” she asks again.
Cabel plants his forehead in his hands. Captain steps to the plate.
“Janie, do you know who I am?”
Janie peers at her. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. And who is this?”
“Cabel Strumheller, sir. You remember him, don’t you?”
Captain buries a grin. “I do, now that you mention it.” She pauses. “What do you remember?”
Janie closes her eyes. Her head aches. She thinks for a long time.
They wait.
She finally speaks. “I went to the party at Durbin’s house.”
“Yes,” Captain says.
Cabel slips out of his chair and begins to pace the floor.
“I remember setting up the food.” She strains against the fuzziness.
“That’s good, Janie. Take your time. We’ve got all day.”
Janie pauses again. “Oh god,” she says. Her voice shivers and falls.
“It’s okay, Janie. You were drugged.”
A tear slips down Janie’s cheek. “That wasn’t supposed to happen,” she whispers.
Captain takes her hand. “You did everything right. No worries. Just take your time.”
Janie sobs quietly for a moment. “Cabe’s gonna be mad,” she whispers to Captain.
“No, Janie. He’s fine. Right, Cabe?”
Cabel looks at Captain and Janie. His face is ashen. “I’m fine, Janie,” he manages to croak.
Captain captures Janie’s eyes. “You know this, Hannagan, goddamnit. Anything that happened as a result of you being drugged against your will is not your fault. Right? You know your stuff. And you know that. And whoever did anything to you will go to jail, okay? Not your fault. Don’t turn soft on me, Janie,” she adds. “You’re a strong woman. The world needs more like you.”
Janie swallows hard and turns her head away. She wants to bury herself under the covers and disappear. “Yes, sir.”
“Would it help you remember if I mention some of the names?” Captain asks.
“Maybe,” Janie says. “I don’t remember much. Just wisps of things.”
“Okay. Let’s start with Durbin. What happened with him.”
Janie sighs. Then she opens her eyes wide. “GHB,” she says, and sits up. “GHB.”
Cabel gives Captain a frightened look. “Settle,” she says to him, under her breath. “She doesn’t remember talking earlier. It’s normal.” She turns back to Janie. “What about GHB, Janie?”
Janie thinks. “I tested the first punch,” she says. “I thought for sure there’d be rooffies in it. But it was clean. Just vodka. That’s what he told me.”
“Good job. You are a professional.”
“And then people started getting weird. Durbin brought out a new bowl.” The wisps are a little stronger.
Captain sits quietly, letting her think.
“He made all the guys come upstairs from the basement. They were watching TV. He said they should start eating, because the girls wouldn’t do it.”
Captain scowls, but holds in her disgust.
“And then . . . ” She thinks. “Wang gave me some punch and gave me shit about being trailer trash. What a fucker,” she says, her eyes stinging. She cries for a minute, and then pulls it together.
“He was messed up by then,” she continues. “I thought something was going on. So I took the punch he gave me and tested that—I didn’t drink any. The paper turned blue, and I flushed it all down the toilet.” She closes her eyes again.
“I went downstairs,” she says slowly. “I checked the chemicals on his lab table, and I didn’t see the ones I was looking for—GBL and NaOH. Those two chemicals combined make GHB, a drug-facilitated, sexual-assault weapon. I studied about it, like you told me to.”
Captain nods.
“But when I got upstairs, I remembered seeing some bottles on top of his refrigerator. Paint stripper and lye. The same chemicals that create GHB.”
“By then I was paranoid and worried. All the soda was in open two-liter bottles, and I didn’t even want to get a glass of water, because he had one of those water-filter things on the tap, and I thought he maybe put the drug in it. So I grabbed a beer—I’m so sorry, Captain—and drank it sort of fast, but I had food by then too. And a beer, honestly, is not too much for me. I don’t know what happened,” she says, crying again, covering her face. “I screwed up, didn’t I?”
Captain closes her eyes. “No, Janie. You did fine. We should have thought to send you with some individual water bottles or something.”
Cabel stops pacing and rests his forehead against the window. Bounces it against the glass a few times. Mutters unintelligibly.
Captain carefully continues. “You told us a few hours ago, something about the meatballs. Do you remember that?”
Janie is silent. Confused. “I don’t remember meatballs.”
Captain nods at Cabel. He looks quizzically at her, then he nods. He dials his phone. Talks to someone. Eventually hangs up.
“GHB, confirmed in the meatballs and in the veggie dip,” he says. “Jesus Christ.” He takes off his rugby, leaving his T-shirt on. Begins pacing some more. “I didn’t know you could put it in food.”
“Apparently Durbin wanted to cover his bases,” Captain says quietly, eyeing Cabel carefully. She turns back to Janie. “Is there anything else you remember? Don’t worry if you can’t. I expect that’s probably about it.”
Janie remains quiet for a long time. Finally she says, “This is weird, but I know Coach Crater raped Stacey. Not this time. Last semester.”
The room rings in silence.
“How do you know, Janie?” Captain
asks.
Janie hesitates. “I can’t prove it.”
“That’s okay. Give me your hunch. Remember? We can’t solve crimes without leads.”
Janie nods. Tells her the car dream Stacy’s had since last fall. And then tells her about pausing the dream and not being able to see the face. “But I saw his hand,” she says. “In the dream he’s wearing a square fraternity ring. I remember seeing the same ring on Crater’s right hand last night.”
Silence.
And more silence. Cabel makes another phone call.
Captain ventures another question with an almost-smile on her face. “Do you remember when you activated the panic button?”
Janie looks at her. Shakes her head no.
“So you don’t remember beating the shit out of Crater and Wang?”
Janie stares. “What?”
Captain smiles. “You were amazing, Janie. I hope someday you remember it. Because you should be very proud of yourself, like I am of you.”
Janie closes her eyes.
Finally she says, “Cabe, can you step out for a minute?”
He gives her a fleeting look, then goes.
“Captain,” Janie says, “did anything happen? You know. With me?”
Captain holds her hand. “Nothing below the belt, kiddo. When Baker and Cobb found you, your sweater was off your shoulder. That’s it. The doctors did an exam. You stopped them, Janie.”
Janie sighs in relief. “Thanks, sir.”
6:23 p.m.
Cabel drives Janie to his house.
“Twenty-one positives on the GHB, Janie.” Cabel’s voice is harsh. “Everyone at the party was drugged. Durbin even drugged himself. Rumor has it, the drug is known to enhance stamina.” He pauses. “Ewww.” They both shudder. “When Baker and Cobb and the backup crew arrived, Durbin had three female students in his bed with him.”
Janie is quiet.
“He’s going to jail for a long time, Janie.”
“What about Wang?”
“Him too. Sadly, he raped Stacey before Baker and Cobb got there. They found his DNA. She asked for the morning-after pill. She doesn’t remember anything that happened last night.” Cabel’s hands grip the steering wheel. His knuckles are white.
Janie’s quiet. “Fuck,” she says.
She should have done better.
Done better for Stacey.
Janie’s headache dulls by evening. She eats everything Cabel gives her, and then declares herself fit. “Stop babying me already,” she says with a cautious grin. She knows Cabel hasn’t slept.
Cabel gives her an exhausted, lost look. Sucks in a breath as his face crumbles. He nods. “I’m done,” he says. “Excuse me.” He walks out of the room, and Janie hears him in his bedroom. Yelling into his pillow.
Janie cringes.
Realizes now she was in way over her head. And, maybe, so was Cabel.
After a while he is quiet. Janie ventures a peek into his bedroom, and he’s asleep on his stomach, fully clothed, glasses flung on the nightstand, his arm and leg hanging off the edge of the bed, tears still clumping his eyelashes, cheeks flushed. Not dreaming.
Janie kneels next to the bed, smoothes his hair from his cheek, and watches him for a very long time.
March 9, 2006, 3:40 p.m.
The uproar at Fieldridge High School has settled, some. Janie’s three substitute teachers are less than exciting. Which is okay, because Janie’s having trouble concentrating, anyway. Not because of Mr. Durbin’s party. But because of what happened after, with Cabel.
After school Janie’s at home, lying on the couch, staring at the ceiling, when Carrie pops her head inside Janie’s front door.
Janie sits up and forces a smile. “Hey. Happy, happy. Did you do anything fun for your birthday?” She hands Carrie a small gift bag that’s been sitting on the coffee table for days.
“The usual. Nothing fancy. Stu thinks I should go register to vote, of all things. I hope he’s joking.”
Janie attempts a laugh, even though she feels numb. “You should register to vote. It’s your right as an American.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“Oh my god!” Carrie exclaims, slapping her hand to her mouth. “Did I miss your birthday?”
Janie shrugs. “When have you ever remembered it?”
“Hey! That’s not fair,” Carrie says, grinning sheepishly. But Janie knows it’s true. So does Carrie.
Not that it matters.
That’s just the way things are with them.
Carrie ooohs over the CD Janie bought her. And they are okay. But Janie knows that things are changing rapidly.
Carrie doesn’t stick around long.
Janie has no plans for the evening.
Or for the rest of her life, it seems.
She calls Cabel.
“I miss you,” she says to his voice mail. “Just . . . had to tell you that. Um, yeah. Sorry. Bye.”
But Cabel doesn’t call back.
She knew he wouldn’t.
“I need a break.” That’s what he said that Monday after the hospital, when he tried to touch her but couldn’t.
NOTHING LEFT TO LOSE
March 24, 2006, 3:00 p.m.
Janie is in a daze now. It’s been nearly three weeks. She goes through her classes like a zombie. Goes home after school. Every day, alone.
Alone.
It’s fierce. There’s so much more to miss now. Being alone before Cabel was much easier than being alone after Cabel.
He doesn’t sit nearby in study hall anymore, either. Doesn’t call. Doesn’t check on her when she gets sucked into dreams.
He can’t even seem to look at her. And when it happens by accident—in the hallways, the parking lot—his face gets a stricken look, and he hurries on, without a word.
Away from her.
Even at the follow-up meeting with Captain, she was alone. Cabel met with Captain separately.
Janie drives home, windows open on this fresh spring day, with nothing to lose.
3:04 p.m.
She stops for an elementary-school bus whose red lights are blinking. She looks at the children, crossing the street in front of her. Wonders if any of them are like her.
Knows they probably aren’t.
And then.
She’s taken by surprise. Blind, sucked into a little kid’s dream.
Falling, falling off a mountain.
Janie gasps silently.
Her foot slips from the brake pedal.
The bus horn wails and screams.
She grips the steering wheel frantically and struggles with her mind to focus. Pulls herself out of the dream as Ethel strays dangerously close to the street-crossing children.
Slams a numb, heavy foot on the brake and blindly reaches for the keys in the ignition.
Ethel conks out and dies as Janie’s sight returns.
The bus driver gives Janie a hateful look.
The children scurry to the side of the road, staring at Janie, eyes wide in fear.
Janie, horrified, shakes her head to clear it. “I’m so sorry,” she mouths. She feels sick to her stomach.
The bus roars away.
While the drivers who are lined up behind Janie begin honking impatiently, Janie struggles to start Ethel.
Bawling her eyes out.
Hating her life.
Wondering what the fuck is going to happen to her, wondering how she’s going to get through life without killing somebody.
She makes it home.
Wipes her face with her sleeve.
Walks determinedly into the house. Goes directly to her bedroom, tossing her coat and backpack on the couch without stopping.
Until she gets to her closet.
Janie pulls out the box and sits on her bed. Dumps it all out in a pile and picks up the green notebook. Recklessly opens it up. Reads the dedication again.
A Journey Into the Light
by Martha Stubin
This journal is ded
icated to dream catchers. It’s written expressly for those who follow in my footsteps once I am gone.
The information I have to share is made up of two things: delight and dread. If you do not want to know what waits for you, please close this journal now. Don’t turn the page.
But if you have the stomach for it and the desire to fight against the worst of it, you may be better off knowing. Then again, it may haunt you for the rest of your life. Please consider this in all seriousness. What you are about to read contains much more dread than delight.
I’m sorry to say I can’t make the decision for you. Nor can anyone else. You must do it alone. Please don’t put the responsibility on others’ shoulders. It will ruin them.
Whatever you decide, you are in for a long, hard ride. I bid you no regrets. Think about it. Have confidence in your decision, whatever you choose.
Good luck, friend.
Martha Stubin, Dream Catcher
Janie ignores the rush of fear and turns the page. And then turns the blank page. And she reads.
You’ve read the first page by now, at least once. I imagine you spent some time on it, perhaps days, deciding if you wanted to continue. And now here you are.
In case your heart is thumping, I’ll tell you that I’m starting with “Delight.” So you can change your mind if you wish to go no farther. There will be a blank page in this notebook before you reach the information I’ve titled “Dread.” So you’ll know and not turn the pages with fear.
I am sorry to have to place this fear in your heart. But I do so for my own reasons. Perhaps you’ll understand when you are through reading.
But for now, there is still time to go back and close this notebook. If you choose to go on, please turn the page.
3:57 p.m.
Janie turns the page.
Delight
You have experienced a bit of this already, I imagine. If not, it will come.
With time comes both success and failure. Some of your best successes as a dream catcher will not be realized for many years.
By now you’ve discovered that you have more power than you once knew. You have the ability to help someone change a dream to make it better. Less frightening, perhaps. Or even a complete change, such as turning a monster into a cartoon.
What you need to know before you assist in altering someone’s dream is that not all dreams can be altered. Your power is strong, but there are a few dreams stronger than you. Please don’t expect you can change the course of the world.
