When the red digits on the bedroom clock changed from 3:59 to 4:00, Julia finally gave up the fight and climbed out of bed. Lying there with her eyes closed was useless; sleep would not come again tonight. She padded into the dark living room, twisting her long hair up into a bun as she looked out the window. Her skin was clammy from the night sweats, and she wrapped her robe tightly around herself. Downstairs, her building’s sprinklers had just turned on, lightly misting the lawn and the maze of deserted walkways that weaved in and around the sprawling apartment complex. The sky was black; the streets empty. She put a kettle of water on for tea in the kitchen and flopped down on the couch to wait for it to whistle. Everything in the apartment was dark and still. Back in bed, Moose was sound asleep, lost somewhere under the warm covers.
Julia hated waiting for morning to come, waiting for the world to finally wake up with her. It was the loneliest time of night. The first couple of years after she’d gone to live with her aunt and uncle were the worst. If she was lucky, she’d get three or four hours of sleep a night. Most early hours, though, were spent staring out her bedroom window at the empty street outside, like a bird in a cage, watching neighbors either stumble home drunk or leave for work that started long before the sun came up. Watching, night after night, as winter turned to spring, spring to summer, summer to fall, fall back in to winter – as the world kept on turning and life speedily marched forward without once ever missing a beat. And every night she would wish she was any one of those neighbors, with a different life, full of different worries. Some nights, when the loneliness and pain proved too overwhelming, she’d sneak out and defiantly wander the unfamiliar streets of Staten Island or hop the ferry into Manhattan, hoping some would-be robber or rapist or killer would find her and do her the favor of ending what she herself could not. But nothing bad ever happened.
She stared at the black television screen, absently rubbing her socks to keep her feet warm. Her nightmares lingered with her now in the darkness, raising goosebumps on her cold skin. She squeezed her eyes shut, struggling to hold back the tears and the memories that continued to force their way out anyway, like a blistered, rupturing infection.
‘Julia? Julia? Sweetie? You have to get up.’
She heard the words, but they were so far away. Too far away to be real. Julia buried her head in the pillow and reached out her hand to touch the person who had called her name, but she couldn’t quite reach. The distance had grown between them by what felt like miles. She squinted, trying to see the face that was only a blur. It was when she felt the cold hands on her shoulders, gently shaking them, that she realized the voice was no dream.
‘You have to get up now, Julia.’
She strug gled to open her eyes, which felt like they had lead plates on them. It seemed like she’d just fallen asleep, maybe only a few minutes ago. The room was as cold as an icebox and she remembered the news said it might snow. Outside the window, a bright moon lit the stripped, bare branches of an elm, which was still sprinkled with a thin, crusty layer of last week’s snowfall. What time was it? Tomorrow was Sunday, right? She didn’t have to be home till ten. She blinked again and sat up, rubbing her eyes. She looked over at her best friend, Carly, who was already awake and sitting up in the other twin bed across the room, chewing on a strand of her brown hair. Carly stared at her, then looked away. She looked strange. Scared, maybe.
Mrs Hogan, Carly’s mom, was the one shaking her shoulders. Standing over Julia in her nightgown and robe, she wore the same weird look on her face as her daughter. She clutched her pink velour robe by the bosom.
‘What’s the matter?’Julia asked. ‘Is everything okay?’
Mrs Hogan hesitated for a moment and looked around the room while searching for the right words. ‘There are detectives here, honey. Downstairs. Two of them. They want to speak with you.’ She spoke quietly, her voice just above a hushed whisper, as though she feared waking up the rest of the house.
‘Detectives?’ Julia asked, reaching for the jeans and sweatshirt that Mrs Hogan held out in front of her. She shook her head, letting the word roll around her brain like a pinball Waiting for it to hit a memory or something and light it up. Her heart started to race and a lump formed in her throat. She automatically felt guilty, even though she knew she hadn’t done anything. She turned to her best friend again. Cary still had that awful look on her face, so Julia was the one who looked away this time. Her eyes trolled the bedroom while she pulled on her jeans. Cary had the coolest room. It was painted a freaky purple that was almost blue. Her mom had let her pick out the color and paint it herself. U 2 posters hung on every wall and neon yellow and pink butterfly mobiles dangled from the ceiling. And her mom let her have a phone in her room, too. Julia had sometimes been just a little envious of Carly – of her cool room and her cool clothes and her cool mom – but never more so than at this very moment. Right now she just wanted to be Carly – the one who wasn’t in trouble – and she really wanted everyone to stop looking at her in that strange, scared, pathetic way.
She pulled her sweatshirt on over her pajama top and slid her feet into her sneakers. ‘What do they want?’ she finally asked, tying her sneakers. I didn’t do anything, Mrs H. I swear.’
Mrs Hogan suddenly began to cry. ‘It’s not you, Julia. It’s nothing you’ve—’ She stopped herself and reached over and hug ged Julia tight. Then she wiped her cheeks with her hands and folded up the sleeping bag on the bed, tying it closed. She took a deep breath and handed the bag to her. ‘Something has happened, honey. You have to go now. You have to go home.’
Julia opened her eyes with a sudden start and looked helplessly around the dark, still living room, her heart beating fast.
In the kitchen, the kettle had begun to shriek.