The Ghost and the Goth

“She attacked you?” Miller sounded astounded, and far too excited.

Killian only hesitated for a fraction of a second. Then he stretched his arms out again, tucking his hands behind his head with a cocky and lazy smile and looking for all the world like a guy who’d just gotten some. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

“In your dreams,” I protested.

Miller’s face fell. “You mean an actual girl.”

“How many other kinds of girls are there, Doc?” Killian asked, still smiling. Oh, yeah, I was so going to hit him when the stupid doctor got out of here.

His mother frowned, confused. She stared at the bed, probably trying to remember if it’d been broken the last time she’d been up here. “When did this happen? I don’t like the idea of girls visiting your room—”

“Now, Julia, peer interaction is good. Let’s just try to keep it to the living room, okay, Will?” Miller reached down and patted Killian’s leg in what he thought, gag, would be a fatherly gesture. Then he paused dramatically, and I flinched in advance. Four years of therapy with Dr. Andrews, king of the chin-rubbers, had taught me what to expect next. Show some tiny little spark of happiness, something that might lead you away from your regular weekly appointments, and watch out.

“What do you think Lily would make of this?” Miller asked casually.

Killian’s smile disappeared like the doctor had reached over and ripped it off.

“Who’s Lily?” I asked.

“She would want me to be happy. We were friends once,” Killian said defensively.

“No.” I stood up, alarmed. “Calm down. You’re giving him an opening.” Hadn’t Killian been paying attention at all in therapy? Guys like Miller lived for this stuff.

“You’re right. That’s good. She wouldn’t want you to feel guilty. She would want you to live your life happily. It wasn’t your fault that you didn’t answer the phone.” Miller’s words and tone managed to convey opposite things. It was a shrink thing. No idea how they did it, but it was their secret weapon.

“She knew I didn’t always answer my phone. I can’t hear it if I’ve got my headphones on. She could have called Joonie, her parents, anyone for help.” The unspoken phrase that hung in the air was But she called me.

I watched Killian pull back into himself, tucking his arms beneath the covers. Great. At this rate, he was going to be too depressed to get out of bed, let alone help me. I didn’t know who this Lily chick was, but she was screwing everything up.

“Come on.” I moved to stand on the other side of Killian’s bed with an exasperated sigh.

His mother frowned. “Did you hear that?” she asked the doctor. “It sounded like footsteps.”

Killian shot me a warning look. Oops.

Dr. Miller gave her an overly patient look. “No, Julia.”

I took advantage of their distraction. “Miller is messing with your head,” I whispered to Killian, just in case, though it didn’t seem like anyone else could hear my voice, or they’d have been freaking out a long time ago. “He wants you to feel bad because when you feel bad, he gets paid.” I thought about it for a second, and then added, “Indirectly. But you get the idea. Snap out of it.”

“No, he’s right. Lily deserved better than what she got. She deserved better friends.”

I sucked in a breath, watching Dr. Miller’s face change as he recognized that Killian was not speaking to him. Was that greed that flashed so lightning quick?

“Smooth move, Killian,” I snapped. “He’s on to you.”

Killian stiffened, and without a glance in my direction, he pushed himself upright again in bed. “I’m sorry. I meant, you’re right, Dr. Miller.”

“William, what happened to that girl … that was not your fault.” His mother’s voice held only the faintest quaver.

Ooooh. Now in spite of everything, I was intrigued. “Why? What happened to her? Did you get her pregnant? Shove her down a flight of stairs? Help her evil twin abduct her and take her to Mexico for some kind of face-altering plastic surgery?” Hmmm. My addiction to daytime television — thank you, TiVo, gift to people with lives everywhere — might have been showing through a bit there.

Everyone, including Killian, ignored me. Surprise, surprise.

“I know,” Killian said, but the words rang hollow. He didn’t believe it, and he didn’t expect them to, either.

“You should get some rest,” Dr. Miller said in that same patronizingly gentle voice. “A night at Ivythorne —”

“No,” Killian and his mother said simultaneously.

Miller frowned. “Julia, I strongly encourage you to—”

Killian’s mother hesitated for a long moment.

“Mom,” Killian whispered, and I could see the fear in his face. She was all that stood between him and a life in lockdown.

Then she straightened her shoulders and met Dr. Miller’s gaze straight on, and I saw the woman she must have been before all this tragedy rained down on her life. In that second, I envied Killian a little. My mother would have been fighting me for the opportunity to go to Ivythorne, probably hoping it would finally gain her some attention from my dad.

“I’m sure you would agree that this is an isolated incident triggered by Principal Brewster bullying my son,” Killian’s mom said. “He’s a full-grown man who should know better than to torture a troubled boy.”

Miller shook his head. “I know that you would like to believe …”

“Max, I said no.”

“Good for you. Finally, somebody in this family with a little spine,” I said.

“All right.” Miller held his hands up, surrendering less than graciously. “It’s your decision, of course. I brought something else to help, just in case.” He reached into his suit coat pocket to produce a capped syringe. “It’s a mild sedative,” Miller went on. “Just so you can get a good night’s sleep tonight.”

“And halfway into the next century,” I protested. “Tell him no. You promised to help me.”

Killian ignored me and looked to his mother. “I don’t need it.”

Her mouth curved in distaste when she looked at the syringe, but she nodded at him. “You need the rest.”

“A sedative on top of a head injury?” I said. Any first-year watcher of House could tell you that was a mistake. “You people are crazy.” Granted, his mother didn’t know about the bump to his head, but still …

Killian offered up his arm reluctantly.

I lunged to yank his arm down, but the bed was in the way, and Miller, after years of doping up patients, moved faster than I did. The needle was in Killian’s arm before I could reach him.

I straightened up. “You’re such a coward. I take back all the nice things I thought about your chest.”

“You’re right,” Killian said. Then he looked up at me with a frown. “What?”

“I said, I want you to get some sleep,” Miller repeated, a little louder. He removed the syringe from Killian’s arm, recapped it, and dropped it in his pocket.

Killian’s glazed eyes found mine. “What nice things did you think?” he asked, already sounding muzzy.

“Oh, forget it,” I snapped.

Miller backed away, clucking his tongue. He nodded at Killian’s mom, and the two of them stepped out into the hallway. I followed, narrowly escaping before Mrs. Killian closed the door.

“Now, Julia, I don’t want to alarm you, but with your family history …”

She flinched.

He took her by the shoulders, enfolding her in a much-closer-than-professional embrace.

“A skeevy chin-rubber. Even better.” I wrinkled my nose, imagining the dusty smell of his tweed jacket and the lingering odor of pipe smoke.

“It may be nothing at all, but any sudden change in behavior is something we should keep an eye on.” He hesitated dramatically, setting her away from him but still keeping his surprisingly fat and stubby fingers on her shoulders. “With this latest incident, we should consider hospitalization again—”

“He’s doing better,” she said firmly, as if she could make it true by the force of her words.