Dying to Forget (3 page)

I spring upright when Dad throws my door open and I glare at him. “Can't you knock?"

He tosses the phone onto my mattress before walking away. “She wants to talk to you.”

I pick the phone up and hold it limply to my ear. “Yeah?”

“Piper. Is it true, are you…hurting yourself again?” My Mom asks with a deep sigh as if I’m boring her. Typical.

“I’m fine Mom.”

“That’s not what your dad is saying,” she snaps, and then softens her tone a bit. “Honey, I wish you could tell us what’s going on. Is this about Bree?”

I stiffen when I hear her name. “No. I’m fine Mom.”

There’s a pause and then a long sigh on the other side of the phone. “Okay, let me talk to your father.”

I get up and carry the receiver into the living room where Dad is sitting, sulking on the couch in front of the TV, where he is most evenings.

“She wants to talk to you.”

After tossing the phone into his lap, I return to the familiar solitary confinement of my room. I climb under the comforter with my clothes on and pull the sheets up over my head. I just want to go back to sleep.

***

When I open my eyes, the sun is bright behind my orange curtains and I groan in protest. I roll away from the window and catch a glimpse of myself in the full length mirror that hangs from the inside of my bedroom door. My eyes look a greenish-brown today and my hair hangs around my face limply. It's an unfamiliar and desolate face staring back at me. I pucker my pale lips at my reflection, hoping the pout will bring some color back to my mouth but when that doesn’t work I bite down on them until they turn a rosy red color.
Better.

I hear my cell ping with a text message alert so I roll over onto my stomach to reach for the phone. I haven’t used it much since Bree died, but since no one really calls me, my curiosity is piqued. The muscles in my face go slack when I open up the text. It’s from an unavailable number. And says only one word: MURDERER.

I throw the phone across the room and fling myself back onto the bed, burrowing under the covers once again. I pray for sleep to take me but instead the tears begin to flow and I cry into my pillow until it’s damp. I can't control my moods. Every five minutes I'm angry, sad, bitter, weak, defeated, broken, or vengeful. I feel ugly from the inside out, always.

Eventually, I roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling fan as the blades make their slow rotations around the room and my mind takes me to dark places; places I don’t want to go, but can’t seem to keep myself away from lately.
What's the point in fighting it?

Dad is at work, which means the house is empty for at least another six hours. I get up and wash my face in the bathroom. Suddenly, I'm tempted to brush my teeth, something I haven't bothered to do for three days. I open the cabinet and one of Dad’s medicine bottles catches my eye. I reach inside and slowly remove the bottle, shaking it gently in my hand. It’s full.
Perfect.

A few minutes later I sit down at my desk, with a piece of paper in my hand and my favorite blue pen with the chewed cap. I left my window open and the warm summer air flutters through the curtains, gently caressing my skin. For a while I rub the fresh bandage on my arm and blink at the bright day outside. Tears prickle at the edges of my eyes and start cascading down my cheeks, dripping off my chin and plopping onto the paper in fat splats. I hate that I cry all the time now.
I hate it.
I lick my lips and take a deep breath before scribbling two words onto the paper:

I’m Sorry.

Taking a big gulp of air, I push away from the desk quickly and accidentally knock the empty bottle of Diazepam onto the floor. After picking it up, I carefully place it next to the paper before walking over to the window to peer into the too-bright sunshine. In the courtyard below there are two young boys riding their bikes and an older woman sitting alone by the pool, watching them. She’s wearing a bright yellow hat and every time she looks up at the children, the glare from her hat forces me to squint. I can smell BBQ from somewhere nearby and inhale it deeply. It mixes oddly with the cucumber-melon candle I have near the window, but I like it…the smells conflict with each other…sort of like everything else in my life.

Nothing since Ryan Burke has been easy. Everything since Bree's death has been unbearable.

When my eyes feel heavy and my body is sleepy, I crawl into bed and pull the covers up tight around me. After fluffing my pillow until it’s comfy, I snuggle into it, being careful to keep my hair tucked neatly around my head. My eyelids feel heavy and I blink slowly, looking around my room, watching the curtains sway in the breeze, feeling hollow and empty inside. I'm dying to forget it all.

Before I close my eyes, I remember Bree’s funeral and all the people that came to say goodbye to her.
No one will go to my funeral.
That’s the last thought I have before the light is gone and the darkness swallows me.

I groan at the bright light behind my closed eyes, hoping that if I squeeze my lids tight enough the light won’t get through. It doesn’t work.
What am I lying on?
I’m flat on my back, on something hard and…cold.
Where am I? Oh no. It didn’t work. I’m in the hospital! Crap.
With that thought my eyes fly wide open and I bolt upright. Disoriented from the blinding glow around me, I almost fall off a bench.

I steady myself, gripping the edge of the cool marble surface as I swing my naked legs slowly around until my feet touch the ground. I jerk them upwards immediately, surprised by how cold the ground is. Everywhere I look it’s the same white light. I can’t tell if I’m inside or outside and my stomach clenches with anxiety.

“Hello?” I whisper at first.

The sound of my small voice echoes softly around me, but no one responds. I’m hesitant to place my bare feet on the ground again which oddly feels like glass, but I do, and though it’s still cold the initial shock wears off quickly. Slowly and cautiously, I stand up and my hair cascades around my shoulders, loose, clean and smelling like…
grapefruit
? I reach up to touch it and run my hand along the smooth strands. When I went to bed my hair was not this clean.
What’s going on?

“Hello, is anyone there?”

After hearing no response, I step away from the hard bench and turn in a semi-circle…nothing to see but the dazzling whiteness. I can’t tell where the top meets the bottom of the room…if it
is
a room I’m standing in. I reach up to rub my arm unconsciously and gasp as I realize not only are my bandages gone but my cuts are healed. I hold my forearm up to my face and rub my hand along my skin. It’s soft and smooth…scar-free.
What the hell?
This is when I start to panic. Tears build up in my eyes and I open my mouth to scream but a gentle male voice behind me startles me into silence.

“Piper Willow?”

I whirl around to see a middle-aged man with grey hair smiling politely at me. The first thing I notice is his outdated clothing. He’s wearing a blue argyle sweater vest with a long-sleeved white shirt rolled up to his elbows, and pleated brown trousers with matching loafers. I gape at him, sure that I don’t know him while he nods sympathetically at me. He’s holding a metal clipboard and he taps one of his fingers down on it before speaking again.

“You are Piper Willow, yes?” He raises one of his bushy eyebrows at me.

“Um…yeah.”

I tug at the bottom hem of my long tank top, wishing I was wearing more than my pajamas. I feel exposed and naked standing before this stranger. He seems to relax a bit after I answer and he thrusts a hand out in front of him for me to shake. I take it weakly, letting him pump my arm twice.

“Piper, my name is Niles…Niles Abbott. And I need you to come with me please.”

He smiles his gentle smile again and even though I don’t know him, I feel…
safe.
My feet make soft sounds on the cold, glassy surface of the ground as I follow the strange man through the blinding light. How he can see where he’s going, I have no idea. I stay close behind him, afraid that if he gets too far ahead of me, I will lose sight of him.

“Excuse me, Niles…I mean, Mr. Abbott. But, where are we?”

“I’ll explain everything to you dear, just as soon as we reach the Station.” His answer attempts to be reassuring. His patient voice is calm and matter-of-fact but I'm not comforted, not in the least.

“What station? We aren’t in the hospital? Where’s my Dad?”

My last question comes out barely above a whisper as I struggle not to cry. Niles startles me as he turns around and smiles, obviously aware of information I don't have yet.

“No Piper, this isn’t the hospital, and your father is at home…he’s fine. Please, follow me.”

He turns away and continues on through the light. I hang my head, staring at my bare feet as we walk. Even though my cuts are gone, I keep rubbing my arm. It’s soothing. I almost bump into Niles when he stops abruptly.

“We’re here,” he says softly.

I look up to see a long and rusty metal gate, entwined with flowering vines and two giant redwood trees standing at each end, like towering guards. I stare at the massive trunks in awe. I’ve never seen a tree so tall before. The redwoods reach up so high that the tops dissolve into the surrounding incandescence. Niles steps aside and gestures for me to approach the gate.

“Ladies first.” He smiles.

I think I blush in embarrassment as I pass him and step up to the large gate with trepidation. I have no idea how to open it but I place my hands on it and it glides easily to the side. I push harder until there is enough room for both me and Niles to pass through, grinning wildly at him as if I’ve discovered the cure to cancer while he nods at me in approval. After he steps in behind me, I tug on the gate to close it. It easily slides into place with a satisfying clank.

The blinding white light is muted but not gone. As I turn around I find myself in a courtyard of sorts. I can’t see the sky, but I guess that we are outside. There are several sterile looking buildings lined up in a curved row, facing us. I gape at them as I read the simple block letters printed above the doors.

The Admissions Department is the largest building and it sits just in front of us. To the right is the Training Department and next to that is a much smaller building labeled “Staff Only”. On the other side of the Admissions building is an equally impressive structure…Consignment Department…according to the sign. A smaller building sits on the far end and I think I see children running around inside it.
What is this place?
I so badly want answers. I can’t see beyond the buildings…there just seems to be a wall of white behind them, though not as blinding as where I woke up.

“Where am I?” I ask Niles, still sweeping my eyes across the buildings and the people moving in and out of them. And there are a lot of people. Hundreds, I think…maybe even more.

“Piper, this is the Station. I’m your Intake Specialist.”

“Intake Specialist?”
I whisper, not understanding. At all.

He gestures for me to walk beside him and I match his slow pace as we stroll around an immense water fountain that takes up a good amount of space between the gate and the Admissions Department building. Despite its significant size, the design is simple. It’s the blue tile that I find so attractive. I gaze at the rim, wide enough to use as a seat, and the inside of the fountain…following the turquoise tile that rolls up and down in a wave pattern. It’s breathtaking and for a moment I forget completely that Niles is talking to me.

“Piper? Are you listening? It’s important that you hear me now.” His voice is gentle, not at all authoritative. I nod at him, embarrassed.

“Let’s sit down, shall we?” He points at a marble bench very much like the one I awoke on.

“Is this place real?” I ask Niles as I sit down. The marble feels cool against the back of my thighs.

“Of course it is.” He laughs softly, before his expression turns serious. “Piper, what is the last thing you remember?”

“Remember?” I scrunch my face together as I struggle to remember something…anything. My memories feel fuzzy and faraway at first, but slowly, as if a fog lifts from my mind, I begin to see my bedroom. The pale purple walls that hadn’t been painted since I was fourteen come into focus....and my bedspread…I see the yellow quilt with its pink border and myself lying motionless in my bed.

“I remember my bedroom,” I say quietly, as a feeling of dread spreads through my body.

Niles' full head of grey hair moves slowly with an empathic nod. “Yes, your bedroom,” he pauses to look up at me before taking my hand into his. “It’s where you died, dear.”

***

I feel my lower jaw drop open and I stare at Niles like a unicorn horn sprouted from his forehead. But just before I begin to argue, I see my bedroom again and me sitting at my desk writing the last two words I thought of to tell my Dad. And the pills.
Oh my god, the pills.
I blink slowly and realize that Niles is rubbing my hand.

“I’m…
dead
?”

“Yes dear. You are dead.” He emphasizes each word carefully, clearly hoping I hear each one.

“No way.”

Niles cocks his head to one side and looks at me curiously. He seems surprised, but I don’t think he understands I’m in shock. I must be. I can’t really be dead, can I?

“So, if I’m dead, where am I? Is this Heaven?” I look away from my hands to peek up at him.

He shakes his head slowly. “No.”

I feel the color drain from my face. “Is this Hell?”

Niles smiles patiently at me, again with that knowing expression.

“No, this isn’t Hell, dear. Think of this place as a sort of spiritual weigh-station for those who volunteer to move on.”

“What do you mean…
move on
?”