Harmony House - Nic Sheff Page 0,40

the second floor and start toward my dad’s room.

We walk pressed close together. The lights flare with surges of electricity. A big dresser is pressed up against one of the dark-colored walls. The shadow of the dresser reaches out across the hallway. I take a step and then another step.

A figure emerges from the shadow and I jump a fucking mile. Candace screams and Mercedes grabs my arm tight.

It’s Christy.

She’s standing in the middle of the hall, just a few feet from my dad’s room. Her head is down and her arms hang by her sides. Her face is colorless and her lips slightly blue around the edges like she isn’t breathing.

“Christy!” Mercedes says, running toward her. “Oh, thank God!”

She hugs Christy to her, but Christy’s body remains limp. She teeters slightly. Her eyes are all black and distant. She stares, but with unfocused eyes.

“Where were you?” Candace asks. “We were so worried.”

Christy then looks up at her, but her eyes don’t seem to fix on any one point.

“I have to go,” Christy says—so weakly it’s almost inaudible.

“What?” Mercedes shouts at her. “We were worried. Where the hell were you?”

Christy goes on staring straight past us. Her slack body begins to move as though gliding to the stairs.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I have to go.”

“Wait!” I say.

I grab her by the arm, but her skin is so cold and lifeless-feeling, I let go and back away from her.

She keeps on to the edge of the banister.

“What happened?” Mercedes asks. “Talk to us.”

Christy doesn’t answer.

She grabs hold of the banister with both hands.

“What are you doing?” Candace asks.

Christy’s expression never changes.

“I have to go,” she says.

And then in one quick movement, she lifts herself up on the railing and jumps.

“Jesus, no!” I yell.

But I’m too late.

Her body free-falls for several seconds.

And then there is a loud crash below.

And then no sound at all.

CHAPTER 11

The lights flash red, blue, red, and then blue again—reflecting off the windows and the badge of the officer in front of me.

I wrap my arms tightly around my chest and shiver against the clear, cold night. The sweet smell of rain is in the air still. The moon shines like a pearl in the starless sky.

“Why don’t you go on in and get a jacket?” Sheriff Jarrett says, noticing me shivering. “Don’t want you catching cold out here.”

I tell him I’m all right.

He shakes his head.

“Been a rough couple days for you. Don’t want you getting sick on top of that.”

Again, I tell him I’m all right.

I watch as the ambulance doors slam shut and the siren sounds and it tears on up the driveway to the road. I can see Mercedes and Candace in the back of the sheriff’s police car. Candace is crying and shaking all over. Mercedes is still and quiet.

Sheriff Jarrett follows my gaze. “EMT says her ribs are fractured and her legs and wrists are broken, but she’ll recover.”

I shake my head.

“God, I feel terrible.”

He puts a large hand on my shoulder.

“Don’t worry,” he tells me. “It’s not your fault.”

And then he laughs.

“You’re just unlucky, I guess.”

I force a smile.

“I guess I am.”

He drops his head.

“Anyway, she’ll be all right. That’s what’s important.”

I nod.

“Yeah. I just can’t figure out why she would’ve jumped like that.”

Sheriff Jarrett shrugs.

“Fear does strange things to people.”

He pauses a second, then gestures with his head. “It does strange things to people in that house.”

“So I gathered,” I tell him.

He frowns then, looking hard at me. He reaches a hand out and gingerly touches my collarbone.

“What happened here?” he asks.

I try to see what he’s pointing at.

“What do you mean?”

“Those bruises,” he says. “Pretty nasty.”

“Oh God, yeah,” I tell him, reddening. “I forgot about those. I’m not sure where they came from.”

He glances back at the house, then at his idling cruiser, then back at me. He speaks in a hoarse whisper.

“If there’s anything you want to tell me,” he says, “I can protect you. I can make sure you’re safe.”

I almost laugh out loud at that, but I hold it together. I mean, what? Is he going to protect me from the rantings of my father? Or whatever the hell that was in the basement? Or the voices I’ve been hearing? Or the craziness in my own mind?

Maybe he has a couple of extra straitjackets he can lend me. One for me and one for my dad.

“No,” I say, not holding his gaze. “No, I’m okay. Anyway, it’s the truth. I don’t know how I got these.”

His