Deadgirl

“Lucy?”

I looked up at her, my eyes wide. I’d begun to spiral into my own head, where the nonsense lived. Something had to be wrong with me, I decided. I’d been thinking about Batman and shoe shopping when I had died, and minutes after I almost killed a man I couldn’t stop thinking about the fifth grade incident. I clutched my hands to my face, digging my fingertips into my cheeks. I knew I was on the edge of hysteria, but the manic energy crackled through my arms and scored my spine. It made me jittery, terrified, and oddly light.

“Lucy,” Morgan said. She took my wrists and pulled my hands away from my face. I didn’t fight her. “My mom is going to take you home, okay?”

“She’ll tell…”

Morgan smiled and kissed my forehead again. I collapsed into her, and she held me until I stopped quaking.

“I don’t know how, but I won’t let her,” Morgan said. “I’ll just owe her for the rest of my life, I guess.”

My lips became something like a smile.

“I owe you,” I said.

“Count on it. But you can pay me off easy, Luce.”

“What?”

“Not now, but…you have to tell me what’s going on,” she said. “You have to let me help.”

I took a deep breath and tried to smooth it out, tried to suck the air over the gasping hitch in my voice.

“I’ll tell you,” I said, and my stomach lurched. “Just…just not tonight.”

Morgan nodded. “Okay. Deal?”

I nodded. I didn’t have the strength to say anything. My legs felt watery, and my stomach roiled. I’d just agreed to tell my best friend that I was insane. The worst part? I’m not even sure if I was wrong to do it. I knew there would be no lie I could put together that would, or could, explain all the myriad weirdness that had kicked down the door of my boring but happy life. Telling her what I thought I knew would be the only way.

Ugh. I leaned over and breathed evenly and steadily until my stomach quieted.

“Gonna vomit?”

I shook my head, pulling long tugs of air deep into my chest.

“Yes you are.”

I nodded.

She grabbed me by the shoulders and ran me to the bathroom. She even held up my hair when I threw up. By the time I cleaned up, which she thankfully didn’t help me out with, Morgan and her mom, Cheryl, were already standing in the kitchen. Cheryl wore a long coat over her nightgown, and her keys dangled from one hand.

“Lucy,” she said. “I don’t like this.”

“Mom,” Morgan said. Clearly her mom was breaking some agreement.

“I’m sorry, baby, but…” Cheryl turned to me. “I don’t like this.”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Veers,” I said. “It’s not fair to ask you not to tell them. It’s just…I need some time, that’s all. Just time to figure this out.”

She sported the look that I’d begun to despise, a look I had no defense against. A look of pity mixed with a look of…what? Fear, maybe? Or relief? The knowledge that someone you know has gone crazy, and the secret underlying relief that it isn’t you.

But I had no defense, because I’d earned it. Ten times over I’d earned that look.

“Lucy Day,” Cheryl said. “If the cops find you in a ditch or in some rusted out car…tell me how that won’t be my fault?”

I felt the tears again. Stop it. Stop it, you stupid girl. I sighed to steady myself, squared my shoulders, and looked her in the eye.

“I don’t have…it’s not like that. I don’t have a death wish or whatever you’re thinking.”

This time Morgan spoke. I don’t think she could help herself.

“Then what is it?”

Funny story, actually, Ms. Veers. When I sleep, I get beamed like Captain Kirk to a spooky beach with monsters and nice old mute men—oh, and this is weird—how far I travel in this imaginary place corresponds to how far I travel in real life. Also I’m dead and I partially ate a car crash victim.

“I don’t know.”

Another lie. An understandable one, I think, but another lie. You’re getting better at least, Lucy.

I felt the warmth in my eyes, the wet feeling of a puddle of tears clinging to my eyes, getting ready to rain. No. Stop.

I sneaked through the back door of my house—it was always open, because Mom was a ditz. I expected Mom and Dad to be sitting in the arm chairs in the living room, with the lights off, getting ready to bust me and ground me forever. It didn’t happen. They were asleep.

God bless Morgan’s cool mom for the benefit of the doubt.

I went up to my bedroom and tore off the clothes that were making it feel like a sauna. I laughed at myself as I jumped into bed. I kicked off the huge quilt, pulled the thin sheet over my bare legs, and sat back against my headboard. Just hours ago, in that bed, I’d been praying for just a hint of warmth. Now I found myself half-naked and still sweating like a…well, like me in a Calculus class.

The sheet began to cling muy grossly to my sweat-soaked legs, so I kicked it off in a fit of extreme tantrum.

I didn’t feel tired. In fact, I felt more awake then I had been in a while. Well, that and sleeping meant being taken to the beach, where a monster wanted to eat me. I’ll pass thanks.

I thought of Puck, that weird, oddly playful, old mute. I knew he was fine—he’d seemed a hundred times more capable than me. But what about the man in the car? Had the paramedics arrived in time? I felt like I was bashing my head against a wall for answers. I closed my eyes and tried to calm down.

I grabbed the book from my nightstand—Sabriel—and dug into it for at least the third time.

I read until morning.

The next three days went by in a blur. School was beginning to feel normal again—people were beginning to feel normal again. Fewer looks of confusion and worry, less hugging. Just normal Lucy, back to normal school, doing normal stuff. The morning of the first day, Morgan had flashed me a look she had earned—a look that said, “Okay, Luce, take your time, but I’m not forgetting.” I nodded at her, and that was it.

I did my schoolwork, I did my homework—well, at least in their normal percentages. Zack stayed mostly at his group during lunches, but every once in a while he’d float over and say hi. The flirting in Spanish had ratcheted up a few blissful notches, and we were getting in trouble daily with Mr. Halloway.

My only reminder of my incident was one Ms. Marian Crane. Old Nosy. She scooped me out of one of my classes daily and took me back to her office for counseling. She asked me run of the mill, getting-to-know-you questions. She asked about my parents, my family, my classes. What I wanted to be when I got out of college. What I wanted to study in college. My favorite part about high school, my least favorite. If I showed interest in boys—or girls, which I’m pretty sure she only said to show how hip she was—did I hear voices, you know, the usual. While I knew her intentions, I was having a hard time relaxing in her office. I just kept wondering when she was going to lay me out—when the dreaded questions were going to hit. Questions I didn’t want to answer. Questions I couldn’t answer. But she never asked. I left her sessions feeling gradually more relieved. Maybe she just wanted to check to see if I wasn’t on drugs or joining a cult or something.

I still hadn’t eaten—my calendar marked off more days than I liked. Still, I wasn’t hungry, and I had a morbid urge to see how far it could go. Not an anorexic urge—as far as I could tell, I wasn’t losing an ounce of weight. I checked on my scale a few times, and I hadn’t changed a bit. Too bad, really.

I spent the nights reading or surfing the internet or playing solitaire or watching old TV shows. Sometimes all of those things, sometimes none. But I never slept, and I never allowed my eyes to close for too long. The grey beach had been a strange place at first, but after the second appearance of the light-thing, it was off-limits. I had no desire to see it ever again.

On the third night, I felt the cold returning.

The scorching heat had been fading steadily, something I’d written off as acclimation. Thursday, just after