I ran and then walked for miles. I was afraid to get on the Tube. I couldn’t handle the idea of being in such a well-lit place surrounded by crowds of people. For now, I preferred the shadows. I ducked into a doorway and pulled off my fleece. I shivered in my T-shirt in the cool summer night air, but on the off chance the police were looking for someone with a dark jacket, I didn’t want to wear it. I shoved it into my bag and kept walking.
For a while I didn’t know where I was. One street led to another. Stores, banks, and pubs lined the roads. I would start to think about what had happened and then my brain would go completely blank as if it had shorted out from too much information. The loud buzzing in my ears that had started at the house was still a nonstop background noise.
A group of drunk people stumbled out of a cab in front of me. A guy in a Manchester United jersey swayed in place, staring at me, and then started laughing. “You talking to yourself, crazy girl? Having yourself a nice conversation?”
I jerked back. I’d been mumbling to myself. How long have I been doing that? What the hell was I saying? I shook my head and crossed the empty street.
“Nothing wrong with being crazy,” the guy called out after me. “All the best people are!”
I turned down another street. It looked like every other one I’d been on. My legs were heavy and I fought the urge to start running again. It seemed by now I should have walked the entire length of London. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was hopelessly lost, not just in the city, but altogether, as if I’d fallen through a portal that had taken me to an alternate reality, one that was anything but Wonderland.
A police car passed me, then slowed. When it reached the end of the block, it turned around and came back. Shit. I glanced to either side, trying to figure out if the car could follow me if I ran.
The window rolled down. “Everything okay?” The officer smiled.
I nodded. “Mm-hmm.”
The car kept pace with me as I walked. “It’s awfully late to be out walking on your own.”
“Broke up with my boyfriend. Just wanted to get some air.”
“Do you need a ride?”
I wanted to scream for him to get the hell away from me, but that wasn’t going to make this situation go well. “Nope. I’m fine.” There was no way I was admitting I was lost.
The cop stared at me. I could feel him taking in my description, mentally memorizing me. “All right then, you take care.”
I smiled and raised my hand as he pulled away. I managed to hold myself together until he turned the corner and then my entire body broke into tremors. I ached to be home. Not at Metford, but home home. In my own room, my own bed. The pink afghan my grandmother had crocheted pulled up around me. My favorite books on the shelf above my desk, and the faint outlines on the ceiling of where glow-in-the-dark star stickers used to be. I peered up into the sky. Our forebears navigated by stars, after all. But it was too bright in the city to spot a single one.
Then the street opened into a large green space. I followed the metal fence that ran along the sidewalk until I saw the sign. HYDE PARK. I grabbed the wrought-iron gate, practically hugging it in relief. It was okay—I knew where I was now. I could walk back to Metford from here. I wasn’t lost anymore. I glanced down at my phone. It was almost two in the morning.
The rushing in my ears increased. How the hell had I lost so much time? I was left with a bigger question. I’d been so exhausted, walking around in a fog. What did I not remember?
Down the block was the hum and swish of a street sweeper as it grew closer, like a giant swaying elephant lumbering along. A couple of guys in orange safety vests kept pace with the truck. They unlocked the trash cans on either side of the street and then hefted bags of garbage into the back of the truck. I glanced up and down until I saw the closest can and jogged over. I reached into my bag and, using my body as a shield from any security cameras, pulled out the knife, wiping it off before shoving it deep under a layer of fast-food cups and trash. Now at least if the cop came back, the knife wouldn’t be on my person.
I walked away but stayed close by until I saw the can get picked up. I watched it carefully to make sure nothing fell out. The trash was tossed in with everything else. No one was going to find that knife. I felt a bit better, but I still didn’t know what to do next. My brain was spinning, jerking from one thought to another like an out-of-control carnival ride. I couldn’t focus. Nothing made sense, but as soon as I tried to break down the problem, my brain would fly off in another direction. I was tired and shaking. I had to sleep before I collapsed. I stumbled back to Metford.
I couldn’t run the risk of meeting up with the security guard. Thankfully, the window to the laundry room was still unlatched. I lay down on the cold cement and swung my legs in, dropping down to the table with a thunk. It was completely dark inside, and for the first time in hours I felt safe.
I couldn’t go back to my room. I suspected Tasha would be waiting for me. Even if she wasn’t, the idea of climbing the stairs seemed impossible. I couldn’t escape the feeling that I was missing something, that some uncomfortable truth was hiding in the back of my brain. Someone’s laundry had been dumped on top of the table, so I wadded it up to make a pillow and lay down. All I wanted to do was sleep and forget any of this had happened. I closed my eyes and was gone.
Sounds in the hall woke me up with a start. I sat up, instantly awake with my heart racing. I held my bag clutched to my chest, but whoever it was walked past the laundry room without coming in.
I turned on my phone. I had turned it to airplane mode at some point the night before. I blinked when I saw the time. It was still early, just before seven. My notifications went ballistic, tons of missed calls and texts. Most were from Tasha, but the real shocker was one that came through from Alex.
You okay? Your parents called, said you’re AWOL. Text me.
I read it over and over as if there might have been a secret message contained within. The text showed he cared, right? He was worried. There were no protestations of love, or regret that things had ended the way they had, but he hadn’t had to send a message at all.
Unless my parents had made him.
They’d called. Seven messages.
*beep* Kim, it’s your mother. Please give me a call.
*beep* I don’t care what time it is there—please call as soon as you get this message.
*beep* We trusted you to behave on this trip. If you don’t call back, you can consider yourself grounded the instant you get home.
*beep* Honey, I’m worried about you. Please call.
*beep* Kimberly, Tasha is considering calling the police. I know you don’t want that, so you need to call.
*beep* Kim, I’m not mad. Forget what I said about being grounded. I just want to know you’re okay.
*beep* Kimber-bear? This is your dad. Give us a call, sweetie. You can come home tomorrow and then we can figure out together what’s going on.
I stared down at the phone. My dad had called. Shit must be serious. He usually left all these parenting things up to my mom, who, if not an expert, played one online. She’d get plenty of blog posts out of this one. What to Do When Your Daughter Cracks Up. Or Mental Health Problems: It’s Not All in Her Head.
My stomach rumbled. I was hungry. It seemed that with everything going on, my appetite should have shut down, but it was still there, reminding me that at least the biological part of my life was continuing as normal. I mentally did the math. It was unlikely anyone in our group would be in the cafeteria this early.
I crept up the stairs. The lobby was empty. The kitchen staff had just opened the doors, so I ducked in, grabbing an apple, a couple slices of bread, and an individual packet of peanut butter before slipping back out.
“Hey, Kim!” I froze, the apple in my mouth. I turned around slowly. One of the desk clerks stood there smiling. “You know Tasha’s looking for you.”
I nodded. “Oh, yeah. I found her,” I lied.
“You got some mail.” She leaned over the desk, waving a white envelope in my direction like a surrender flag.
Bile rushed up my throat. I forced myself to reach for the envelope. As soon as I touched it, I relaxed. The paper wasn’t like what Nicki had sent before, not thick or fancy; it was a plain business envelope from an office supply store. It was pretty battered and adorned with Emily’s handwriting across the front, along with the goofy cartoon characters she always scribbled on things.
“Thanks. I better go put my stuff in the dryer.” I paused as if waiting for the clerk to call me on my lie, but she’d already started reading her book. I took my haul back down to the laundry room and plopped myself back onto the table. I spread a thick layer of peanut butter on the cold bread and inhaled it in three bites. Once the demon in my stomach was slightly mollified, I opened the letter from Emily.
Her light tone threw me until I checked the postmark. She’d sent it the day that Connor had died. She’d had no idea what had happened when she’d written it. It had passed the bad news somewhere over the Atlantic. I stroked the paper. I wished I could go back in time with the letter—a time before all of this had happened. Where her discussion of getting sick of eating hot dogs, how she had to pull a kid out of the water who went down during swim class, and how she’d kissed one of the other counselors behind the canoe shed seemed like idealized perfection. A tear trickled down my face as I read the final lines.
Anyhoo, I have to go if I’m going to get this out in today’s mail. I can’t wait to see you in a few weeks and hear all the deets of your trip. I know you didn’t want to go—but I hope it’s going well. Everything happens for a reason. Maybe you’ve met a prince! You don’t need a science award—you’re one of the smartest people I know. Here’s to doing great things.
Love, Em
I didn’t feel like the smartest person. Nicki had been one step ahead of me every step of the way. I chewed on the apple and started to break down the problem. I had to face what I’d been running from all night.
Was it possible that Nicki was just a figment of my imagination?
I’d blown the relationship with Connor into more than it had been, but this was a totally different level of delusion.
If Nicki had never even existed, that was seriously messed up. That made me messed up. She seemed real to me—not like a voice in my head, but three-dimensional. As real as anyone else. Imagining a relationship is one thing; imagining an entire person is something else entirely. But it could be done. Didn’t people who had multiple personality disorder black out and then operate as someone else? Had I been wandering around thinking I was Nicki? The realization of all the missing time I’d had—time I couldn’t account for—boiled over in my mind.
I mentally went through every encounter I’d ever had with Nicki and tried to pinpoint any occasion where she’d interacted with other people. I was a hundred percent certain she had been there at the duty-free store. She was the one who’d tripped on the bags. She argued with the clerk about if she’d have to pay for the perfume. That wasn’t all in my head. I repeated that thought over and over, finding it comforting.
But what about since the airport?
Talking to her on the plane had been a bit surreal. There had been a lot of vodka. Was it possible I drank it by myself and just pretended she was there? Taken a girl I’d hung out with for a couple of hours and then spun her into a friend? I’d convinced myself Connor really liked me. It was possible I had made up a friend so I wouldn’t feel so alone.
There had been so many times on this trip where I’d been distracted. I’d chalked it up to stress and lack of sleep, but it might have been more than that. I quickly went through every meeting Nicki and I had had since I’d been in England and came up blank.
Wait! Yes! My fist jammed into the air. Alex had met her. She’d talked to us at the bar after we’d gone on the Eye. Except she hadn’t called herself Nicki that night, but Erin. Alex seemed certain she was another student living at Metford. I pinched the bridge of my nose. What if there was an Erin here and I’d superimposed my idea of Nicki onto her? How would I know if Alex had met the real Nicki or simply someone who looked a bit like her in my mind? She hadn’t said anything about Connor in front of him.
But if Nicki wasn’t real, then what had happened to Connor?
I closed my eyes, trying to put myself back onto the Tube platform. I evoked the smells of metal, mildew, and old coffee that filled the space. The stale breeze coming through the tunnel like a ghost. It had been so crowded. With the canceled train it had been a sea of people all packed together. Connor had been near me.
Was it possible I had pushed him? He’d threatened to tell Alex about our history. I squeezed my eyes together even harder, as if I could teleport through time. Maybe. I had hated him. Perhaps it had been an instinct, a momentary chance to lash out, and then the instant it was over, my brain fabricated Nicki to cover what I’d done.
My imaginary friend had killed my imaginary boyfriend. A hysterical giggle escaped from me and I slapped my hand over my mouth. I had to keep it together. I had to stay logical. Approach this like a scientist.
I sucked in a deep breath, trying to clear my head. If Nicki was real, why would she tell me she wanted me to kill her mom if it wasn’t really her mom? That didn’t make any sense at all. My eyes skimmed over Em’s letter. Everything happens for a reason. Action, reaction. Having me kill a stranger didn’t make sense, which seemed to lean toward Nicki being all in my head, perhaps a way to deal with the guilt of what I had done to Connor.
An idea struck me. How had I known the door would be unlocked and the light would be out? I had a vivid imagination, but I wasn’t psychic. That was a point for Nicki being real, unless . . . Oh god. What if I had gone door to door trying knobs, looking for a place that was unlocked, and then forgotten I’d even done it? What if, during the times everything had seemed fuzzy because I was overtired, I’d been wandering the city, breaking into people’s homes until I found one that fit the delusion my brain had built?
Shit, I really should have taken that psychology elective in junior year. I’d always made fun of psychology and sociology as pseudosciences. Too wishy-washy, no right or wrong answers. Now I’d kill to know a bit more about how the mind worked.
Kill to know. Another giggle burbled up from my chest. That was me. Killer. I bit hard on my lip and the coppery taste of blood was in my mouth. I paced back and forth in the tiny space of the laundry room.
I stopped short. What about what had happened to Alex? If Nicki wasn’t real, then how had I ended up with a jar of shrimp powder in my room? If I was blacking out, then I would have to be the one who had taken his EpiPen and essentially poisoned him. On purpose.
I wouldn’t have done that to Alex. I could accept that it might have been possible that I’d blocked out what I’d done to Connor, and that I’d even gone door to door looking for a place to break in and then blocked that out too, but I loved Alex. I wouldn’t have hurt him. Even if I had some kind of multiple personality, I couldn’t fathom that any part of me would have done that. I might have been messed up, but that was going too far. It meant I was willing to hurt someone I cared about to keep the delusion going.
But if Nicki was real, why would she want me to kill some random stranger?
My phone buzzed. Another text from Tasha.
Text or call me NOW.
I imagined she’d already called the police to report me missing. I glanced down at the phone in my hand. Could they track me? I’d had it on airplane mode most of the night before, but now that I’d turned it on, was it pinging off cell towers, narrowing down the search grid? Detective Sharma could be hunched over a computer right now, making a note as to my location.
I didn’t want to be caught, but it was becoming clear I needed help. I could potentially outrun the cops, my parents, Tasha, and even Alex—but there was no running away from reality. Connor was dead and Alex had almost died. I might be a danger to other people.
Unless Nicki was real.
Only one way to find out and I had to know. I opened Instagram and took a quick picture of my shoes. Running out of time. Meet me where we met last. Now. I then cross-posted the message on every social media account I had. It wouldn’t mean anything to anyone else, but Nicki would remember the conversation we’d had at the Peter Pan statue.
I clicked off my phone. I needed to get the SIM card out. That was how the phone connected to the cell towers. With that gone, the phone couldn’t be used to track me. I searched around the room for something the right size. I found a pencil, but the tip was just a smidge too big to fit into the slot. The lead broke the second time I tried it, and I chucked the pencil down onto the floor, frustrated. Then I saw something buried in a pile of dust and lint at the baseboard: a paper clip.
I bent the end of the paper clip and said a quick prayer that it would work. It slid into the slot and the hinge opened, popping the tiny plastic SIM card into my hand.
I felt strangely calm. What I had to do was clear. I needed to confirm Nicki was real. If she wasn’t, and I was responsible for everything that had happened, then I’d turn myself in. Get help. Spend the rest of my life trying to make up for my actions in some way. But if Nicki had done all this, then I needed to be one step ahead of her for a change.
I glanced down at Em’s letter. I had met a prince, and while I was still sure I’d done the right thing by breaking up with him to make sure he was safe, that didn’t mean I didn’t regret it. I texted him back quickly.
I’m really sorry. You’ve been my Samwise and I’ve been Frodo off on my own mission. I’m not okay yet, but I will be.
The message wouldn’t be sent until I popped the SIM card back in, but I still felt better for having written it. It was time to get going. I jumped back onto the table and peered through the narrow window to make sure the courtyard was empty. It was raining. Not drizzling, either—it was a full-fledged downpour. I tried to see the positive. People would be less inclined to hang out in a park.
I hefted myself up, chucked my bag outside, and started to crawl back through the window. Then the door to the laundry room swung open. I went completely rigid.
“Kim?” Sophie stood there. “The front desk clerk said she saw you.” She looked confused, which, given that I was half hanging out a window, wasn’t an unreasonable reaction.
Shit. It was bad that anyone had seen me, but Sophie especially would want to do the right thing. It was her nature. She’d tell Tasha where I was, not because Sophie wanted to get me in trouble, but because she’d think she was helping. I scrambled the rest of the way out, letting the window bang shut. I scooped up my bag and hustled for the street. I needed to disappear. I heard the window being pushed back open.
“Kim! Come back!”
I didn’t even bother to turn around. I had a date with someone more important.
Unless she was a figment of my imagination.