Harmony House - Nic Sheff Page 0,50

me—I remember now that this is where they brought Alex that night. My stomach tightens a little, wondering if he’s still here.

Regardless, I need to see Christy and make sure she’s okay. Of course, it wasn’t my fault that she fell—or jumped. But I can’t help but feel guilty somehow. It was my fault she was at Harmony House, after all.

So I get out of the car, hurrying because of the rain starting to fall. I enter through the automatic sliding glass door and cross to the reception desk. The woman behind the counter, rail thin, with big bug eyes and dark hair parted in the middle, directs me to the third floor.

The elevator is a long time coming and I look absently around at the doctors and nurses and orderlies walking purposefully up and down the hallway.

On the third floor, I hear the rain spattering the windows and smell that noxious hospital smell of disinfectants and cleaning products. The rubber soles of my boots squeak-squeak on the polished linoleum.

Christy’s room is all the way down at the end of the hall. I knock twice quickly on the door and take a deep breath before going in.

It’s a shock seeing Christy. Her entire body is wrapped tightly in different casts and bandages. Her left leg is elevated and her neck is in a brace. Both her eyes are swollen, bordered by black-and-blue marks like she’s been punched in the face.

The breath I took in, I let out all at once.

“Jen,” a voice says, scaring me so I jump back.

But, turning, I see it’s only Rose. She’s wearing a heavy barn coat and dirty jeans and she stands and comes over to hug me for a long time.

“Jen,” she says again. “I’m so happy you’re here. I need to talk to you.”

“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I feel so bad about Christy.”

“There was nothing you could do,” she says—holding me at arm’s length now. “It’s not your fault.”

“I don’t know how it happened,” I say, feeling tears well in my eyes now.

“It’s okay,” she says again. “But I do want to talk to you. Do you mind coming out in the hall with me?”

I look over at Christy lying there.

“Of course,” I say.

She smiles more and puts a hand on my shoulder.

I follow her out into the hall.

I lean back against the white-painted drywall, banging my head and then banging it again rhythmically—not too hard, but not too soft either.

“The storm’s looking pretty bad,” I say, just to say something.

She nods.

“It is going to be bad,” she says. “That’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“About the storm?” I ask, making a face.

“Jen,” she says. “I know this is going to sound a little . . . forward . . . but I’m very worried about you.”

“I’m worried about myself,” I tell her.

“With everything that’s been happening at the house,” she says, “I think it might be best for you to leave as soon as possible.”

She’s staring hard at me and I shiver.

“You mean because of Christy?” I ask.

“Because of that, yes. And Alex Winter. And the storm and, honestly, sweetie, you look sick—you’re covered in bruises, you have dark circles under your eyes, you’re thin and pale.”

“Gee, thanks,” I say. I actually laugh a little at that.

“You’re a strong girl,” she tells me, again putting her hand on my shoulder. “But you’re not strong enough—not yet. And now this storm is coming. If I had some time with you, maybe I could teach you how to control the power you have, but as it is, I’m afraid you’re in a lot of danger.”

I laugh again, but there are still tears in my eyes.

“Power?” I say, incredulously. “I don’t have any power. I’m totally powerless.”

“No, you’re not.”

I move away from her then—not abruptly, but just to keep her from touching me.

“Look,” I say. “I appreciate you trying to help. And I am sorry about what happened. But you don’t know me. I’m sorry, but you don’t. You don’t have any idea what’s going on in my life.”

She nods, smiling.

“I do know,” she says. “I know because we’re alike—because we’re not like other people.”

I breathe in and out.

“What?” I say, getting annoyed now. “Because you’re a medium or something? Because you can read people?”

Again she nods. “Yes, I can read people. And yes, I’m a medium. But that’s not what you are. You are something much, much more—”

I don’t let her finish.

“Sorry,” I say, the heat searing through me again. “I’ve