The steady beep, beep, beep wakes me. My eyes slam shut as soon as I open them. The bright light shoots pinpricks through my head and the slightest movement causes spirals of fresh pain to ripple through my skull. My stomach rolls and bile rises up into the throat. I don't ever remember hurtingthis much. Holy crap. If this is what a hangover feels like, I swear I will never again even contemplate sipping a beer.
It takes a minute for my fuzzy mind to remember what happened. What exactly did Mirror Boy do to me? At least I think it was a guy. Anyway, I didn't know that ghosts could physically hurt people. Scare them sure, but actually cause harm? That's new to me. First order of business when I feel better is to do some intensive research into ghosts. Even if I never speak to one again after this, I want to know what they can and can't do.
There's that antiseptic smell – and the beep, beep, beep. It's a big indicator, at least to me, that I'm in a hospital. Hospitals are a haven for ghosts. It's why I never willingly go into places like this. They badger me with questions and it's all I can do to pretend I don't see the little buggers. Usually, it doesn't bother me. They're background noise like a TV or radio playing, just to eat up the silence. But since my encounter with Mirror Boy, I'm more than a little bit terrified.
Fear is not an emotion I'm not used to feeling. I've made myself fearless over the years – but when that ghost got in my face, all my defenses scattered to the wind. Blind terror was all I'd felt. I didn't like it then and I certainly don't like it now. Nothing has been able to make me feel helpless since the Mom incident. Being here, I can't help but to remember that day.
We were in yet another run-down motel in New Jersey. I was five. The walls were an ugly shade of burnt orange and the stains in the carpet only added to the stink of the room. Mom gave me Spaghetti-O's to eat and then turned the TV to the only cartoon channel the motel's cable service offered. I remember watching SpongeBob and laughing as he and Patrick irritated Squidward.
Mom came in and sat down next to me a little while later. She stroked my hair absently. It was odd because she hadn't done it in a while. She was usually jonesing for her next heroin fix and this was nice. I didn't see the knife at first. I was too caught up in the fact she was acting like my Mom again. I remember she started to hum and I smiled. Mama could sing like nobody else I'd ever heard.
"Don't worry, baby girl," she'd whispered. "It's all going to get better now." She raised her hand and that's when I'd seen the knife. By then it was too late. I pitched forward off the couch when she ripped the knife out of me. Pain lanced through my chest and I screamed. She brought the knife down again and again, her eyes calm and peaceful the whole time.
She kissed my cheek and told me to go to sleep. Raising the knife once more, she pushed it deep into her own throat before pulling it out. She collapsed beside me, her face inches from mine. I had to lay there and watch her die. The last thing I remember seeing until I woke up in a hospital room was the life bleeding out of her eyes.
Something snapped in me that day. I broke in ways I'm not sure I can explain. It's also when the ghosts started showing up. I still secretly wonder if I'm not just a little insane. My Mama was crazy or so they told me. Paranoid schizophrenia. She heard voices. Ghosts maybe? Did they drive her to do what she did? I want to rationalize it, to find a reason for why she'd try to kill her own daughter, but I can't. Maybe I never will. I just don't know.
Since then, I haven't ever really been afraid of anything. Defense mechanism, that's what the psychologists called it. I was closed off with trust issues. Yeah, well, let their moms try to kill them at the ripe old age of five, and then tell me if they don't have a few emotional roadblocks.
But Mirror Boy? He scared the bejeezus out of me. I'm lying here in a bed, afraid to open my eyes for fear of what might be standing next to me. I so do not like this feeling, but I'm not sure what to do about it yet. It's new to me and I hate it!
"There has to be something wrong!" I hear Mrs. Olson shout. "She was screaming her head off and her nose was pouring blood!"
She's near enough I can hear her shouting, but not so near that she's close. Hallway maybe? I can't hear what I presume is the doctor's response, but I hear the door shut then. My irrational new fear raises its ugly head and my muscles tense up at the sound, Oh, no, please not another ghost.
"Hey kiddo," a soft voice whispers tiredly.
Nancy. Thank God. I relax and start to say something, but am interrupted when the argument in the hallway moves inside my room.
"Her tox screen is negative," a male voice says. "She has no alcohol or drugs in her system. The CAT scan showed no abnormalities. There's nothing physically wrong with her that we can find."
Well, that's good. Thanks for that, Doc. The ghost didn't do any permanent damage. Kudos for me.
"Doctor, I understand that." Nancy sighs. "I saw her clothes from when she came in, though. They were bloody. I have to agree with Mrs. Olson. Something is wrong."
"And I agree with you both, I just don't know what is wrong." Even the doctor sounds frustrated. "We are going to keep her a few days for observation and more tests."
Oh, just great, leave me here in the ghost hang-out. Not what I want to hear.
They move away, still arguing, but that's okay. The loud voices are making my head hurt worse anyway.
Fingers smooth my hair and I flinch, the memory of the mutilated ghost breathing on me is hitting fast. Please don't be a ghost. And no, I still can't open my eyes.
"Mattie?"
Whew. Nancy, just Nancy. My breathing slows and I calm down just a bit. Man, I hate this. I will not let this fear-stuff control me. I am stronger than this. Taking a deep breath, I open my eyes. Nancy's worried blue eyes stare down into my hazel ones. She looks tired, much older than her early forties tonight.
Nancy Moriarity. What a great lady. She was and is my saving grace. She's the social worker who got stuck with my case when I landed in North Carolina. She and I had a long talk about what I'd been through and what I needed to make things better. Nancy is the reason I'm not just another statistic. I don't know where I'd be without her.
"You're awake," she sighs and smiles. "I swear if you scare me like that again, I'm going to beat you black and blue."
I wince, and hope she's kidding. Right now, even her soft tone feels like knives stabbing me.
"What's wrong?" her voice takes on a worried tone.
"Head hurts," I whisper and she leans over and dims the lights, which brings a small amount of relief to my aching noggin. "Thanks."
"What happened?" she whispers.
That question makes me remember what I need to do. The ghost had caused all other thoughts to flee. Sally! Oh Lord, how could I forget Sally? She's the reason I talked to the stupid ghosts to begin with. "Nancy, you have to call the cops."
"The police? Why, honey? Did someone do something to you?" Anger creeps into her voice. I love Nancy. She's the only person who's ever fought for me. She fights for all her foster kids.
"No," I say. "It's Sally. She's missing. Mrs. Olson was supposed to call the police, but I don't know if she did."
A chair scrapes and I yelp. The sound reminds me of that awful noise. This has got to stop. I refuse to go around jumping at noises.
"Sorry, honey," Nancy soothes. She must think the sound made my head worse. True, it hurt like nobody's business, but that's not why I yelled. "Let me go check with Mrs. Olson to see what's going on."
I'll bet the old lady forgot about Sally, especially if she had to rush me to the hospital. It's only a minute before they are both back and yup, I'm right. She didn't call the cops. Nancy, being Nancy, makes her call home to see if Sally came back from the party. It only takes a few minutes before she comes back with a worried expression to report that Sally never came home. Why couldn't she have just listened to me to begin with? The cops would already be looking for Sally and I wouldn't be here suffering from a headache worse than death.
"She's supposed to be at the same party Mattie went to," Mrs. Olson frets.
"I told you she wasn't," I snap and wince. Ow. I need to learn to not yell when I have a sledgehammer pounding inside my head.
There's a hurried whispered conversation and they disappear out into the hall. It's a good long while before Nancy comes back in, a frown marring her features. She sits back down and her frown makes me nervous. Questions I can't answer are coming.
"Mattie, Mrs. Olson said you came home adamant Sally was missing. How did you know that if she wasn't at the party?"
See? Stupid questions. It's not like I can say I saw her ghost.
"I just had a feeling."
"Mattie..." She stops speaking when a knock sounds and then two uniformed police officers come in. One is older, in his forties, the other very young, barely twenty if he's a day. The older cop who introduces himself as Officer Rogers asks me the same question that Nancy did.
"Look, I just had a really bad feeling something was wrong," I tell him. "Then when Mrs. Olson told me she was at the party, I knew I was right. Sally hates those kinds of parties and I know she wasn't there."
"A feeling?" the officer's eyebrows shoot up and I sigh. "Was there a lot of drinking going on at this party?"
"I can tell you for a fact, officer, that she's not been drinking," Nancy says in a clipped, warning tone. "They ran a tox screen on her for drugs and alcohol when they brought her in earlier. She's clean."
He gives Nancy the stink-eye, as I like to call it. It's a look that's meant to cower people into shushing, but that won't work with Nancy. She just glares back at him.
"I'm just trying to get the facts," he says with his most deadpan voice. "Now, aside from this feeling, what made you think Sally was missing?"
I sigh in frustration. I knew this was going to be hard. "Well, the fact that she wasn't home when I got back seems like a big indicator she's missing don't ya think?"
"Let me tell you what I think," he says. "I think you knew that your friend was going to run away."
"What? No!"
That makes Nancy turn thoughtful. I don't want them to peg Sally as another runaway. She's lying somewhere with a hole in her head for crying out loud. I just don't know how to tell them that.
"Mattie..."
"No, Nancy," I interrupt her. "She did NOT run away. I swear."
I can tell she doesn't believe me. This is so not how I planned this.
"Can I speak to you for a moment in private, Ms. Moriarity?" Officer Donut Hole gestures for her to follow him. I want to scream in frustration when they leave.
"You're really worried about your friend aren't you?"
My attention snaps to the other officer, the young one. Warm brown eyes shine with sympathy from a face made for smiling. His wavy brown hair falls loosely around his face. He takes Nancy's seat and I sigh. Here we go, good cop, bad cop.
"Well, duh."
"You always this sarcastic?"
I snort and wince. Dang it, my head hurts.
"What landed you in here?" he asks me.
"Headache." He sighs and looks down. Yeah, I know I can be a smartass, but I really don't like cops. The uniform just brings out the mouth in me.
"My name's Dan Richards. Mattie, right?"
I give him my best how-stupid-are-you glare which he ignores.
"I know you're worried, but if your friend did run away, pretending she's missing isn't the way to help her. I know you don't want her to get into trouble, but..."
"Look, Officer Dan," I say, hearing the sarcasm rolling off my tongue. "I know you don't believe me, and I don't care. She's missing and the longer you guys stand here making the wrong assumptions about her just because she's a foster kid, the more time her killer has to cover his tracks."
"Her killer?"
Holy crow. Why did I say that? It has to be this freaking headache. Officer Dan is staring at me with speculation now. Dang it.
"Look, she's gone. Last I saw her she was in her nightclothes getting ready for bed. When I get home, her bed was rumpled, and she's wasn't there. Something happened. She didn't run away. Someone had to have taken her."
"What makes you so sure she didn't run away?"
"Because she wouldn't do that!" I shout and then shrink back into the pillows, hands gripping my head as streaks of sharp pain cuts through it. Ohhh, crap, crap, crap. Soften it up, Mattie. "Sally has never had a decent place to stay. The Olsons aren't perfect, but at least the place is clean and we get enough to eat. That's more than Sally's ever had. She wouldn't just run away from that. I know you don't understand. You probably grew up in a good home, but to us, that's something pretty special. None of us would just throw it away."
"What do you think happened to her?"
"Somebody shot her." Fudgepops. My eyes go completely round and my hands cover my mouth. What in God's name is wrong with me? It has to be the drugs they have me on. This is not helping. Now he's going to think I'm just jerking him around.
"What aren't you telling me, Mattie?" He leans forward, his eyes searching. "Why do you think she was shot?"
"You won't believe me," I tell him with a sigh of my own. "It's crazy." What's crazy is that within five minutes of being alone with Officer Dan, I've come close to telling him my secret several times when I'm usually very good at hiding it. I am a professional liar, have been since I was five. Drugs, Mattie, I tell myself. It's the drugs.
"Try me."
I'm saved from having to answer when the nurse comes in and shoos him out. I ask her if she can give me anything for my headache. She isn't paying too much attention to me. Her eyes are on the machine I'm hooked to. I look over at it, but can't figure out what has her so freaked. It's just numbers to me.
She leaves and gets the doctor who comes in and declares all visitors for the night are done. He has the nurse shoot something into my IV and I start to get sleepy almost immediately. I hear him mumble something about my blood pressure.
My eyes droop and as they close, I can hear the screaming nails in my head again, but before I can freak, I'm out.