The Zodiac Collector (27 page)

Mom's standing behind her, a few feet away, eyes darting. She shakes her hair out and purses her mouth. Her bright-red lipstick bleeds into the tiny lines surrounding her lips. “I bring my daughter to the psych ward for treatment and she's hanging out on the phone?”

Monika glances over her shoulder. “They're allowed one call a day.”

“She doesn't have anyone to call.” Mom gives a smug half-smile.

“Why are you here?” I twist my hands around the phone.

I hear a muffled “Anne?” from the receiver. Poor William.

She runs her tongue over her front teeth. “I can tell the meds haven't kicked in yet. Tell the doctor to increase the dose.”

“I can pass a message on to the doctor, but he and Anne are going to work out a regimen between them.” Monika edges toward me, physically putting herself between Mom and me.

“She's my daughter and what I say goes.” She's getting louder. Not good.

“Mom. It's okay. I'm taking the medicine, I swear.” I hang up the phone. It kills me to cut off William, but it's better than Mom ripping the phone from my hand and screaming into the receiver. She's done that before.

She stabs a finger in my direction. “You better not be lying.”

“I'm not.”

“Are the voices gone yet?” She rakes a hand through her hair. “She's on an anti-psychotic, right? That's what the doctor said.”

Several gazes are drawn to us, like magnets attracting iron shavings. Other staff members slowly wander closer. Kids pop out of their rooms and the rec room to watch.

“Ma'am, I'll ask you to lower your voice. If you'd like to talk, we can go to a more private area.” Monika makes eye contact with the aides, who continue to surround us.

“I will
not
lower my voice.” Mom rushes to me and clamps a bony hand around my upper arm. “I'm taking you out of here. You're all worthless!”

I wince. “Ow.”

She yanks me down the hallway, her free arm outstretched as if to ram through the wall of aides and nurses blocking our advance. The staff huddles around us to keep the freak show contained, but they let us work our way to the locked unit door.

“Mrs. Devans. Please release your daughter. She's safe with us. We'll escort you off the ward now.” Monika keeps her voice level, but her eyes are wide with determination.

Mom sneers at her like a rabid jackal. “You can't tell me what to do!”

Four aides close in, two on my side, two on Mom's.

Monika wedges herself in the middle of everybody. “Let her go, Mrs. Devans.”

“This is unacceptable. I'll have all your licenses taken away.” Mom gives me a shove before dropping her hold. She pins me under her stare and allows the aides to flank her on the way out.

I keep eye contact until she's on the other side and the unit door is locked. “Do you believe me now?” I rub my arm. It'll probably bruise.

Monika nods. “We'll call the doctor in the morning. He might want to inform CPS.”

I grab her hand. “Wait. No. Don't call them.”

“Honey, you can't stay in an abusive home.” Her brown eyes soften. She really cares. Too bad she has no idea how serious things are. Or how the truth is impossible to believe unless you've seen it yourself. Or that magick is real and as devastating as any mental illness.

“It's not abusive.” My voice cracks.

“With what I just saw, it certainly seems to be. Come on, why don't you take a break in your room?”

I fall in line behind her. In reality, it makes no difference where I am. Mary is with me. Zeena will find me. Then it'll all be over.

* * *

A
nne
. Someone calls my name. My brain is fuzzy so it takes a few minutes before I start caring about it.

Anne
. A whisper, nothing more. I'm not even sure it's real.

Anne
.

“Who is it?” I groan, my throat dry.

Anne
.

My eyes pop open. Without moving, I scan the room, squinting into the deeper shadows, waiting for movement. The light switch is across the room. The distance pins me to the mattress as my mind wheels with possibilities. Could be a dream. Could be someone hiding in the inky corner.

Anne
.

I roll over. “Go away.”

Anne!

The shout is inside my head. I gasp and sit upright, invisible monsters looming in the shadows forgotten.

Please don
't
freak out, Anne. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to let her get me
.

I swallow. Hallucinations don't apologize. But my sister would. “Mary, is that you?”

We have to get out of here. Z…I can feel her. She's getting close
. I don't really hear Mary's voice, but it's her thoughts, for sure. They stir in my brain and make my heart vibrate in my chest like a pulsing subwoofer.

“Where is she?” I scan the room, seeing everything and nothing at once.

Her spirit. I can feel it pulling at me. I'm scared, Anne
.

“Don't go near it.”

I don't want to, but she's making me
.

“If you go, we'll go together and then she'll have both of us,” I warn, rising to my knees. The sheets tangle around my legs and pull me down.

Something near my spine twists and flutters, like a thousand butterfly wings have taken flight in my body. They ramble toward my neck and make my skin crawl.

“Don't go to her, Mary, please.”

It's hard to resist. Do something!

“Stay with me.” I tear at the blanket holding me down and leap out of bed.

What are you going to do?

I pad to the door and peek into the hallway. It's empty. The aides do rounds every fifteen minutes, so I don't have a lot of time to figure something out.

Anne?

“Magick doesn't solve everything.” I slip out of the room and scurry along the wall toward the nursing station.

The aide's sneakers squeak. He's coming closer.

My head bonks against a red fire alarm.

White letters spell out the instructions—Pull in case of fire.

Squeak, squeak, squeak.

I extend my hand, curl my fingers around the handle, and pull.

A high-pitched wail sounds the alarm and white lights dotting the hallway flicker like flash bulbs.

I dash to my room, pulling the door shut behind me, then push it back open a crack and peek through.

Overhead lights—dimmed for nighttime—pulse and go out. A second later, a series of pops relay across the ceiling. Pipes groan and hiss.

“What the…”

The sprinklers click to life and douse everything in teeth-chatteringly cold water.

Screams—from other kids, and probably some of the staff too—spring around like bouncy balls in a wind tunnel.

Emergency lights spring to life.

What's going on?
Mary scurries toward my lower spine.

“Dunno. Didn't expect the power to go out.”

What if it's her?

“We have to get out of here.” I rush to the window and check for latches. There's a hole where a handle should go, and several screws impale the window's inner casing. It's locked shut. Doesn't matter. We're on the third story without a ladder or fire escape to climb down.

Monika barges into my room, sliding on the puddles of water slicking the floor. Her hair is matted to her head and her uniform is soaked. “Anne, let's go. We have to evacuate.”

I whirl and rush after her while Mary squeals with delight.
A way out!

With Monika taking the lead, we slide between flailing kids and the overwhelmed staff trying to console them. Patients outnumber nurses five to one, so I'm lucky to have Monika on my side.

Apparently convinced the fire (that doesn't exist) has been extinguished, the sprinklers slow to a drippy trickle and the emergency lights blink out. A wave of screams swells in the darkness.

Monika and I reach the door. I jiggle the handle with both hands.

“It's still locked. I have to swipe my badge.”

“But it's an emergency! Shouldn't it just open?” I hop on my toes.

“We're going to get out, but you have to stay calm.” She shifts me to the side and uses her penlight to illuminate the keypad. She swipes her ID, keys in her passcode, and the door unlocks with a
clink
.

We launch into an equally dark corridor.

“Is the whole hospital fritzed?” Monika asks.

Nurses, aides, and the other kids press their hands against my back, shoving me along. Monika separates from me to wrangle the herd. We nosedive into another group of adult patients from the neighboring ward. I almost get trampled in the intersection between crowds. I push at them, but their combined strength squashes me in the corner. Soon, I'm immersed in bodies, lost in the mass.

It's the perfect cover.

While Monika ushers the kids downstairs, I swim in the opposite direction, crawling along the wall like I'm on a cliff walk. Kids, adults, and staff stream past me until I'm the only one in the hallway.

They've forgotten us. We won't find our way out
. Mary's worry tingles through my spine and stiffens my legs.

“No, it's good they've left us behind. We can find our own exit.” I blink, hard, half to make sure my eyes aren't closed—it's that dark—and half to break Mary's tantrum. Waving my hands in an arc in front of me, all I catch is air.

“Castor and Pollux, I could really use some light. Maybe an orb or something?” I mutter. A flicker of amber sprouts from thin air and courses down the hallway. It disappears for a millisecond, only to be replaced with a much larger, paler spike. The line swings from outlet to outlet, scalloping the wall in flame.

This is no orb. It's electrical. And it's coming straight at me.

“That's not helpful!” I should have never invoked the Gemini twins. All they've brought me is trouble, trouble, and more trouble. I slam all my weight into the door, compressing the handle and diving into the stairwell. An arc slices past me, in the exact spot I just stood.

At least this stairwell has windows. Streetlights and flashes of lightning highlight the steps so I can rush down them without worrying about tripping. When I finally get outside, the pouring rain soaks my hospital gown and plasters my hair to my forehead and neck.

While the rest of the patients huddle in front of the building, I slide around the corner and head toward the woods. I'm miles from home.

But I'm not going there.

Chapter Twenty-Three

I
ring the doorbell and pray James doesn't answer the door. With any luck, he's lost in an alternate reality forged by the combination of video games, tobacco, and booze.

The lock disengages and William swings the door open. Rap music blares from deeper inside the house.

“Anne. What're you doing here? How'd you get out?” He slips out onto the front porch, barefoot and wearing only pajama bottoms. Incense and cigarette smoke sneak around him, and so does my resolve. I should've brought my inhaler. And my ability to resist touching a hot, shirtless guy.

“I escaped.” I huddle in his shadow, arms wrapped around my chest, shivering. Rain-soaked and freezing isn't my favorite look, especially since I'm wearing a thin hospital gown and bandages on my feet.

His mouth drops, but he says nothing.

“Can I come in? I feel like a dork out here.” My teeth chatter.

“Uh, yeah, sorry.” He ushers me inside, closing the door quietly. The lock clicks with a flick of his wrist. “Mom and Dad are…working late.”

“And James?”

“Basement.” He looks me up and down. “You're soaked.”

“It's raining.”

He darts into the living room and snatches a lap blanket from the recliner. Wrapping it around me, he says, “I was worried when you hung up on me.”

“Mom visited.” I stare up at him.

William leads me upstairs. We've played in his room from time to time (as little kids). It's as familiar to me as s'mores and hot chocolate. I stand in the doorway, dripping on the sock-laden, gray carpet.

He slides open the closet door and pulls a shirt and sweatpants from the top shelf. “These'll be baggy, but they're dry.” He offers them to me, his gaze flitting here and there.

Our fingers brush as I take the clothes from him. His hand is much warmer than mine.

Keep it PG, Anne
.

I startle. She's been quiet for so long I almost forgot she was there, hearing what I hear, seeing what I see, feeling what I…never mind. “Sorry.”

It's okay. William's sweet. He'll help us
.

“Huh?” William tips his head closer.

“I mean, thanks.”

William clears his throat and cracks his knuckles. “No problem.”

I drape the sweats over my arm, unsure of who I'm thanking—Mary or William.

The silence between us settles in my heart.

Mary stirs.
Say something
, she nudges.

I jerk at the echo-y sound inside my head. “This is weird.”

William smiles and his dimples make a cameo appearance. “Yeah. I mean, you're wearing a hospital gown. A sopping wet, thin, white hospital gown with nothing but a pair of panties underneath.”

I dig a toe into the carpet and rejoice to Castor and Pollux that I've got a blanket around me. “You saw…” Oh god, what did he see?

He leaps up. “I didn't see anything, I swear.”

“Except my underwear.” I press a palm to my forehead. Melting into the floor would be an improvement to standing here, pinned under his watchful stare. I tuck strings of wet hair behind my ears instead and study his room. The faded baseball-theme border peels in places like it always has. His plaid bedspread lies rumpled across navy-blue sheets—no surprise there. The hunting knife Dad gave him last year during the faire's final week sits on his bed stand. I haven't seen that in months. He usually keeps it hidden away from his parents and five-finger-discount brother. And the things that used to line his bookshelves—stuffed toys, action heroes, puzzles, board games—are all gone, replaced by books, PS3 games, and…and a picture of him and me grinning like fools eating steak on a stick. Traditional faire food. That's new. I mean, I remember Mary taking the picture, but I didn't know William had a copy of it, let alone a framed copy on his bookshelf.