Mom and I have lunch in the hospital cafeteria. She leaves me by a table where I can see her and goes to get the food. I watch her pull out her purse to pay, and she has a puzzled expression. She searches her bag.
“I must be going mad,” she tells me, plunking down a tray. “I’m sure I had twenty dollars in my purse. Lucky they take credit cards.”
I think about Olivia. Has she been taking money again?
Mom sits down next to me. “That sniff controller’s amazing, isn’t it?” she says as she spoons soup into my mouth. I am conscious of people watching, but I don’t care. I wish I could tell them—all of them. I can communicate now. I can talk!
Mom phones Dad and tells him all about it. She sounds so excited. Then she listens while Dad speaks. I wish I could hear what he’s saying.
* * *
He greets me warmly when we get home. “Such wonderful news, Jemma. You’ll be bossing us around and telling us what’s what soon!”
I wish!
“All okay here?” Mom asks as she pushes me into the kitchen. Dad follows.
“Yes. Dan phoned,” Dad tells her.
“Oh?” says Mom.
Dan—what did he want?
“Yes, he just wanted to know if we’d had any news about Sarah,” says Dad. “He’s very worried, like we all are.”
“It must be hard for him all alone,” says Mom. “At least we have each other for support.”
I cringe inside as she says this. The only thing he’s very worried about is getting caught.
“Yes, I think he sees himself as a family guy. He said he was eager to settle down with Sarah, start a family with her,” says Dad. “He asked how the kids are doing, and I told him the good news about Jemma. He sends his congratulations. He was very interested in how it works. He said to tell you, Jemma, that he’d love to come and have a talk with you sometime.”
“It’s nice to have something positive happening,” says Mom, sighing.
Panic surges through me as I take in what Dad said. He has told Dan that I can communicate! Dan is never going to let me tell his secret. No wonder he’s very interested. His message to me was a threat, I know it. I feel like I was at the top of a hill, happily looking at the wonderful view, but someone has left the brake off my wheelchair and now I’m rolling down, down, faster and faster, heading straight toward a busy street. It doesn’t sound like Dad told him I might have to wait two weeks. Dan won’t take the risk. He won’t wait. He’ll have to kill me now, won’t he?
I’m scared. I will for someone to stay with me at all times, but later I find myself alone in the living room watching TV. Finn and Olivia are upstairs. Mom is cleaning the table from dinner. I’m not sure where Dad is.
I don’t feel safe on my own. I can’t stop thinking about Dan. I am alert to every little sound, though it’s not as if I can do anything. I thought this sniff controller was going to change my life. I thought I had a future ahead of me, that I was going to have the chance to get to know my sister. I was stupid. The sniff controller is amazing, but Dan can’t let me use it, can he?
If only I’d told Mom about Dan while I was trying it. Then someone could have done something, and I wouldn’t be so frightened now. I missed my chance. I know he’s going to come. I can feel it.
I try to watch the game show on TV. I force myself to concentrate, but I don’t know any of the answers. Ten, maybe fifteen minutes pass. Maybe he won’t come yet. Maybe he’ll wait until I’m in bed.
Then I hear a car pull up somewhere outside, a car door slam. Is that him? Could it be? I wait, look at the TV. He’ll have Sarah’s key—he could slip in, so quietly. A minute or two passes. There is a sound behind me. The living-room door clicks shut. That door should be open. I hear another sound. Someone took a breath. I can’t see toward the door, only the TV, but I know. Someone is here, in this room, standing behind my wheelchair.
My heart beats faster. I find myself sniffing, picturing the letter board and spelling HELP as if a miraculous imaginary sniff controller might respond by blurting out, “HELP! HELP!”
Nothing’s happening, but I can definitely hear breathing—very close behind me. What is he waiting for? Come around in front of me. Let me see you.
He’s moving—as if he’s heard me. I want Mom!
I want Mom! I am as helpless as a baby.
A knife glints in my face.