I stay in bed until nighttime, then wander the house in the dark. For hours, I stare out the living room window at the desolate street, hoping to see Audrey’s ghost there, waving at me. I retreat into my sour, stale room before anyone wakes up in the morning. I listen to showers running. To breakfast being made. My phone buzzes so many times that I turn it off. Mason brings more food; the hunger strike continues.
>twenty-nine
In the middle of the next night, something awakens me. I look at the clock: It’s 2:38 AM. Unsure about what pulled me from sleep, I listen to the sounds of the darkness. A tree brushes against the glass outside my window; car tires squeal in the distance. I listen for Mason’s snores before I remember he’s not home.
I feel alone, but I’m not afraid. I relax and listen to the world until the creaks of the house and the barks of the dog next door blend into the background and I manage to fall back to sleep.
When I wake again, my brain is muddy. It’s daytime, but the world is too still. The sun is on the wrong side of the house. But also, there’s something else.
Somehow, in the core of me, I know.
I reach for the phone next to me. I text Matt to confirm.
It happened in the middle of the night.
Audrey is dead.
thirty
Mason’s on his way back from Seattle, again, but for now I’m by myself. Honestly, I feel like I have been this whole time. If James checked up on me, he did it invisibly. Guess that makes him good at his job.
I brush my teeth, think about the fact that Audrey is dead, and throw up. Then I brush my teeth again. I stare at myself in the mirror for a long while, not really seeing. I start to feel trapped in my own skin, like I need to move or I’ll go crazy. I rush out of the house, not knowing where I’m going. I walk a few blocks, then text Matt.
Daisy: Where are you?
Matt: Home.
Daisy: I’m coming over.
No answer.
Maybe I called a cab; maybe it just showed up. I don’t really remember. I give the driver the McKeans’ address and remind myself to breathe the whole way there. I look down at my lap and realize that I’m wearing a pair of Audrey’s jeans. I fold forward and sob silently for the duration of the ride. Lucky for him, the taxi driver doesn’t look at me or ask whether I’m all right.
The Mini sits in front of the McKeans’ house, smiling and waiting to beep beep around town with Audrey at the wheel. I want to kick the car or drag my key through the paint: It’s too happy.
Matt answers my knock but says nothing. He opens the door wider so I can come in, and I do, even though I’m pretty sure he doesn’t really want me to. I follow him to his bedroom, not caring who’s home or who minds.
“I don’t know why you’re here,” he says when we both sit down on his rumpled bed. This is the first time I’ve ever been in his room.
“I didn’t want to be alone,” I say honestly. I have no filter anymore. “And I wanted to know what happened. Did you do it?”
“Yes.” He’s looking across the room with flat, emotionless eyes.
“And?”
“And nothing,” he says. “I injected it into her IV less than five minutes after they called time of death.”
“And?” I ask again, as gently as I can. Matt’s head snaps in my direction so quickly that it makes me jump.
“And what, Daisy?” he hisses. “What the hell do you think? Does it look like Audrey’s sitting next to me right now?”
His hand is gripping the bedspread like he’s afraid he’ll fall off.
“I’m sorry I came,” I say, standing. “And I’m sorry it didn’t work.”
“I’m sure you are,” Matt mutters. My blood boils and all I want to do is scream at him. Tell him that I loved his sister, that I love him. Shake him and say maybe he did it wrong. Wrap my arms around him and lie on his bed and cry with him.
Instead, I leave.