Marcie
Two weeks into the semester, I lay on my stomach on the couch, typing up a lab report on my most recent phlebotomy practice. The blood didnāt make me sick nearly as much as it usually does, so Iām crossing my fingers that exposure really is dulling the intensity of the association. The week after Ryanās death, I got my period and tested the limits of how long a body really can go without getting toxic shock syndrome because even my own blood sent me spiraling. Totally ridiculous.
Just like my reaction to Ben. He really is a guest lecturer, and Iām a huge baby. I showed up to the second class shaking like a fucking Chihuahua only for there to be no sign of him. Just like every other class for the following two weeks. Iāve only barely seen him around campus. Ardent isnāt exactly a small school, but itās not huge either, and I havenāt been going out of my way to avoid the Arkly offices. Without the constant threat of him hanging over my head, my classes are a lot more manageable.
My phone vibrates insistently, reminding me I really have to leave for therapy now. I finish one last sentence and hop up. Phone, wallet, keys. I head out into the late afternoon sunshine and lock the doorāthen check it. Iāve decided thatās fine. Itās keeping my Ben stress in check or something. I just wonāt tell Dana.
Slipping in a single earbud, I head down the stairs. Bright pop music hammers into my skull, and I smile. I can still hear my surroundings, but itās enough to dampen my thoughts. I walk past the mailbox, and out onto the pale stone path that connects our not-quite-off-campus apartment to the rest of Ardent just in time to see Heather walking up it toward me.
āHey!ā She waves like I might not have noticed her. āDoctorās appointment?ā
I nod. She doesnāt need to know what kind of doctor. āBack in an hour or so.ā
She closes the distance and grabs my arm as I start to leave. āReally quick.ā
I freeze. This is normal. Normal friends touch each other. Maybe the whole Ben thing made us closer? Heatherās basically my best friend, and a small part of me has always wanted her to think of me as a close friend too.
āHomecomingās not far off.ā She grins. āAnd obviously the Ardent Alligators are going to crush the Bears, so Everettās already planning a victory party at his place. You should really come!ā
I swallow. I mostly know Everett as a hunk of muscle who serves some important role on the football team and whom Heather spends more time with than a girl as smart as her really should. Heās not a bad guy or anything, just reallyā¦jock-y. And thatās even before we get into how much I hate parties. I havenāt really been to one sinceā
She squeezes my arm and stares at me pleadingly. āPlease? We can celebrate your first month of success too.ā
āIāll think about it.ā I say because otherwise Iām going to be late for therapy.
She jumps up and down like I said Iāll throw a parade for it. Way too excitable sometimes. At least she lets me go.
I race off campus to Danaās office building a few blocks away, thanking God for the millionth time that the only therapist who actually listened to me when I was institutionalized does private practice as well. I donāt even have to face the panic of a car to get to her. I knock on her door, panting, and she opens it with a small smile.
āLost track of time?ā she asks.
āHeather did.ā I walk inside and take my usual position next to the arm of her long, dark leather couch that has the best pillow. āSorry.ā
āItās all right. Youāre only a minute late.ā Dana picks up her notebook and sits down across from me as always. āI donāt even have anyone after you, so we can get the minute back at the end.ā
I exhale with relief. Danaās small kind of dark office is one of the only places in the world I actually feel comfortable. Itās the only place thatās been the same since I was released five years ago.
āLast time,ā she says, āwe were talking about that guest lecturer. Do you want to pick up there or talk about whatever happened with Heather?ā
āHeatherās fine.ā I wave the thought away.
āSo then tell me about Ben.ā She leans forward. āHave you seen him?ā
I pick at the fringe on the edge of the pillow. āNot really.ā
āNot really?ā She purses her lips. āWas he in class?ā
I shake my head. āStill no on that front.ā
āAre you still experiencing the anxiety spikes when you have to go?ā She scribbles a few notes.
āYeah,ā I admit. āI know itās a total overreaction but⦠it was so intense, you know? Heās so much like Ryan. I donāt know how to face him.ā
āBut heās not Ryan,ā Dana says gently. āHeās Ben.ā
āHeās Ben,ā I repeat automatically.
She sighs. āTell me what you mean by ānot really.āā
I grimace. Dana always sees right through me. āSo I was getting coffee between classes.ā
She nods.
āAnd one of the coffeeshops on campus is better than the others. By a lot.ā My mouth waters just imagining the croissants at the Bean and Gone, much less the coffee. āI headed over there, and⦠Ben was sitting inside. With the new lead editor.ā I recognized him instantly from Heatherās descriptions, which have been growing more and more vivid. He really did look like he would take a picture next to a lion pretending like he shot it but it would be someone elseās kill.
āWhat did you do?ā Dana pushes a lock of her red bob behind her ear.
āI watched.ā I wince. āJust for a little! They were right next to the window, and he was gesturing a lot and⦠and it reminded me of Ryan.ā
It was completely stupid. I knew it at the time. I didnāt even go in to get coffee either, just stumbled to my next class half-asleep. But Ryan had a particular way of moving when he wanted to make a point, andā
Dana sighs and closes her notebook around her pen. āI donāt have to say it, do I?ā
I shake my head, hot with shame. āHeās not Ryan.ā
āNo, heās not.ā Dana shakes her head, and the red hair comes loose again. āMarcie, youāre on track to graduate in the spring. Youāre on the cusp of a new life, an even bigger fresh start than changing your name. Do you really want to jeopardize that with these silly delusions?ā
I shake my head furiously. Thereās nothing in the world I want less.
āOkay.ā Dana squeezes her closed notebook, and the diamond in her wedding ring catches the light. She doesnāt have any personal pictures in her office, but Iāve often wondered about her spouse. She deserves someone wonderful. āThen tell me three things that make the two of them different.ā
Dana works me through exercises until the end of the appointment approaches. Iām feeling a lot more stable and even sillier about the coffeeshop thing than I did before walking in. Itās beyond stupid. Benās just some guy, and Iām not risking my health to seek him out anymore.
āGood,ā she says. āWeāre almost done for the day. Why donāt we cool down by talking about what Heather had going on that made you late?ā
I shrug. āHeather invited me to some homecoming party, but Iām not going.ā
āWhy not?ā Dana asks.
āI donāt do well at parties.ā I fold myself around the pillow. āThey remind me too much ofā¦.ā
āOf prom?ā she supplies.
I nod. The last time I saw Ryan alive. āAnd the drinking phase before I was institutionalized.ā
āThen I think you should go. Push yourself. Find out what youāre really capable of.ā
Maybe itās just the warm, close walls of her office, but for the first time, the party actually kind of sounds like a good idea.
MarcieāI swear to god you look hot,ā Heather says.I adjust the miniscule dress she insisted on loaning me, looking at my reflection in her full-body mirror, and make a tepid attempt at believing her. The dress is charcoal-colored, rather than a full, show-stopping black. The mid-thigh hem does show off my legs. Theyāre not nearly as good as they were during my theater daysāthe dancing in musicals helped, but standing up for that long was a huge contributor too. Iām taller than the average woman at 5ā8, so my whole life has been filled with comments about how long my legs are. I guess theyāre decent. But the way the fabric clings just shows off how little I still have in the way of curves, and my hair looks like a wreck. No, Heatherās just trying to be nice.Another screaming cavalcade of frat boys thunders by outside, and I struggle not to flinch. I should never have agreed to this party. The game finished an hour ago with our victory, apparently, and Heather has spent the whole ti
MarcieāChug! Chug! Chug!ā I shout with the rest of the crowd at some keg-standing someone or other. The red plastic cup in my hand is almost empty, which means itās time for a refill. My first. Or third?The keg-standing person splutters foamy beer, and I cheer with everyone else. Who the fuck am I kidding? These parties are fucking great. I have to go to more. And the music is⦠is also great. I stumble away from the crowd, on the hunt for wherever the bar ran off to.Something slams into my shins, and the room turns upside-down. Iām falling. Oh, shit! Before I can get my limbs together enough to catch myself, someone wraps warm arms around my waist and arrests my fall. I blink a few times and look up at my rescuer.Blurry jaw. Blurry hairānot that long, maybe pink. Or purple? No, wait, thatās the strobe lights, coloring his hair. Regardless, heās blurry-handsome, and I smile easily up at him from where I sit in what seems to be his lap.āDid it hurt?ā he asks.I laugh. I could fall
MarcieSomeone is jackhammering my skull. Not only that, theyāre shining a search light right at my closed eyelids, trying to burn away my corneas before Iāve even really woken up. Someone wants me really, truly dead. I crack open an eyeāfuck, itās so goddamn brightāand make out hazy, familiar shapes. That dark brownish lump could be my desk. The dark blue underneath me could be my bed, if I passed out on top of my comforter. The searchlight takes on the distinctive rectangular shape of my window. Everything hurts.A warm, tempting smell winds through the air. Eggs. And bacon! My stomach rumbles. I grumble back at it. Weāll be staying in bed until they turn the searchlight off, thanks.My bladder also protests, and itās in a far less negotiable mood. With a great act of will, I sit up. My stomach lurches, but last nightās drinks donāt make a reappearance. Thank god for that. Iām still wearing Heatherās dress. Achingly, eyes half-closed, I fumble through changing into sweatpants and a
MarcieThe following Tuesday, I breathe out slowly and stare at my open closet door. My clothes stare back at me, no more helpful than the last twelve times Iāve looked at them. My phone vibrates, and I dive for it instead.Is it too lame to say Iām really looking forward to this?I clutch the phone to my chest and try not to squeal. I feel like a kid, but my mystery manāit feels too weird to call him Gwendivere in my head, even though I already know Iāll probably never change his name in my contactsāhas been texting me all week, and my stomach fills with butterflies every time. Itās a proper lying on my stomach and kicking up my heels crush. I canāt remember the last time I felt like this. Okay, I can, but Iām not thinking about him tonight. I open mystery man and Iās message thread and text him back.Donāt worry. Iāll slay the dragon of lameness for both of us. Iām looking forward to it tooThe message doesnāt even send me into a spiral, wondering if Iāve actually made everything s
MarcieNo. No, no, no. I didnāt spend a whole night talking to Ben. I didnāt spend all week texting Ben! My breath races. My heart hammers. He canāt be Ryan becauseā¦becauseā¦.Ben catches my eye and smiles. Heās wearing a pair of jeans so crisp I have to assume he ironed them before leaving the house and a short-sleeved button-down with a tiny print I canāt make out from here. Oh, fuck, heās walking over. I shove one of my hands beneath the table and squeeze it into a fist so tight, bright crescents of pain spark through my system as my nails dig in.āMy dear Lancival.ā He half-bows as he approaches. āI shouldāve known youād beat me here. Do you mind waiting while I get my drink?āI shake my head. He canāt be Ryan. He just canāt be. I watched Ryan die, even if I didnāt know that until his mom told me the next day. I went to his funeral. But oh, God, he looks so much like Ryan.He turns away and joins the still-short line. I stare at his back. He holds his shoulders like Ryan did. I thi
MarcieI throw my head back, my sides aching from how hard Iāve been laughing.āI knew you wouldnāt believe me!ā Ben says. āI warned you!āāYou said she bit you!ā I splutter between giggles. āA real, adult, adult model!āāShe didnāt understand that I was a real photographer, not a set-up for a scene.ā He laughs with me in a rumbling baritone I wish I could bottle.āHi, uh, sorry to interrupt.āI close my mouth around the last of my laughter and open my eyes to see Anaya, one of the baristas who Iāve had a few classes with, standing next to our table.āAre we being too loud?ā My face burns. āWe can keep it down.āShe shakes her head. āI came to let you know weāre closing up for the night. You donāt have to go home, but you canāt stay here and all.ā She puts a check on our table and walks away.I blink a few times then pick up my cup of coffee and sip it to clear my head. I mustāve misheard her. But my coffee is ice cold. And she gave us a check for the pastries that used to occupy the
MarcieEvery rustle in the bushes or shifting shadow makes me jump. When I finally reach the door, my fingers shake around the keys. My lips buzz like theyāre reminding me of what just happened, making it impossible to forget. I just kissed Ben. Ben just kissed me. And I still donāt know if Iām crazy, or heās exactly like Ryan.When I finally force the door open, Heather twists around on the couch.āHoly shit! Text next time, okay?ā she says. āI thought you were getting ax-murdered or something.āI take a deep breath. Iāve really enjoyed having someone in my life who doesnāt look at me like Iām crazy. Thatās at least half the reason I stopped living with my assigned roommate from freshman year. That, and her weird obsession with cabbage. But Heather is the only friendly face inside the mile or so to Danaās office, and I feel like Iām about to rattle out of my skin. I close the door behind me, and the dam breaks.āMy best friend in high school was named Ryan Evers.ā Oh, God, I havenāt
BenI rub my eyes and adjust the color grade on the action shot I snapped during the last football game by another degree. Itās so close, but itās not quite right. This is a front-page photo. Scott said so when he saw it on my damn camera. I shouldāve done this before I went out with Marcie.Despite my frustration, just thinking about her brings a smile to my face. Sure, I donāt really have many first dates to judge it againstāI thinkābut that seemed like a pretty good first date. A pretty great one. When I kissed her, she just melted, and I got the first sense she was as nervous as me.God, I hope she couldnāt tell how nervous I was.Iāll just text her. Something cute. Low pressure, but trying to see if she wants to go out again.Yeah, like I know how to do that. I sigh and pick up my phone anyway. Hopefully, high pressure with a few nerdy references still gets the job done.My stomach drops as I look at the screen. Itās 12:01. A minute after Iām supposed to call Mom. My fingers slid
LilyAt the end of our two weeks with Ryanās mom, Iām lying in the bed in our hotel room waiting for him. Iām completely exhausted. Since heās been going over there almost every day, Iāve been amusing myself with what there is to do around Galesburg, and thereās really not a lot. Iām bored enough that being bored makes me tired, but weāre finally leaving tomorrow. Heading back to Ardent, because I still have a lease, though we havenāt really talked about what happens next for us.I guess I couldāve kept going to his momās house, but watching the two of them reunite has been⦠weird. I just keep thinking about my mom, whom I cut off with everyone else. She didnāt even kill my dad via choices she mightāve been manipulated into making. Iāve picked up my phone half a dozen times, intending to text her and see how things are. But I donāt know what follows that. I canāt imagine going back to Dillsboro for the holidays, reappearing at family gatherings like nothing happened. It just kind of f
RyanThe day after they release me from the hospital, I drum my fingers on my knees as the suburban streets I thought I knew all my life but really only knew for six years whip by outside. Heather and Everett dug up nearly everything I could want to know about Julia and Arthur Daugherty but much less about their apparent partner, Marissa McGuire. Or Beverly Evers. Or Laurel Andrews. My mother.Lily puts her hand on mine. āStop fidgeting. If you mess up your stitches, theyāre going to kill me.āI smile. āKill you? Why? I thought your quick thinking saved my life?āShe shakes her head. āIt was a through-and-through, and it only got your large intestine. Painful, likely to get infected, but not immediately deadly.āāWe waited their ten days!ā I tap my other fingers on my other knee, even though it makes the recently stitched surgical scar in my side burn.āI am driving.ā She scowls at me quickly. āDo you want to not die in another car crash, just to prove that youāre immortal?āāSorry!ā
LilyIf I thought running through this warehouse was torture with Dana chasing me, I was an idiot.āRyan!ā I scream.Still no answer. I retrace my steps back to our little hideout, take off in the same direction he did. My heart hammers. Is he hurt? Should I have taken the gun? Am I going to round the next corner and come face-to-face with ScottāArthur? Am I already too late?I pour on whatever speed I have left, looking for any clue.There! That stupid cheese dust Ryan threw at them, smeared on the wall. I hang a sharp right.āRyan!ā I shout again.Nothing. With each step, I feel like Iām falling through time. The park on prom night. The car before his funeral, when I refused to go. The street I almost followed the hallucination into. The time I got lost on a field trip, and he was the only one to come looking for me. Ryan, Ryan, Ryan.I am not going to lose him again.The smell of iron pulls me to an open office. I whip inside and skid in a puddle of blood.Blood spatters like it ne
MarcieI sprint down one of the identical halls of this part of the warehouse, Ryanās T-shirt whipping around my otherwise naked body, my heart hammering in my throat.Being shot at from an SUV was crazy. Finding Ryan was crazy. The shooters following us to this warehouse is crazy. But one of the shooters, one of the people who tried to kill Ryan in the first place, being the therapist Iāve trusted with my life nearly every day of the past six years?Iām starting to think I donāt actually know what the word crazy means anymore.Scott thunders after Ryan, and I pray heās got more of a plan than running and hiding. The ānewspaper editorā looks furious.Oh, fuck, did he kill Mrs. Mathers?Heels click along the hallway behind me, and I put all thoughts of the ex-editor out of my mind. Apparently, my bare feet arenāt quiet enough. Danaāif thatās actually her nameāis coming after me.I blink, and Iām in that crappy little park on prom night, watching two women drag Ryan away. Was she really
RyanāFuck!ā I leap up, toss a T-shirt to Lily, and sprint for the door between this room and the one with the table and chairs, hoping to shut it. I donāt have a plan past that. The reason we picked the second office is because it has no other entrances or exits, not even windows.Someone fires a gun, and I throw myself to the side. The bullet thuds into something, and thank fuck, Lily doesnāt scream. No matter what else I rememberāor what Iāve recognizedāI know immediately that my body isnāt used to this. I wasnāt secretly dodging bullets while everyone else was in eighth grade. Which means Iāve pretty much got Benās skills to rely on.Weāre fucked.āPresent yourselves, and weāll handle this cleanly,ā a feminine voice says.āDana?ā Lily whispers.I glance at her. Sheās put my T-shirt on, but it barely reaches mid-thigh on her. And she looks completely lost. So am I. I donāt know anyone named Dana, orāNo, I kind of know that voice. I heard it once. My skin goes cold as I place it wi
RyanMy heart aches. That name echoes in my chest. āNo.āMarcie swipes her tears away. āI think you do, somewhere in there, or you wouldnāt have come to Ardent.āāI want to.ā I squeeze her hips, anchoring myself in her. āTell me⦠something. About him.āāAbout you.ā She smiles softly. āWhen you moved to town in first grade, someone accidentally sent your mom the second-grade supply list, so you showed up on the first day with all this stuff other people didnāt have. Markers and glue sticks and shit.āAnother echo. Back in the hospital, right after I woke up, the doctors said things would feel familiar before I actually remembered them, but they never did. Was this what they meant all along?āYour cubby was right above Theresaās,ā she continues.āTheresa?ā The word feels familiar on my tongue. āT?āMarcieās eyes light up. āThatās what we called her, yeah. Lil, Ry, and T.āThey all sound familiar. No memories, but the unavoidable feeling I know those names. Iāve said them all before. My
MarcieI feel like Iām in the eye of a storm as I stare around the abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Sycamore. Everett is saying something about property values and what this place used to be, but I canāt pay attention.Iāve spent years falling apart at the slightest provocation. At a blond guy in the wrong place, at a cologne I havenāt smelled sinceāRyan.Whoās walking next to Everett with his hands in his pockets, who Iāve fallen for every time I met him. Iāve spent years falling apart, and I donāt know what it means, but right now, Iāve never felt more together. Heather sniffles next to me, clutching my hand. Everett seems to be babbling because he canāt figure out anything else to do. But Iām not worried.And I might not be crazy either.āSo, anyway, we could hit up the northeast quadrant?ā Everett shrugs. āHeard my dad say something about a foreman or a surveyor or something starting over there. They might have some shit.āRyan nods. I canāt call him anything else now. He
BenSomething in my chest reverberates when she says the name Ryan. Something else twangs when the SUV whips into the road. I donāt know what to do with any of it, or the insane implication that a football player has been running forensic tests on me in secret.None of that matters now.āGet in the car!ā I shout.Marcie, Heather, and Everett just look from me to the SUV. One of its windows buzzes down, and something dark pokes out. Neurons I donāt remember having fire. Thatās the muzzle of a gun.No time left. I grab Marcieās upper armāthe meathead doesnāt even try to stop meāand start yanking her toward my car. Theirs is across the street, and we need anything thatāll stand in the way of us and bullets, even a crappy sedan. Marcie moves when I pull her like she was waiting for instructions. Heather and Everett spur into motion. I slam into the driverās seat, toss Marcie in the passengerās. The back door is still open when the first bullets fly.In movies, bullets always sound so spec
MarcieAfter therapy, I stand in front of my apartment door for a long moment. The Arkly is putting out a special paper tonight for the game, so Heather is at the office. Theresa told me a while ago that she splits Sundays between family time and grading, so I shouldnāt call if I actually want to talk. Everett was really nice last night, but I canāt exactly call him my friend. Which means as soon as I walk inside, Iāll be alone.With my thoughts. And the sinking feeling I canāt just avoid this problem.Something crashes on a lower floor, and I jump. Itās a trash can lid. I memorized that sound ages ago. But right now, it feels like anything could be Ben-Ryan coming to get me. Maybe being alone isnāt so bad after all. I shove my key into the lock and open the door quickly.āHey,ā Heather calls from the kitchen.I blink. āUh, hi?āāSorry, I was gonna text, but I literally just walked in.ā She pads out of the kitchen, still dressed for work and carrying a bag of chips. āScott closed the