Chapter Four Maya

Chapter Four

Maya

May 2023

Ketamine.

I press a shaking finger to the page and look up at Detective Simmons. “This one, here. Ketamine? Isn’t that an anesthetic? My sister could have been prescribed the others…but not this.”

Simmons’s lips form a thin line. “Perhaps your sister didn’t share what drugs she was using with you…Ketamine has been popular with young people lately.” Her tone is dismissive. The disbelieving sister, unwilling to accept the truth.

“Excuse me?” How would she know what my sister would or wouldn’t tell me?

“Did your sister ever show signs of recreational drug use? Excessive drinking?”

“No.” My face warms. Am I being irrationally defensive? Sure, my sister liked to go out, but ketamine ? No. Never. It wasn’t her style.

“It could explain—”

“She was in college, she liked to have fun, but she wasn’t stupid. She wouldn’t have tried a drug like that.”

“Ma’am.” She takes a breath, clearly used to this type of reaction. “We’re trying to rule out all possibilities. We’ve seen an uptick in drug-related fatalities lately. Especially among young women who fit your sister’s profile. Were there any signs of isolating behavior?”

I feel myself stiffen at her use of the word profile. “No.”

“I need you to be honest with me. Did your sister—”

“Stop. Please, stop.” I clench my jaw. “My sister…was not a drug addict, she wasn’t living a ‘high-risk’ lifestyle.” I squeeze my eyes shut and take a breath.

I think of Naomi, so full of life, always dancing and laughing with her friends. She wanted to see the world, help people, do something important with her life; she had so much left to do. The anger seeps out of me, replaced by a deep, empty, aching loss. I want to go home.

I don’t realize I’m crying until Simmons offers me a tissue.

“I’m sorry.” Simmons looks me over with a sympathetic frown. “I know this must be extremely difficult. I think I have what I need for tonight. We can talk again another time, when you’ve had a chance to let things sink in.” She closes the folder and slides it back toward her.

“No, wait. Do you have any other theories about what happened?”

Simmons goes still. There’s something she’s not saying. She inhales sharply and when she speaks again she proceeds slowly, carefully. “When dealing with an overdose, we have to consider the possibility…that it may have been intentional.”

—

Nate drives us to the hotel in silence. I stare out the window, eyes swollen, thinking of everything I could have done differently. If only I’d been easier on her. If only I’d called more often these last few months, insisted she tell me what was going on. If only I’d been there for her.

“Almost there,” Nate says, a concerned hand reaching over to squeeze mine. Beneath it, I dig my nails into the seat, concentrating on the tiny scar on the base of his knuckle. “You doing okay?” Nate asks, and I cut my gaze to him.

Do I look okay? I want to ask. Naomi is gone. I’ll never be okay again.

But I’m too exhausted to respond, so I lean my head against the window and close my eyes. Breathe, I command myself. Breathe.

When I open them again, we’ve turned down a street on the edge of campus, one I recognize for all the nights we’d stumbled down it arm in arm after a night of partying. Set back from the road are the university’s eating clubs, stunning mansions that house the upper-class coed social clubs that much of Princeton life revolves around. I remember all the times I’d warned Naomi to stay away from them, especially the one that drew me in, Sterling Club. And she’d ignored me, of course, always intent on doing exactly the opposite of what I’d said.

As the clubs float past one by one, I’m struck by a strange sense of déjà vu. The conflicting evidence, the way her body was found—the guilt—reminds me of that day ten years ago when another young woman died and it was dismissed as an accident.

She had been a member of our eating club. A friend. She’d had a promising future ahead of her too.

Life before was a blur, like we were running through a dream. And everything after…well, it’s as if I’ve been dragging around the weight of what we did for the past decade. We made so many mistakes, and instead of telling Naomi the truth, instead of warning her about what she was getting into, I’d buried it down deep. I’d told her not to join Sterling, but I hadn’t told her why. I hadn’t told her about Lila.

Over the years, I’ve lain awake at night thinking about Lila’s death, running through my years at Princeton again and again, so many times that I’ve come to doubt my own memories.

But now the memories rush in, and as they fill my thoughts, so does the guilt.

“Need some air?” Nate asks, rolling down the window, and I jerk upright, startled by the sound of his voice.

I look at him, unable to speak, and begin to shiver. My nails dig deeper into the seat as my shame grows, crawling over my skin, coiling itself in my gut, the question ringing out in my mind: Did the same thing happen to my sister?