Twenty-Four

I sit on my bed, feet on the floor. I stare at the wall. I feel empty, spent. Worse than I did after two nights of not sleeping.

I finally had friends, or at least I thought I did. And every last one of them betrayed me. This program, which promised to lift me up and make my life better, has instead stolen what little life I had. If I keep trying to fight Isabella, either she will kill me or O'Connor will burn my life to the ground.

There is only one other option, the thing I swore I would never do.

I have to go home.

Back to Mom and our little apartment. Back to the sad, strained life we led together. Back to my little town, where nothing ever happens and no one hopes for anything to. Where there is no life and no future.

Either I can give my body over to a vengeful, dangerous ghost or I can become a ghost again myself.

I lie back in bed and close my eyes. I can feel Isabella inside me, stirring at the edges of my conscious mind, waiting and watching for her moment to get out. I run my fingers through my shorn hair. Neil's right—all she did was give me a bad haircut. But there are so many worse things she could do. She could hurt me. She could make me hurt someone else. She could kill me like she killed Meredith.

I lie still for a long time, and it feels like I'm already mourning my lost life. My four years here at Corbin, the career I would have had, the books I would have written, the classes I would have taught. Silent tears run down my cheeks.

But finally, there's nothing else to do but the inevitable. Maybe it was always going to come to this, even without Isabella, without Magni Viri. Mom told me that Corbin College wasn't for people like us. She was right.

I scroll to her name in my contacts and hit the Call button. The phone doesn't ring, but a woman's voice comes on immediately. "We're sorry, but the number you have dialed is no longer in service."

I sit up fast, holding out my phone to see if I called the wrong person. But I didn't. It's Mom's number, the one she has had since I was a kid. And it's disconnected.

I dial it again to be sure. But the same thing happens.

My heart rate explodes. Why is my mom's phone disconnected? Did she go off the deep end without me there to keep an eye on her? Or did she change it on purpose? She said she never wanted to speak to me again. Maybe she meant it.

I squeeze my eyes tight, pushing the horrible possibility away. I dial the McDonald's where she was working last. But when I ask for her, the girl on the phone says that my mom doesn't work there, hasn't worked there for weeks now. She can't tell me anything else. I hang up, my lungs constricting in my chest.

My hands shaking, I text Robin: Hey, my mom is MIA. Have you seen her around town at all?

A notification that she's typing appears immediately, then vanishes. Appears and then vanishes.

Shit, that's not good.

Finally, she responds: Oh no, sorry to hear that! I saw her two weeks ago at Walmart with some guy I didn't know but she turned and went the other way.

I wonder what else Robin chose not to say, what got deleted while I was watching those three dots start and stop. I could ask her to go by the apartment and see if my mom is home, but there's one other thing I can try first. I dial our landlady, a cranky old woman who lives next door to us. She has an ancient beige-colored landline phone, and it always takes her an eternity to get out of her chair in front of the TV and walk across the room to where it's mounted on the wall. I know because I listened to it ring all day every day when I lived there.

This time, the phone rings sixteen times before she answers.

"What?" she yells into the receiver.

"Hi, Mrs. Norris? This is Tara from next door."

"Who?"

"Tara Boone, Beth's daughter? Your neighbor? Remember, I'm at college in Tennessee now?"

She pauses, thinking it over. "What do you want? If your mama is trying to take back that doll she gave me, she can forget about it. The mess she left behind in that—"

"Doll? What doll?"

"The Cabbage Patch one. She doesn't know this, but it's worth a pretty penny. Vintage and all that. Might just about pay for—"

"She gave you my doll?" I ask, shocked. That was the last thing my dad gave me before he and my mom split up for good. I nearly brought it to college with me but had left it on my bed at the last second, afraid it was too babyish.

"I told you, I'm not giving it back," Mrs. Norris warns. "Now, if you'll excuse me—"

"Mrs. Norris, wait. I'm not calling you about the doll. I'm trying to find my mom. Her phone is disconnected and she's not working at McDonald's anymore. Can you tell her to call me?"

"No, I can't. She moved out two weeks ago. If you'd stopped interrupting me, you'd already know that."

All the air leaves my chest. "Wha-What? She moved out? Why?"

"I don't know and I don't care. I was glad to see the back of her. Constant loud noise. Always arguing with that new boyfriend of hers. She almost set the place on fire once. Good riddance."

Panic crawls up my throat. "Mrs. Norris, did she tell you where she was going? Or did she leave you any way to contact her? A forwarding address?"

"No, she didn't."

"But... how am I supposed to find her? She doesn't even have Facebook anymore."

"Well, bless your heart, I thought you were supposed to be smart, all up in college and everything. You don't know much, do you?"

"I really don't," I say, too overwhelmed to be offended. "You can't think of any way to get in touch with her?"

Mrs. Norris pauses. When she speaks again, her voice is surprisingly gentle. "Listen here, little girl. Your mama took off, and if she wanted you to find her, she'd ha' told you where she was going. But she didn't. And if I were you, I'd count myself lucky to be rid of her. You've taken care of that woman for long enough. She's a bad seed, but that doesn't mean you have to be one too. And it doesn't mean you have to clean up her messes. You be a good girl and stay in college. Everything'll turn out all right for you in the end, you hear? Forget about your mama and live your life. You'll be better for it."

"Yes, ma'am," I say mechanically. "Thank you. Goodbye." I end the call before she can reply.

My mom is gone. She changed her number, quit her job, and moved—all without telling me. She left her life behind like it was nothing. She left me behind like it was nothing.

Because I left her first.

To come here and follow my dream, to become someone she wouldn't want to know.

Mom was childish and needy, irresponsible, undependable. But she was my family. My only family.

And now what am I left with? I have nowhere to go. I have no way to support myself. If I leave Corbin College, I'll be homeless. If I stay here, I'll be sharing my body with Isabella for the next four years, completely at her mercy.

Dr. O'Connor has me exactly where he wants me. I have no choice but to stay. I can't quit Magni Viri. I can't leave this house. I can't fight Isabella. I belong to her now.

The reality of my situation crashes down on me with enormous, irrefutable force. All my fighting was for nothing. Isabella has won, completely and irrevocably. There's absolutely nothing I can do about it.

With a sob, I pull the covers over me and lie down on my bed, tucking my knees against my chest. I have never felt more alone or more helpless. I have never felt less loved.

Because there's no point in fighting it any longer, I go to sleep.