Chapter 8

Chapter

Eight

OH, NO

I don't paint dreams or nightmares, I paint my own reality.

Frida Kahlo

S am clutched her hands together as if she were praying to the authorities. Bargaining for my freedom, explaining that I had nothing to do with the death of the very dead boy in the bed next to me. The officer said something into his walkie-talkie and glanced back at me as I sat on the stoop steps of Brandon's house.

Wheels clicked beside me as they wheeled him down the stairs covered with a white sheet. The dark pavement turned neon blue and then red, blue and then red, with the siren lights as my coworker was loaded into an ambulance. I didn't even remember what I'd said when I called my sister sobbing. She'd used my shared location to find me, pulling me sobbing out of the bedroom as she frantically made phone calls.

Neighbors stood on their porches, holding their robes together at their necks, watching me, watching the scene, piecing together the details beyond the newly rolled-out yellow tape.

This felt like a nightmare.

My sister was suddenly at my side, placing a protective arm around my shoulders as the officer approached. "Miss, we're going to have to take you down to the station for questioning."

"I told you, she's not well. Questioning her would be detrimental to her mental health. Anything you need to ask, you can ask here."

"She looks familiar," the officer replied sternly.

What was I going to say? That I was having a love affair with a nightmare, and he took us both to a zombie land and killed the asshole who tried to force me into his bed? Well, that would certainly back my sister's patronizing statement that I wasn't well . Not knowing what to say, I sat stunned and silent.

Sam argued with the man for a moment when a smooth-as-silk voice rippled through my mind. Tell them he drugged you.

I don't know that for sure, I answered with my thoughts. Wow, I hadn't done that before. Hearing Mare's voice was like a wave of relief. He was okay, he was here, he was listening.

I do, Mare responded instantly. Tell them now.

I interrupted the heated dialogue surrounding me, "I was drugged."

My sister squeezed my arm. "What? That motherfucker. I'm glad he's?—"

I elbowed her side, and she shut up. "I don't need you here," I hissed.

"Yes, you do, Lucy. I knew I shouldn't have listened to you, and I should have moved in. You need someone with you?—"

"I don't need you, Sam."

"It should have been me that night and not you, Lu. Everything could have been different. The accident with Dad and?—"

Pain shot like lightning in my heart. "Why? Because you're so much better? So much more responsible that it wouldn't have happened if it were you? Don't you dare mention Dad."

My sister's face dropped. "Lu, I don't mean it like that?—"

A loud walkie-talkie beeped, interrupting us, and with a wave of the police officer's hand, the emergency techs came over, insisting I go to the hospital to be checked out. Sam demanded she drive me, everyone agreed, but I refused, not wanting to be near her. My only option was to ride in the ambulance. I was alone in my protests and shock, craving the voice of my nightmare to echo through my thoughts once more.