The Dead Girls Club - Damien Angelica Walters Page 0,94

fixes me with a gaze, all heat and coiled energy. “What the hell happened?”

“One minute we were there, talking, and the next …” I rake my fingers through my hair. It sounds like a pitiful excuse. It sounds like a lie.

“And what Abby said? Did you not hear what Samantha was saying?”

“I didn’t, I’m sorry. It happened so fast, I didn’t realize what was going on. I guess I …”

“Wasn’t paying attention?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Your face said it all.” Her mouth twists as though she’s bitten a lemon. “I told you to keep an eye on her. I told you she was antagonizing Abby.”

“They seemed fine, Nicole. They’ve even been sitting together. I didn’t think it was a problem.”

She leans forward. “Then you weren’t paying attention.”

I open my mouth to deny it, to lie, but I can’t do it. I know I’m wearing the truth on my face. This isn’t private dysfunction. It’s public destruction. Maybe not a nuclear war, but a promise of the chaos to come.

“I did my best to grab her, but …” I hold up my wrapped wrist, feeling the flimsiness of the excuse settling like a gauze veil.

When she speaks again, her words are faded at the edges and falling in the middle. “I think it would be a good idea if you took a few weeks off. The worst part of all this is that I knew something was wrong. I thought about pulling you from the sessions but didn’t think it was necessary, so this is on me, too.”

The knives in my belly twist. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I—”

“Please leave all your session notes on your desk before you leave.”

“Okay, but—”

“Heather,” she says, and the word’s a guillotine. “Just go.”

There are no notes from today in my notebook. Nothing a few pages back either. I must’ve used a different one, but when I find another in my bag, there’s only a page of circular doodles, another with slashes. I know Nicole. She won’t forget her request. But I pack my things as quickly as possible, grateful that her office door is shut when I pass.

I manage to get out of the driveway before the tears hit, but it’s a near thing. I manage to drive safely to my office. That, too, is a near thing.

There, I open Cassidy’s file, looking for recent notes and finding none. Not from this week or last week or the one previous. There’s a sheet with pen marks, that’s all. I check another patient’s file. Nothing. And they’re not the only ones. I can’t find any recent notes in any files. I nibble at a cuticle. Tear it free. Do the same with another. This time, there’s blood. I forcibly pull my hand from my mouth. I need to get a handle on myself. This isn’t okay at all.

I’m not okay.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

THEN

I sneaked a can of Coke upstairs—my mom didn’t let me have it late—and drank it when I got tired. Reading made me way too sleepy, so I sat on the floor, back against my bed, and listened to my Walkman while waiting for my parents to finish their movie and come upstairs.

I snapped awake with a jolt, headphones and the house silent. Panic made a Greyhound of my heart, but it was only a little after midnight. I slipped on the necklace, and it was strangely heavy, but comfortable, too.

My parents’ door was shut, the gap beneath dark. Holding my shoes, I took a step and the floorboard creaked. I froze, but my parents’ light stayed off. Baby steps took me downstairs. I was afraid the front door would make too much noise, so I crept down to the basement. Even though I had to wiggle the key in the dead bolt, the back door opened without a sound and closed the same way. Key in pocket, I darted across the backyard. The latch on the gate slipped, clanking shut, and I crouched beside it, my whole body shaking. No lights turned on anywhere, so I lifted the latch again, pinching it tight between my fingers. With only crickets to notice my passage, I ran through the neighborhood to the field. Halfway across, a possum trundled by, hissing at me.

My steps slowed when I got near the house. By the time I sneaked through the hedges, I was practically dragging my feet. The front door was unlocked and the hallway was dark, but there was a pale light in the kitchen from the open basement door.