Unlocked (34 page)

Necro came to me and took my hand. He led me to Plug's side and set my hand on top of Plug's. We said nothing. No words were necessary. I knew that Plug had been as worried about me as I had been about him. And now the comfort of touch was all either of us needed. A heart monitor beeped, and the blood pressure cuff activated. When it finished, I lowered the rail on the bed, lifted Plug's arm, and lay next to him. I wrapped my arm around his waist, and he wrapped his around my shoulders.

Necro set his hand on mine while Kyla and Nick filled him in on everything that had happened over the past week, focusing on how the hypnotist and malevolent spirits had worked in concert to torment me. They explained that Harrison's ultimate goal was to seek revenge against my mom. They made it sound so simple.

There was a tap at the door, and I recognized Detective Samuelson's voice. He moved around to the far side of the bed so we could see each other without me needing to move.

Dr. James came in behind him and stood at the end of the bed. “How are you feeling, Hannah?”

“I'm not schizophrenic and neither was my dad.”

“Detective Samuelson has filled me in, and I'm here to see if I can help in any way.” Dr. James worked his finger into the knot of his solid black tie and loosened it.

“I have some news,” Detective Samuelson said. “When the officers took Chelsea down to the police station, they ran her prints through the system. Turns out she's not Harrison's daughter.”

“What?” Kyla asked.

Detective Samuelson nodded at her. “Chelsea's name is actually Sarah, and she was abducted eighteen months ago. The police had primarily focused their search on the East Coast.” He handed me Sarah's missing-person flyer.

I sat up, stunned. The flyer pictured a brunette with little makeup. The description said Sarah played cello in the youth symphony and loved to read. Nick and Kyla looked over my shoulder at the flyer.

“It doesn't even look like her,” I said. Harrison had manipulated her mind, changed her appearance, and orchestrated her life. She was his pawn. Nothing more.

“Monarch slave,” Nick said. “He used hypnosis not only to change a bookworm into a volleyball player but also to change her into a coconspirator.”

“What will happen to her?” I asked. None of this had been her fault.

“Lots of counseling,” the detective said. “Her parents in New Jersey have already been contacted, and they're on their way out here.”

“Unbelievable,” Kyla said.

Nick rubbed his jaw. “I'm telling you, crap like this goes down all the time. We, the citizens, just never hear about it on the daily newscast.”

Necro cleared his throat. “What about Hannah? Will any charges be filed against her?”

Detective Samuelson shook his head. “Hannah, you will need some serious counseling yourself to—”

“To make sure you're deprogrammed,” Nick interrupted, and then he glared at Dr. James as he continued to speak. “We'll research the options and make sure you have the best expert in the field.” He turned to Detective Samuelson. “Right?”

He smiled at Nick. “I'm sure we can find someone that you, the department, and Dr. James will endorse.”

“You're right, Nick,” Dr. James said. “Prolonged hypnosis and mind control is outside my area of proficiency, and I regret that I wasn't able to help Hannah more. But I will do everything in my power to find the right expert to help her, and Sarah, recover fully.”

“Do any of you have any other questions?” Detective Samuelson asked.

“Can I stay here?” I asked.

“Yes.” Detective Samuelson reached into his pocket, pulled out a business card, and gave it to me. “Call me if you need anything, but it appears you're taken care of here. I'll be in contact with you and your mom later.”

I settled back down into the small bed and felt at peace with my friends beside me.

I paced the perimeter of Mom's hospital room. She shifted in bed, and I paused to see if she'd wake, but she continued sleeping. I slid the window blinds to the side and let in the first rays of dawn, but even that didn't make a difference. The doctors assured me they'd repaired the damages caused by Harrison—the physical damages—but I needed Mom to be alert enough to tell me herself.

I blew out a long breath. I needed a distraction.

Next to Mom's bed, I stood at the tall rolling table and opened the lacquered wooden box of premium artist's pencils that Nick and Kyla had given me last night. Inside, there had to be at least fifty different colors. I flipped open the new sketchpad, caressed the blank white page, and imagined the possibilities.

After a moment of indecision, I selected a cranberry pencil and roughed out the edges of a geranium. I became more confident with the form and darkened the color. Then I added golden tones to highlight the petals and ashen gray to shadow the blossoms. I closed my eyes to recall more of the violets, irises, and daffodils that bloomed in the safe place of my mind.

When I opened my eyes, Lily and Mark were in the doorway. Lily sat in a wheelchair and Mark stood behind her. A pang struck my heart, because the golden silk scarf wrapped around Lily's head, concealing the bandage and hair loss, was the present I'd picked for her at the mall last Sunday.

She glanced from me to my mom and back to me again.

“Can we come in?” Lily asked.

“Of course,” I said and bumped the bed table, sending my sketchpad to the floor. I bent down to retrieve it.

Mark wheeled Lily into the room and then set the brakes at the base of her chair.

“Manny told us everything,” Mark said.

“Everything?” Everything from his perspective, everything he knew about, but certainly not everything that had happened over the past week. I wiped my sweaty hands on the hospital scrubs I wore.

“You look more like yourself,” Lily said.

“So do you.” The swelling had gone down around her eyes and lips. Her skin had regained much of its healthier color.

Lily pointed at my outfit. “You always did look brilliant in blue.”

“Yeah, my choices were these scrubs or a hospital gown.” I plucked at the baggy top. I'd showered—without incident—while Mom had been in surgery yesterday. It had felt great to rid myself of Harrison's blood and the stench of the pepper spray, but now sweat rolled down my back. I was nervous to talk with my old friends after all that had happened this week.

“You're here early this morning,” I said and glanced at the clock on the wall. “It's still before seven.”

“How could any of us sleep with all that's happened?” Mark said.

“You're right.” I retied the drawstring at my waist. I had been awake since Friday. I knew I should be exhausted, but I couldn't rest until I knew for myself that Mom was going to be fine.

“So you heard about Chelsea?” I asked.

They nodded.

“Chelsea convinced us you were crazy.” Mark rubbed his face. Then he shook out his arms. “My head understands she was a puppet, but my heart can't believe our whole relationship was fake.”

“Are you going to see her?” I asked.

“I heard she's in the psychiatric wing with no visitors allowed,” Mark said, “but I'm going to try. I just wanted to stop here first and tell you how sorry I am . . . for everything.”

“Thanks, Mark. It means a lot to me.”

He gave me an awkward hug, and then he headed out.

I turned to Lily, and we smiled weakly at each other. “I'm glad to see you're out of bed already.”

“They changed my meds, and it made a big difference.” Lily wrung her hands. “I know Jordan's gone. My heart's been ripped out forever, and there's no going back to fix any of it. A grief counselor visited me. I think that'll help.”

“I'm so sorry about everything.” Tears spilled from my eyes down to the tiled floor.

Lily clutched my hand and tugged me closer. “No, I'm sorry.”

I knelt in front of her, and we cried together.

“I never intended for any of this—”

“Stop!” Lily said. “I begged you to go to that hypnotist show. If I hadn't—”

“Harrison would've found another way to get to me.” I drew back to see her face. “This was not your fault. He targeted me and my mom from the beginning.”

“And Chelsea . . .” she started, but her voice trailed off.

“There's no way either of us could've guessed what was going on with her,” I said.

“I can't imagine what she's been through. Or you.”

“I was manipulated by Harrison for a week,” I said. “Chelsea was under his reign for eighteen months.”

“I know you said Harrison would've found another way to get to you, but I still can't get over the fact that if I hadn't insisted you go onstage that night . . . Jordan would still be alive.” She flushed, and tears raced down her cheeks.

“None of this is your fault, Lily.”

“You're right. It's Harrison's fault.” She fidgeted with the golden silk above her ears. “Oh, Hannah, I'm probably the crazy one here, but I told Manny I'd put in a good word for him. This is undoubtedly the first thing he and I have ever agreed on. It wasn't his fault and well . . .”

I wiped my face and waited for her to continue.

“He's in the hallway,” she said. “He hasn't left the hospital since you got here yesterday. He wants to talk to you.”

“There's nothing left to say.” I didn't want to see him.

“He wants to speak to you in private,” she said.

“I'm staying here with my mom.”

“She's asleep, Hannah. You guys can talk right here.”

My chin quivered. I wasn't sure I could deal with any more drama.

“You and Manny have been friends a long time,” Lily said. “You can listen to what he has to say.”

She was right. I owed him that much.

“At least do it for me,” she said before I had a chance to respond.

“Okay.”

Lily clapped her hands together and beamed. Her hazel eyes sparkled for the first time since before the accident, and I caught a glimpse of my friend's previous vibrancy. Recovery was possible. For all of us.

“Wheel me back out to the hall,” Lily said. I did and found Mrs. Sloane waiting to take Lily back to her room. Mrs. Sloane grasped my hand.

We hugged each other tightly.

Over Mrs. Sloane's shoulder, I made eye contact with Manny, and my heart pounded. His eyes were red and swollen. Tears flowed freely over the cuts and bruises on his face. Wet spots dotted his navy police T-shirt.

Mrs. Sloane released me. I said goodbye to her and Lily. Then I returned to my mom's room. Manny followed me.

Once inside, he reached for me, but I jerked away. He wiped his cheeks with the backs of his hands.

“Hannah, please,” Manny said. His brown eyes widened, and he raked his fingers through his hair. “I want us to go back to the way things were before.”

“We can't.” Images of the accident flashed through my mind, along with the awful smells and sensations. I had known in the single moment when I lost control of my bladder that things would never be the same for me, and I was right. I didn't want to go back to the way things were before—living in self-doubt and worrying about maintaining my composure all the time.

I'd learned this week that I was lovable no matter what happened. I fought for control of my own mind and my own happiness. I saved my mom's life. I fell in love with Plug. And I had seen Manny's true nature.

“Please, Hannah,” he said.

I pinched my lips together and shook my head.

“So, it's over? Just like that?” he asked.

“You're the one who quit on me when—”

“I saw you with Eugene, and I got jealous.” He took a step closer, and I held my ground. “I saw you changing, and it scared me. The idea of schizophrenia scared me. The police told me you set fire to our house.”

The pain in Manny's eyes tore me apart. A week ago, we almost had it all. And being near him—the smell of his shaving cream, the curve of his lips, the memories of the Ferris wheel, and the possibilities of what could have been—overwhelmed me.

He reached for my hand, and I let him take it. He laced his smooth fingers through mine, and with his other hand, he tucked my hair behind my ear.

“I can't imagine life without you,” he said and leaned in to kiss me, but I pushed against his chest.

“No,” I said with a steady voice.

“How can you just stop loving me?” he asked.

I hadn't stopped, but I had changed, and my life couldn't be about what was best for Manny. He'd have to figure that out on his own. Right now, I needed to make choices for myself. And a lasting relationship required more than love. It required determination and commitment from both people.

I lowered my voice. “Whether I had schizophrenia or not, you stopped believing in me when I needed you the most.”

Manny flushed, and his jaw tensed.

“You need to leave,” I said.

He dropped his head and walked out of the room.

He'd been my best friend for years. I had believed we'd be together forever. I moved over to the window, pressed my forehead against the cool glass, and wept. It was over.

After a few minutes, I wiped my tears and moved back over to the tall bed table. I opened the sketchpad to a fresh page and drew a leafy vine around the perimeter, dotting it with violet blossoms. With a black pencil, I wrote in the middle of the page:

A tear fell from my cheek onto the page and distorted one of the blossoms I'd drawn. When Chelsea had yelled at me in the school hallway on Monday, she had said that Jordan could never go home again. Then in the hotel lounge, she had asked the officer if she could go home. More tears fell, and I mopped my face with a tissue from the side table. At least Chelsea was going home now.