Lost in Thought (35 page)

the Academy’s representative. Because he was genuinely concerned about both of us, of course, and because apparently the police were not allowed to question me, even informally, by myself. I’d nodded sagely when he explained that, as if I was questioned by the police every day.

So with Dr. Callahan’s comforting presence next to my bed, I told them my story. It was simple and brief and generally true: Two girls went for a walk in the woods, hung out talking in the cemetery—I was willing to bet we weren’t the only kids who’d ever snuck in to walk around or do worse things—and then one collapsed. As I’d told them when I called 911, it seemed like she’d had a heart attack.

That was it, my whole story.

They asked me to describe, as exactly as possible, what Jill had done before collapsing, and I did. Mostly. I explained how Jill had stopped suddenly, grabbed at her chest, and then fallen down. I didn’t mention that she’d been strangling me just prior or that I had caused her heart to stop. When they inevitably asked if Jill or I had been drinking or taking any illegal substances, I told them I hadn’t and, as far as I knew, neither had Jill. No, I was pretty sure she’d brought the crazy all by herself, no drugs necessary. I didn’t mention that either.

Inwardly, I applauded my performance. Maybe I should have gone out for drama instead of sports. I was both distraught and concerned—that part was completely real—and entirely convincing.

Thanks to my gift, and my inability to get a single good hit on her in my own defense, there would be no evidence that Jill had had anything but natural, if highly unexpected, heart failure. I was entirely certain the police believed everything I said and that there was nothing suspicious about the incident. In the best interests of us all, I pretended this was true.

Since Dr. Callahan had to remain behind for Jill, I was discharged in the care of my friends, the police. An orderly wheeled me out of the

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hospital and I climbed into the back of the cruiser, like the common criminal I probably was. I had momentarily killed a girl, after all, even if it was in self-defense. At least they didn’t use the lights. Once we were on the way, I pulled my phone out of my bag and turned it back on, ignoring the missed calls and messages and dialing from memory.

He answered almost before the phone had rung. “Lainey, Jesus, are you all right? What’s going on? Where are you?” Carter practically yelled, a heavy mixture of relief and worry in his voice. It was late, much later than I’d expected to get back from my talk with Jill.

“I’m okay,” I whispered, my throat raw and aching. “They’re bringing me back now.”

“Thank God,” he breathed. “Christ, Lainey, I saw the police car pull through the gates and I
knew
it had to do with you. What on earth happened? Where were you?” Apparently the second cruiser had gone straight to the Academy after we left the cemetery.

I basically ignored his questions, which I couldn’t answer right then anyway, and said, “It wasn’t for me, the police, I mean. It was for Jill.”

“Jill?!
Why were you out with Jillian? What happened to her?”

“I…I’ll be back on campus in a few minutes and explain everything then. Meet me there?”

“All right. I’ll be waiting. And Lainey?”

“Yeah?”

I could practically feel his intensity through the phone. “Don’t ever disappear on me like that again.”

f course, it wasn’t that easy. Carter might have been waiting for me when we pulled into campus, but so was Dr. Stewart. My police escorts, being the good officials they were, O took me straight to the Administration Building. The po-licewoman opened the door to let me out, commended me for at least the fourth time on my excellent work in saving Jill—I
really
wished she’d stop doing that—exchanged a few words with the dour-looking headmaster, and left me to her care. Having no real choice, I followed her into the building.

As soon as she’d shut the door to her office firmly behind us, she rounded on me, anger and accusation clear in her eyes. The room was dark except for one lamp glowing on her desk. Being Saturday night, the rest of the building was empty.

“Explain what happened this instant, Elaine,” she said harshly.

“And don’t even attempt to lie to me.”

I hadn’t planned on it. I had one abbreviated story for the police officers and the real story for her. I felt horribly guilty for what I’d done, for using the gift I’d promised never to use, but I also knew my

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only other option had been to die myself. I didn’t think Dr. Stewart would blame me for doing what I did.

Instead of answering her with words, I slowly undid the scarf concealing my neck. I hadn’t had the chance to check out the damage myself, but even in the low lighting it must have been pretty bad, because Dr. Stewart’s eyes widened measurably. For added support, I hitched out of my jacket, gently, because every movement hurt like hell, and pulled up the side of my sweater. This time I too could see what Dr. Steward did, and it looked every bit as bad as it felt. There were dark marks on my stomach, and a huge, ugly purple blotch on my ribcage. It hurt just to look at it. I imagined if I pulled my shirt all the way over my head—an act I wasn’t sure I could accomplish if I had to—there would be knee marks on my chest and a variety of other blossoming bruises.

Dr. Stewart was visibly shaken. “My God,” she breathed, and dropped into one of the chairs in front of her desk. Gingerly, I sat across from her. “Tell me,” she commanded. It was quite a bit gentler than the last time.

So I did. I told her everything, every single detail. I had nothing to hide and no reason to hide it. I dug out Jill’s note and handed it over too. She listened without a word, incredulity growing in her eyes, and glanced over the note without comment. She cleared her throat before speaking again. “How much of this did you tell the police?”

“I was discreet,” I assured her, pulling out the Perceptum’s favorite word to give meaning to my answer. My voice was scratchy and painful to use. “Only what they needed to know. And I didn’t let on to any of this.” I gestured at my wounds. It had been all I could do to keep my injuries concealed, not to cringe every time the doctor had asked me to move or draw a deep breath.

“I can’t believe it,” she said, shaking her head. I knew she wasn’t talking about me. As if it had been waiting for me to finish, the phone

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on her desk rang. It was a pretty gentle sound, but I jumped as if I’d been shot. That didn’t feel good at all. Dr. Stewart rose swiftly and answered before the next ring.

“Yes?” she said in her best headmaster voice, all clipped tones and in charge. I couldn’t hear the words on the other end, but I could tell it was a man’s voice. She plunked down in her desk chair as soon as she heard him. I had a good idea who it was before she confirmed it a second later. “Senator…Yes…No…I’m sorry…Thank God…No, I have her here.”

After another pause—I was only getting one side of this conversation—she recounted the details I’d told her and also gave a litany of my injuries. She glanced back and forth at me the entire time. After another break, she said, “Yes, completely truthful…I’m certain…No. I had no idea, wouldn’t have considered it possible…Yes, I know…I’ll tell her…Yes. Good night.”

She hung up and redirected her attention to me. “That was Daniel Astor.” I nodded. That much had been obvious. “He expresses his sincere apologies for the extreme actions of his daughter, exonerates you from any blame, and thanks you for saving her life and doing what you had to, to save your own.” I nodded again. It seemed odd to thank me for killing, then reviving, his daughter to save my own skin, but there it was.

“Jill?” I asked hopefully and held my breath. I got the impression she was still alive, but there were lots of conditions in which a person could be, technically, alive.

Dr. Stewart responded with the most beautiful sentence I’d ever heard. “They expect she’ll make a full recovery.”

Thank you, God,
I said in silent, fervent prayer and exhaled a painful sigh of relief. Strange how it both burned my throat but also felt like an enormous weight had lifted from my chest.

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I didn’t have time to bask in the feeling before Dr. Stewart was giving me rapid and incontrovertible instructions. “This is what will happen: from here, I will escort you directly to the infirmary where you will stay for several days, recovering from shock and a severe migraine brought on by the stress of the situation. On Monday morning, I will convene the students and tell them of Jill’s tragic collapse and your bravery in saving her. When I release you from the infirmary, you will behave as if you are the hero everyone will believe you to be. You will
never
, under any circumstances, tell any more of the story than you absolutely must, and never more details than you told the police.

This”—she held up Jill’s note—“will be your very general excuse for why you and Miss Christensen absconded from campus, if you must ever give one.”

She pulled open a desk drawer, took out a book of matches, and lit Jill’s note on fire before dropping it in the empty waste can next to her desk. Dr. Stewart and I both watched the note burn, and then she watched me for a while. She drew in and exhaled a deep breath before saying, almost absently, “I suppose this confirms your bloodline beyond a doubt. I almost didn’t believe it was possible…but here you are, a final Marwood under my care.”

She straightened up and her imperious voice returned. “This goes without saying, but I will say it anyway: you will never turn your gift on another person while you are a student here, not unless you find yourself in a similar life or death situation. Which is unlikely. I cannot begin to understand what made Miss Christensen take such drastic measures against you, but neither can I deny the verity of your tale. It is disturbing and unfortunate.” She stopped abruptly and rubbed her eyes, as if this whole thing had made her very tired. I knew the feeling.

As the silence deepened, I decided maybe it was my turn to talk. I didn’t really have anything I wanted to say—I’d already told the whole

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story—but I did want something. Tentatively, I started, “I’d like to see…” but I didn’t get very far.

“I think they can wait,” she snapped, but then softened. Sometimes I thought Dr. Stewart struggled to repress her maternal instincts in favor of her more assertive ones. I wished she wouldn’t; it might make her happier if she just let herself be likeable. “I will speak to Cartwright and Miss Moretti personally, to let them know you are fine. I’ll also speak with your aunt first, to explain what’s happened, but I’m sure she’ll demand to speak to you herself and you will reassure her.

Please discourage her from coming here. Other than that, I prefer you to be isolated in your recovery. It will be easier to contain rumors, camouflage your injuries, and disseminate our story that way. You’ll see them all soon enough.”

I didn’t like it, but I nodded. I had no choice in the situation anyway, short of running out of the office and hoping I beat her out of the building. The way I felt, I didn’t like my chances.

She rose and came around the desk, gathering my bag and my coat before I had the chance—effectively dashing my hopes of sneaking my cell phone in to the infirmary with me—before looking down at me.

“Are you ready?” she asked, but gently, and I sensed genuine concern for my well-being. It was surprising, but welcome. I nodded again and stood up slowly.

On her way to the door, Dr. Stewart stopped and looked back at me, opening and closing her mouth as if unsure what to say. Finally, she squared her shoulders and put a light hand on my shoulder. “I’m proud of you, Lainey. You were brave and you were smart and, most of all, you protected everyone involved. Not many girls your age would have been able to do that. Thank you,” she finished on a murmur, turning sharply and continuing out the door.

Obviously no response was expected of me, but I smiled at her back anyway.

he good news
: My ribs were not broken.

The bad news:
I had a mild concussion and bruising pretty much everywhere, which would only get worse be-T

fore it got better.

The good news:
My injuries were fairly easy to cover, except for my neck.

The bad news:
Dr. Stewart had been pleased to inform me when I
did
get out of the infirmary, despite my “heroism,” I would still be expected to serve the required detentions for leaving campus without permission.

Score: Lainey 1, Injuries 1, Dr. Stewart 1 (Overall, I decided to consider it a draw.)

THE NEXT FEW days would have been unbearable if not for the doses of painkillers that helped me spend more time asleep than awake. The nurse said it would help me heal faster the more I slept, so that’s what I did. I didn’t have anything else to keep me busy, except for thinking about Jill and what had happened or missing Carter, neither of which I enjoyed spending time doing.

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I assessed my injuries daily for progress. My throat was an ugly ring of purple and red and my right side was indescribably frightful. That one would hurt for a long while, and my visible bruises would require a bit of creative dressing once I got out, but there would be no lasting damage. Physical damage, anyway. Psychologically, I was in for a longer road. You didn’t kill someone, even in self-defense, without gaining a few issues to work out. Thankfully, the painkillers helped dull the nightmares too.