SHE WAS CAREFUL to hide it, but over the next week, she could feel the pressure building. Even sleep wasn’t working as a cure, because the nightmares were back, worse than ever. Most of them were about the guy—or even just his grin, like some deranged Cheshire Cat—but falling, seeing people she knew get killed, and being trapped in places were regular themes, too.
Her appetite was pretty much gone and every day, the therapy seemed harder and harder. She tried to keep a constant “don’t worry, I’m fine” smile pasted on, but knew she wasn’t really fooling people. And she still wasn’t taking phone calls. From anyone.
Preston was around a lot, but she avoided being alone with him, because she knew he could—would—make her talk. Upset her. Whenever Dr. Brooks came in, he would look very serious and worried, but he didn’t push her. Her family was being quiet and careful, too. Thank God.
It was very late—she wasn’t sure what night it was—when she had the worst nightmare so far. She was chained to the iron bed frame, the room smaller and darker than she remembered, and he was coming at her—more crazed than he had been with the gun that time—apparently planning to kill her with his bare hands. He was breathing hard, like an animal, and when she saw his eyes, she screamed, because they weren’t eyes, they were fire. Not even fire—more like red light. Burning red light. She screamed again, as he started laughing, his hands around her throat.
“Who did you think I was?” he asked.
“Y-you don’t exist,” she said, some awake, sane part of her
brain aware that this wasn’t happening, that it couldn’t be—“This isn’t real.”
“I do exist,” he said, and as she watched his eyes, his face reddened and lengthened, turning into the honest-to-God devil, his laugh more and more high-pitched.
“You’ll never get away from me,” he said, wrapping the rope around her neck. “You’ll be with me forever.”
She tried to get free, but the rope was already too tight, cutting off her air.
He laughed some more, laughed wildly. “You know who I am? Do you? Do you know who I am? That’s who I am!”
She screamed again, was still screaming when she realized that the room was much brighter. That she was in her room, and her parents were there, holding her.
“It’s all right, Meg,” her mother was saying. “Wake up, Meg, it’s all right.”
Maybe it wasn’t her room, maybe it was a trick, maybe—
“Wake up, Meg,” her mother said gently.
She looked at her parents, at her room, at Steven standing near the door, his eyes huge. Normal eyes. She looked at her parents, who also had normal eyes. Normal eyes. She tried to get her breath, her heart pounding so hard that the force seemed strong enough to knock her off the bed.
“I-I think I’m having a heart attack,” she gasped.
“Shhh—” her mother was holding her close—“you’re all right. It was just a dream.”
Jesus, didn’t her mother understand how much danger they were in? That they were going to get killed? “He’s coming to get me!” Meg said. “He can get in anywhere!”
“You’re safe,” her father said. “I promise.”
Meg shook her head. “You don’t know him!”
“I promise,” her father said.
She trusted her father. Her father never lied to her. She looked at him, wondering with a sudden terrified quiver if his eyes were going to change, if all of them were going to turn into—“Are you sure?” she asked.
“I’m sure,” he said.
She let herself relax a little, the dream beginning to fade. “You’re sure?”
He nodded, and she sank down into the pillow, pulling in slow, deep breaths. They were all looking at her with such concern that she managed a small laugh.
“You’re not going to believe this,” she said, “but I think I just had an evangelical dream.”
“A what?” her mother asked, as her father said, “I don’t understand.” Steven didn’t say anything.
Meg just shook her head, too spent to try and explain.
“Would you like—” her mother started.
“Yeah,” Meg said, gesturing weakly towards the television. “Could you put on The Sound of Music?”
“Of course,” her mother said. “Whatever you want.”
“Good,” Meg said, watching her father search through the pile of movies on her desk, as she tried to stop trembling. “Because I think I need to see some nuns.”
HER PARENTS stayed up with her for a long time. They all sat there as the movie played, not talking much, the memory of the dream slowly disappearing as Meg stared at the screen. By the time Maria was singing “My Favorite Things,” she was calm enough to let her eyes close.
“Feel better?” her father asked.
Meg grinned sheepishly. “Yeah.”
“Good,” he said, and clicked the television off.
It was quiet for a minute, her parents looking almost as exhausted as she felt.
“How would you feel about going home to Chestnut Hill for a while?” her mother asked. “You could see your old friends, and—”
Oh, yeah, like they’d be safe there. At least the White House was a god-damn fortress. Meg shook her head. “It was only a bad dream. I’m going to be fine.”
Her mother nodded. “I know. We just thought you might feel better if—”
“I don’t want to go anywhere,” Meg said. “I’m not going to ruin everything.”
Her father patted her good hand. “Your mother and I just want to make things easier for you. We thought going home for a while might—”
“I’m trying to get better,” Meg said defensively. “I can’t help—”
“We want to make it easier,” her father said. “That’s all.”
They didn’t seem to get that things weren’t ever going to be easy again. Meg sighed. “I don’t want everything messed up because of me. I don’t want to go home, and—I mean, we live here now. I just—I want things to be normal. Anything else means they got what they wanted, you know? That they—I don’t know—changed the order of things.”
Her parents nodded.
“Besides,” Meg said. “If we’re not safe here, we’re not going to be safe anywhere else. I mean, you know we’re not.”
They nodded.
“I want things to be normal.” She looked at her mother. “You, especially. Work, I mean.”
Her mother frowned, but then nodded again.
“I just—I don’t know.” Except that talking was too hard. She wiped her sleeve across her eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m really tired.”
Her mother started rearranging her pillows, and fixing her quilt, while her father turned the lamp off.
“Can you make sure the bathroom light stays on?” Meg asked. “So I can sleep?”
Her father nodded, flipping on the switch and leaving the door ajar about a foot.
“Thank you,” she said, and closed her eyes.
SHE DID HER best to feel better. To eat normal meals. To smile. To function. She had to go back to the hospital that week—in a helicopter this time—to have a bunch of MRIs and another arteriogram and other things done, and they sent her home with a tall metal crutch, which her physical therapists would be teaching her how to use. The doctors still seemed to be divided about whether “walking unaided” was even a remote possibility, and she found it demoralizing when a couple of them debated the dim prospect right in front of her. Well, okay, they were down the hall, but she could hear the entire depressing conversation.
She was also taken to a dentist, who did the preliminary work for the implants they were going to try and put in to replace her teeth on the left side, although if that didn’t work, she was going to be stuck with a permanent bridge. Either way, it sucked. The whole trip was very grueling—and scary—and she resorted to the sunglasses-on/slight-friendly-wave strategy when she and her father finally got back to the White House that evening.
“Long day,” he said, once she was in her room, with a small dinner tray that she was too worn out to eat.
And then some. Meg nodded. Most of the time that they had been outside, transferring to and from the helicopter, she had been so afraid that she had had to keep her eyes closed behind the sunglasses, her good hand clamped tightly around the arm of the wheelchair.
“Anything else you want?” her father asked.
Mostly, she just wanted this day to be over. Meg shook her head, and very slowly picked up her fork.
ALTHOUGH SHE WAS utterly exhausted from having Edith teach her how to try and use the crutch, she went up to the solarium the
next afternoon for her “change of scene.” The Red Sox were playing the national game of the week, and since they won, handily, Steven was very cheerful.
“You want some chow?” he asked, happily watching the recap of the game—a solid shut-out victory.
Meg shook her head. “No, thanks. I mean, go ahead.”
“Should I like—” he looked at her wheelchair—“take you downstairs?”
“No, I’m too tired,” she said. “I’m just going to hang out here for a while.” Once the game had seemed to be pretty well in hand—or, at any rate, with the closer on his way in from the bullpen, her father had taken Kirby, and Neal, out for a walk on the lawn. Her mother was in a meeting or something.
“Well—okay. You can like, call—” he motioned towards the phone—“if you, you know, want anything or anything.”
“And you think I talk excellent?” she said.
He laughed, did a pretend pitcher’s warm-up toss at her, then headed for the door.
When he was gone, the silence made her nervous, and she picked up the remote control, turning channels until she found another baseball game. This one was National League and therefore, inherently not as interesting, but she left it on, anyway.
Slouching down to watch, she felt the usual wave of depression starting. She was never going to feel better, or be able to do anything normal. Weeks were passing, and she still—hearing someone at the door, she prepared a game little “don’t worry about me” smile, then looked up to see Beth. A somewhat tentative Beth, holding a small blue gift box.
No wonder her parents had kind of been making themselves scarce all afternoon.
Feeling even more tired, she sighed. “They went behind my back, didn’t they?”
Beth grinned and came into the room, wearing jeans, pink
Chuck Taylors, and a very pink bowling shirt. “Is that anything like ‘Hello, how nice to see you, what a pretty outfit!’”
God, she was tired. “I told you I didn’t feel well enough to see people,” Meg said.
Beth shrugged, gave her a shy hug, then sat down in an easy chair. “Hey, the President calls and tells you to do something, you do it.”
“Beth to the Rescue,” Meg said grimly.
“There’s a hell of a chapter title.” Beth leaned across the coffee table to hand her the present. “Here.”
“Thank you.” Meg turned the box over in her hand, but didn’t open it. “She shouldn’t have gone behind my back like that.”
“Who knows,” Beth said, “maybe she was trying to help you.”
“Maybe.” Then, Meg frowned at her. “You don’t wear a hat to come see me, even?”
Beth looked grave. “It’s with all of my luggage, of course.”
“What, are you moving in?” Meg asked.
“Yes,” Beth said. “I’m taking over the Department of Housing and Urban Development.”
Well, stranger things had happened.
“Now, you have to ask me something nice,” Beth said.
Meg sighed, trying to think. “How was your flight?”
“Just the swellest,” Beth said cheerfully. “How are you?”
Meg shrugged.
“If you don’t mind my saying so, you don’t look so good,” Beth said.
Meg frowned at her again. “I mind your saying so.”
“Are you eating?” Beth asked.
Oh, yeah, this was just what she needed.
“Do you ever see sunshine?” Beth asked.
“I got to go to the hospital the other day.” Meg put the present down, unopened. “Look, just so I’ll know. What did my mother say to you?”
“That you maybe needed some cheering up.” Beth grinned. “Obviously, she was mistaken.”
“Yeah.” She didn’t—really—want to be rude, so she tried to smile back. “You, uh, you want anything to eat, or drink? I can call downstairs.”
“No, thanks.” Beth looked at her. “If you don’t want me here, just say so.”
Like it wasn’t already obvious? “It’s not that,” Meg said. Well, okay, it was that. “I just—anyway. How’s your family?”
Beth shrugged. “Fine. How’s yours?”
“You should know—you talk to them all the time,” Meg said, before she could stop herself.
“Just looking for your perspective,” Beth said, very cheerful.
Meg stared at her. “You mean, you do talk to them all the time?”
Beth laughed. “Jesus, Meg. Relax, why don’t you?”
No, she wasn’t going to get off that easily. “How often have you talked to them?” Meg asked.
“Twice, Lieutenant,” Beth said. “Your father called from the hospital to let me know you were all right, and your mother called me yesterday.” She paused. “You want transcripts?”
“Do you talk to Josh, too?” Meg asked. “And Preston?”
“Yeah, it’s kind of a nightmare, having people care about you.” Beth indicated the television. “Big Padres fan now?”
“It’s something to do,” Meg said.
Beth looked at her for a minute. “If you really don’t want me here, the shuttle leaves every hour.”
The truth was, she had no idea what she wanted anymore. “I’m not much fun to be around,” Meg said.
Beth shrugged. “Were you ever?”
To her horror, Meg felt her eyes filling with tears, and had to look away.
“I’m sorry,” Beth said quickly. “I was just kidding.”
Meg nodded, mortified to feel the tears start coming out.
“Oh, Jesus, I’m sorry.” Beth moved over to sit next to her on the couch. “Meg, I really—” She touched her shoulder hesitantly. “I thought if I—I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“I’m terminally upset,” Meg said.
Beth nodded, leaving her hand on Meg’s shoulder.
“So, I feel better being alone,” Meg said. “Okay?”
“Can I hang out and be upset with you?” Beth asked.
“Oh, yeah, sounds fun,” Meg said.
“This—” Beth pointed to herself—“is a girl who knows how to have fun.”
Meg had to grin. “Right.”
They looked at each other.
“So, what do you want to do?” Beth asked.
“I want to watch the game,” Meg said.
Beth leaned back, swinging her feet onto the coffee table. “Then, let’s watch the game.”