CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

I lie in bed, awaiting the return of DSR. It doesn’t disappoint, taking me into its transcendent embrace without delay.

The woman appears once again. Her expression is stern, almost angry. “Desiree,” she says, “it is time to right the ship.” Without another word, the life-reflection begins.

My desk sits empty in homeroom. My classmates are huddled in small groups, talking to each other in hushed tones.

The PA system crackles to life.

“I am afraid I have terrible news to share with you all this morning,” says Principal Hendrickson, her voice tinny as it pipes through the ancient speaker. “As many of you have already heard, Desiree Donnelly was killed in a tragic and senseless auto accident Saturday morning. This news comes as a shock to us all. Dez was slated to give this year’s valedictorian address, and she had a bright future ahead of her. Not only was she a star student and athlete, she was a dear friend to many of you. Her contributions to our school and our community will be sorely missed. This is a painful reminder to all of us that life can be fleeting, and those we love can be gone in an instant.

“We know this is difficult news. We have grief counselors available to all students, and we encourage you to talk to our staff and each other. Coming together as friends is how we will move forward from this terrible tragedy. I’d like everyone to please join me in a moment of silence. … ”

My parents walk into the funeral home. Dad’s arm is wrapped around my mom, his strong frame holding her steady as her legs go weak crossing the threshold. He fumbles with the umbrella, trying to close it while they stand in the entryway. A somber man, thin and balding, adjusts his gray suit coat as he greets them and ushers them into a large visitation room. “Jim, Mary, I am so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.” My dad’s voice quavers, on the brink of failing.

“She’s right this way,” the man says, leading them into a viewing room. At the front, dozens of floral arrangements compete for space, filling every spare inch around my coffin and the podium sitting a few feet in front of it. Metal folding chairs are lined up in neat rows before my casket—an over-the-top, gleaming hardwood display draped in tulips. The lid is closed, a clear indicator of the terrible mess I made of myself.

My mom moans. Dark circles line her puffy red eyes. These recent days seem to have aged her by a decade. She approaches the coffin, and her hands tremble as she runs her fingers through the blanket of flowers.

My dad gasps and heaves, choking back tears as he joins her. His clenched fists come to rest on my casket. He and Mom put their arms around each other as they stare at the covered remains of what’s left of their daughter.

Their two closest friends, Doug and Anne, arrive. Doug, looking awkward and uncomfortable in his suit, puts an arm around my mom. Anne takes my dad’s big hand in her tiny one, and pats his back with the other.

“I want to see her,” Mom tells Doug.

He shakes his head. “You don’t want that to be your last memory. My partner was at the scene, and … ” He closes his eyes.

“Where are Chris and Molly?” Mom asks.

“They’re coming along with their friends in a little while,” Anne says. “They figured we should be the ones here with you before the service.”

“They’re such good kids.”

The four of them stand in silence before my casket.

“Tulips were always her favorite,” Mom says.

The funeral director approaches. “Everyone should begin arriving soon.” He ushers them to the chairs set up in front of the casket, where they take their seats and begin to wait. …

“You haven’t slept in days, Mary. It isn’t good for you,” Anne says as she washes a casserole dish. Mom sits in our kitchen at her grandmother’s well-worn table. Dishes and platters of food cover every square inch of surface area. Doug is busy helping my dad find room in the fridge for all the leftovers.

“It’s been almost a week. You’d think the food would stop coming.” Dad looks into the crammed fridge. “There is no way we’ll be eating it all. Seems a shame to waste it.”

“Tell you what,” Doug says. “I’ll take whatever you don’t want down to the station. That’ll make it disappear.” He turns to my mom. “Mary, why don’t you at least try to eat something?”

She shakes her head. “I’m not hungry.”

“Honey, you have to eat,” Dad pleads.

She reaches in her purse and retrieves a prescription bottle. “Anne? Could you get me a glass of water?”

“Sure thing, Mar’.” Anne grabs a glass from the cabinet—she knows exactly where they are—and walks over to the fridge to use the water dispenser. She rubs Mom’s back as she sets the glass down on the table. “You going to go get some sleep now?”

“I’ll try.” She takes the pill bottle in one hand and the water glass in the other. It seems to take every last bit of her strength to get to her feet.

Dad kisses her cheek. “I’ll come check on you in a few minutes.”

“We’ll finish cleaning up,” Anne says.

Mom leaves the room without a word.

“Do those pills help her at all?” Doug asks.

“I don’t know. She hasn’t taken any yet.”

Anne takes Mom’s seat at the table, next to my dad. “Well, here’s hoping she sleeps tonight. She desperately needs it. How about you, Jim? Have you been sleeping any?”

Dad shrugs. “A little.”

Mom sits on the edge of the tub in the master bathroom, studying the pill bottle. She passes it back and forth between her hands, reading and re-reading the label. She dumps its contents out in her hand, counting the pills one by one.

“Fourteen could do it,” she murmurs. “Then maybe we could be together again, my girl. Maybe there is something after all, or maybe it’ll just be a merciful end to this pain—”

I pull back from DSR with a shout. The image of my mom and those pills is burned into my brain.

I need to stop her.

The glittering city shines through the picture window.

Crosby made me promise I wouldn’t ever go back.

But I have to. There’s no other way. And I have to go now.

Hannah. Should I wake her? It really isn’t fair to drag her down with me, and if I go to Nero’s, there will no doubt be hell to pay. As mad as Crosby was the first time, I could defend my visit as I had not truly known the danger. Deliberate defiance after his somber warning is a different matter entirely, and I don’t know if even a life-or-death emergency will grant me clemency from his wrath.

I crouch next to her bed and give her a gentle shake.

“Hannah,” I whisper urgently.

She mumbles, but doesn’t wake up.

I shake her a little harder. “Hannah!”

She finally comes to, but isn’t exactly coherent. “What? What time is it?”

“Two in the morning.”

“What’s wrong? Why are you up?” Her words are slurred with disorientation.

“I have to go.”

“What? Where?” She squints at me in the dim light. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s my mom. I … ” A wave of nausea hits me as the scene plays back in my mind. “She’s going to kill herself. I just saw her with a bottle of sleeping pills and she wants to take them all.”

Hannah sits straight up in bed. “We have to go get Franklin.”

“No, he’ll just stop me. I have to go back to the city. Right now. There’s no other way.”

“What for?”

“The pods. I can talk to her, tell her I’m okay, tell her to stay with Dad. I can stop her.” I hurry to my closet to grab some clothes. The rush of adrenaline and fear has my whole body shaking. “I just didn’t want you to worry when you wake up and I’m not here.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“No. No way. I’m going to be in enough trouble as it is. I’m not taking you down with me.”

“I’m coming with you,” she repeats in a tone that doesn’t invite further discussion.

We sneak into the common area, careful to make as little noise as possible.

“Wait,” I whisper. “We need a flashlight.”

“There’s a closet near the elevators that has sports equipment and stuff in it. I’m pretty sure there are flashlights, too.”

As we round the corner just before the closet, I stop and grab Hannah’s arm, pulling her back from the lounge. Charlie and Herc are sitting near a window, talking.

“Crap,” I whisper.

“Now what? We have to walk right by them to get to the closet.”

“Is there another place to get a flashlight?”

Hannah shakes her head. “I’m sure there is, but I have no idea where.”

“It’s too dark to make it without one.” I try to focus and think of a way to get by unnoticed, but all I can think of is my mom. “What are we going to do?”

Hannah hooks her arm through mine and walks us back around the corner. “The only thing we can do. We’re going to get that flashlight.”

Herc opens his mouth to speak as we approach, but Charlie gives him a dangerous look, and the message is crystal clear. Herc looks down at his feet, mumbles, “I’ll see you later, Charlie,” and makes a hasty exit.

“What are you guys doing up?” Charlie asks.

“Please, Charlie, no questions.”

He comes over to us, his brow knit with concern. “You’re shaking like a leaf. What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to drag you into this,” I say. “It’s bad enough Hannah’s involved. We’re just getting a flashlight and then we’re out of here. Please don’t tell anyone you saw us, okay?”

“No, not okay. Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

Hannah nudges me with her elbow. “Dez, he’s a big boy. He can handle it, and you know you can trust him.”

Between my frantic drive to stop my mom and my fear of dragging Hannah and Charlie into the giant pile of trouble this will bring, I’m stuck.

Herc sticks his head back around the corner. “What’s going on, Charlie?”

My hands clench into fists. “No. I don’t want him anywhere near this.”

“It’s nothing,” Charlie tells him. ”Just go do DSR, okay?”

“I might be able to help,” he says.

“Right,” I snap. “Like you’d ever help me. Just stay out of it.”

Charlie takes my hand. “I’ve got this.”

“There’s no time. I have to go.”

“Just go back to our suite,” Charlie tells Herc. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

Herc finally slinks off, mumbling something incoherent.

I squeeze Charlie’s hand, drawing strength from his calmness. “I saw my mom. In DSR. She had a handful of sleeping pills, and I think she’s going to take them all. I have to stop her, if it’s not too late already.”

Charlie nods. “Let’s go.”