The Girl Who Was Supposed to Die (7 page)

“Do your parents know where you are, Katie?” James raises one eyebrow.

I realize he thinks I'm a runaway. Well, I am, but not like he thinks.

“I'm not sure.” My eyes sting. I guess those people in the photo are my parents, but I don't know anything about them. Maybe they really are the kind of parents a girl would run away from. But I don't think so. I wonder where they think I am.

I wonder if they're alive.

James's expression betrays nothing if he sees how my eyes are shining. “Do you need a phone to call them?” He pulls a cell phone from his pocket and offers it to me. “It might be good to let them know where you are.”

“That's okay.” I wave it off. “Right now, there's not a way for me to get hold of them.” His offering the phone makes me think of Brenner's phone. I pull it out and look at the display. The battery's at less than 10 percent. A dead man's phone. And it's almost dead itself. I push the power button until it goes black, then notice James watching me.

From the kitchen, a microwave bings. We both turn at the sound. “Who wants gumbo?” Ty calls out.

“I do,” I say, and James echoes me. Remembering the garbage can, I ask Ty if it's okay to wash my hands in the kitchen sink first.

The three of us end up sitting in those mismatched chairs. It's nothing like the food I ate at McDonald's. Compared to it, the food at McDonald's isn't even really food. The gumbo has bell peppers, okra, sausage, chicken, and tomatoes, all of it served over rice.

“This tastes fantastic,” I say, sopping up some of the spicy brown sauce with a crusty roll.

Ty shrugs, looking pleased. “It's just leftovers.”

“Then I want to eat leftovers the rest of my life.” I concentrate on eating while the two of them talk about their day. I figure out that James cuts hair at a salon, and Ty goes to school before he works at McDonald's.

“Like college?” I ask.

“Like high school. I'm a senior.” Ty's tone doesn't invite any questions. For example, why someone still in high school is living in an apartment. And with James, who seems to be gay.

So is Ty gay? I think of how he caught his breath when he helped me into the garbage can. I don't think so.

It's hard enough trying to figure out stuff about me, let alone other people. And thinking just makes me tired. I start yawning and can't stop.

“Let me show you where you can sleep,” Ty says.

James tips me a wink. “Quick, before she puts her head down on the table.”

At the end of a short hall are two bedrooms. Through one half-open door, I see a tangle of clothes on the floor. But the room Ty goes into is as neat as if no one lives there. There are only a few clothes hanging in the closet. The bed is a mattress on the floor with mismatched sheets and a couple of blankets. Next to it is a stack of library books. The chest of drawers is made of gray plastic.

“It's not much, but it's home,” he says, hot color climbing his cheeks. He roots around in the chest of drawers—everything inside is neatly folded, which makes it clear just how little there is—and comes up with an oversized green nylon football shirt. “You could sleep in this, if you want.” Ty's face gets even redder. “You'll probably want to shower first. I don't have an extra toothbrush, but I guess you could just use your finger and some toothpaste. Oh, and I'll put a clean towel on the counter for you. Do you need anything else?”

I need so much I can't even name it. But Ty has given me what I need most. A feeling of safety, if only for a little while. “No. Thanks. I really appreciate you helping me out.”

Even with the bathroom door locked, it's hard to take off my clothes. I already feel vulnerable. It's only in the warm shower that I finally relax a little. My body is marked with bruises and scrapes, all of them new looking, and only a few that I remember getting.

After I dry myself off, I put toothpaste on my index finger and rub it back and forth across my teeth, avoiding the loose tooth. I rinse out my mouth, then look at the girl in the mirror. Her eyes are frightened. What kind of girl am I, that someone would do these things to me?

 

CHAPTER 15

DAY 1, 10:53 P.M.

 

When I go back into the hall, I hear Ty and James talking in low voices. I can't make out the words, just the tone, but I know what they're talking about.

Who—or whom—they're talking about.

The tan carpet muffles my footsteps as I edge closer. There's a flapping noise as someone shakes out a blanket.

“You've never brought a girl home before,” James says. “And now when you do, you sleep on the couch?”

“It's not like that,” Ty says. “She's in trouble.”

“Trouble.” James makes a sound that's not quite a laugh. “That's just what we need. What kind of trouble?”

“I don't know exactly.” Ty hesitates and then says in a rush, “She doesn't remember who she is.”

“Are you saying she's got, like, amnesia? Why didn't you take her to the cops or at least a hospital? What if she hit her head or had a stroke or something? Look, this isn't like the stray cat you kept feeding in the parking lot last year until someone ran over it. Or that baby bird you put in the shoebox. Those were only animals, and look how things turned out for them.”

“What about Spot? He's doing okay.”

“Spot's great,” James says. “I love Spot, but this is a person. She needs to be checked out by a real medical professional. Not somebody who's taking an online class about how to be an EMT.”

“Her pupils are the same size and track normally.” For a second, Ty sounds older. “Her expressions are symmetrical, and she's not slurring her words.”

James isn't mollified. “That's an expensive sweater she's wearing. Nobody just threw
her
out on the street. Whoever she is, she must have a family. She belongs with them. You can bet somebody's looking for her. And they might not like that you kept her.”

“Somebody
is
looking for her. Right after close, two guys in suits came to the door while she was in the bathroom. They said that Katie had escaped from Sagebrush.”

“What?” James's voice rises. “Like, the mental hospital? So you brought some crazy girl home? Did they say what she was in there for?”

“No. Just that she needed her meds.” Ty didn't tell me that part, but it's the same thing they told Officer Dillow. “But she says they were lying. That she really escaped from two guys who were talking about killing her.”

“Killing her? What, we're in some movie now? The Sagebrush idea sounds a lot more believable. What if she sets fires?” It sounds as if James is pacing, and I pull back a little so he won't catch sight of me. “What if she kills us in the middle of the night?”

“You talked to her. Do you really think she would do either of those things? If she was dangerous, they would have had the cops looking for her, not two guys who look like businessmen. And who didn't offer any ID that said Sagebrush.”

“Come on, Ty. Really? So you think they're like some kidnappers slash killers?”

“She obviously believes it. She was shaking so hard. She was scared out of her mind.”

“Out of her mind,” James echoes.

“All right, all right. Poor choice of words.”

“Maybe they did that electroshock therapy and fried her brain, and that's why she can't remember things.”

Ty exhales forcefully. “If you had met those guys, you would know why I believe her more than them. They had a bad vibe. They were all buttoned up and serious. But underneath you could tell they were really pissed off.”

“Okay, so if you believe her, why not go to the cops?”

“Come on, you know what most of the cops are like around here,” Ty says, making me wonder why both of them know this. “Maybe one in ten would listen to her. The other nine would just take these guys at their word and hand her over. They'd just be glad she wasn't their problem anymore.”

“So now she has to be
our
problem?”

“Okay, if you don't want her here,” Ty asks, “where do you want me to tell her to go? You know what it's like out on the street, especially for a girl.”

“I don't know, Ty. I don't know. Then what happens tomorrow? Are you just going to leave her here alone while I'm at work and you're at school? You just trust her not to make off with all our stuff the minute we're gone?”

Amusement colors Ty's voice. “Hey, she can take off with my stuff. It all came from Goodwill.”

“Speak for yourself. I live a little higher up the food chain than you. But I am not carting everything I own in to work just to keep it safe from some crazy chick.”

A bubble of air expands in my chest. I can't keep hiding in the hall. I step out into the living room, suddenly aware that the jersey ends about mid thigh. Under the jersey I'm wearing panties but no bra. I'm clutching my bundle of clothes in front of me, and the coat hides part of my legs.

The couch has been made up with a blanket and a pillow. James sees me first. His eyes widen. He presses his fingers against his lips and then Ty turns.

Spot makes a beeline for me, but I ignore the scratch of his little paws on the bare skin of my knee. The dog is the only one in this apartment who is a hundred percent happy I'm here.

“Look. I'll just go,” I say. “I really appreciate the food and everything, but I should be going.” My mouth is dry. I look at both of them. James meets my eyes, but that's about it. Ty manages a little bit of a smile and shakes his head.

“You don't need to go,” he says. “Especially when I know you don't have any place else to go. James wasn't there tonight. He didn't talk to those two guys. He didn't see those men watching the movie theater and going through the car you were driving. They want you for some reason. I don't know if it's really to kill you, but I do know that whatever it is, it isn't good.”

I want to insist, to walk right out the door. But where will I go? I've got no money. Did Ty lock his car? Maybe I could curl up in the back seat.

I expect him to keep arguing, but it's James who touches my arm. “Why don't you listen to Ty and just go get some sleep. We can figure out what to do in the morning.”

I can barely lift my feet as I walk back to Ty's room. I'm past tired, past exhausted. I throw my dirty clothes on the floor. My pants make a clunking sound. Brenner's phone. Maybe we can use it to figure out the truth, I think, as I put my head down on the pillow. It's nice to think “we,” even if it's probably not going to last.

A minute later, I'm asleep.

 

CHAPTER 16

DAY 2, 7:05 A.M.

 

In my dream, I'm playing with a little boy. I can't see him, just hear his voice. Music is playing in the background, and he's calling out which animal I should dance like. “Dance like an elephant!” he says in his high voice. I bend over and put my arms together and swing them like a trunk. “Dance like a hippo!” I stomp over the hardwood floor, and we're both laughing and laughing.

And then I wake up. This time I really wake up, rather than coming to, the way I did yesterday.

Initially, I recognize absolutely nothing. I sit bolt upright, knocking over a stack of books. And then it all comes back to me. The voice telling Michael Brenner to kill me. The ruts my heels left as I was dragged into the woods. Brenner lying at my feet, his breath hitching. The girl in the mirror who turned out to be me. The people in the photograph who must be my family. Officer Dillow telling me Brenner was dead. Ty's eyes going wide when he saw the gun. Coming in here last night, falling on Ty's bed, telling myself I wouldn't be able to sleep.

And now it's morning.

At least I still remember yesterday. I may not remember anything more than that, but it's a start. Fourteen or fifteen hours of memory. If I can hold on to it and add more, if I can keep figuring things out about who I am, then maybe I can build a reasonable facsimile of the girl I used to be.

When I reach for my clothes, it's easy to tell that someone has washed them. Someone—and I sure hope it was James instead of Ty—has folded up my bra, sweater, and jeans, and even matched up my socks and made them into a ball. Only my coat is in the same heap where it was yesterday.

A shiver dances across my skin when I realize whoever did it came in here at least twice last night, and I didn't hear a thing. Didn't stir. Good thing I'm safe here.

I get dressed. My jeans are faintly damp, and the left thigh still shows the shadow of a bloodstain.

When I go down the hall, the two of them are sitting at the dining room table with a box of Trix. The bowls in front of them are empty except for colored milk. Ty is just lifting his to his lips when he sees me. He puts it down so fast it sloshes on the table. I hide a smile. It's the first time I remember smiling.

“Hey,” he says. “How'd you sleep?”

“I didn't think I would, but I did.” I decide not to say thanks for washing my clothes. Too embarrassing.

“And how do you feel?” He's looking at me closely, and I wonder if he's checking my pupils again.

“Kind of achy, but okay. My fingers don't hurt as much.”

“Let me take a look at them. If they get infected, you could be in real trouble.” Ty gets up, and then for some reason grabs a box of tinfoil from a kitchen drawer.

We end up crowded in the small bathroom—Ty and me over the sink, James in the doorway. Spot is underfoot, and I have to watch where I step. I try to pull off the Band-Aids, but they're stuck. I blink back tears of pain.

“I looked it up,” he says. “Bandages will stick until your nail beds have toughened up.” He fills the sink with warm water, submerges my hand, and begins to gently tug the Band-Aids free. His own nails are clean, short, and square. Finally, he pulls the last bit of brown-stained bandage loose, and I lift out my hand. My two fingers look oddly naked. The part that should be hidden by the nails is pink skin-colored and only a little puffy. They're not bleeding anymore.