May 9, 2017
The door opens slowly. Rebecca Donoghue enters, followed by Andrew Ashford. A bruise mottles Rebecca’s cheek, and her left eye is slightly swollen. Bandages cover her arms at random intervals. Sara sits placidly, staring down at her hands, which are folded on the tabletop. Abigail Ryder is the last to enter, and at Ashford’s nod she takes up a position in the corner, her hand on the syringe in her pocket.
BECCA: Hello, Sara.
Sara mutters something but doesn’t look up.
BECCA: Dr. Ashford said that you might be ready to talk. About what happened.
SARA: What about what happened?
BECCA: He says that you need to remember on your own.
Sara lets out a sound between a whine and a moan, like an animal in pain.
SARA: I don’t want to.
BECCA: Sara, you need help.
SARA: I don’t need help. I’m fine. Except that I’m locked up in here.
BECCA: You aren’t fine. You haven’t been fine since we left the road, and you know it. You’re the one who—you told me to call them. You begged me.
SARA: She’s lying.
She looks at Ashford. Her eyes are dark and glinting with intensity.
SARA: Don’t you see? What we pulled off that road wasn’t her. And she’s trying to confuse you. She’s been messing with my memory. Making me remember things that aren’t there.
BECCA: That’s not true.
ASHFORD: This isn’t productive. Sara, all we want is the truth. All we want is to know what happened when you left the road.
SARA: She turned on us.
ASHFORD: Lucy?
SARA: No, her.
She points to Becca and lets out a strangled laugh.
SARA: But you don’t believe me. You think I’m the one who has something wrong with me, but it’s only what she’s done to me. She’s not even Becca, don’t you see that?
Becca presses a hand to her mouth, turning her eyes away as if she can’t bear to look at her sister in this state.
ASHFORD: If that’s the case, then it’s all the more reason for you to tell us what happened, Sara.
Becca comes around the table, pulling a chair with her. She sits beside her sister and covers one of Sara’s hands with her own.
BECCA: It’s going to be okay, Sara. But we have to talk about what happened.
Sara lets out a sigh and leans her head against Becca’s shoulder.
SARA: I’m so tired.
BECCA: I know.
Sara touches one of Becca’s bandages gingerly.
SARA: Did I do that to you?
BECCA: It’s not your fault.
SARA: I did, didn’t I? I hurt you.
BECCA: You saved me, Sara. You fought so hard to get to me. But you have to keep fighting a little longer. Think about the crows, Sara. Think about the crows, and write it down.
SARA: You’ll stay?
BECCA: I’m not going anywhere.
In the corner, Abby leans against the wall, watching closely. Sara’s fingers tap out the now-familiar rhythm. Ashford slides a pen and paper toward her. She picks up the pen, but doesn’t yet begin to write.
BECCA: We were getting ready to leave the road.
SARA: That’s right. Lucy said she knew the way.
BECCA: Mel and Kyle paired up. And then we argued about who was going to go with who. You said Anthony and I should go together, but I wanted to go with you. Except I didn’t want to say that, because that might make Anthony feel bad, and—
SARA: And then Lucy chose.
BECCA: Lucy chose you.
Sara fixes Becca with a steady look.
SARA: Are you sure about that, Rebecca? You don’t remember what happened in the dark, do you? It isn’t that I need to remember on my own. It’s that you can’t. You’ve tried, and you can’t.
BECCA: Sara . . .
SARA: Maybe I’m not the problem at all.
BECCA: Do you really believe that?
SARA: I don’t know. Do you?
Becca looks away. Sara sighs.
SARA: I’m sorry. I’ll try to remember. We were at the end of the road . . .
She writes.