Chapter 44

Alice

My house is shrouded in shadow. Not Mel and Jack's monstrosity of a house. My house. My family home.

It's quiet. Dark. An icy wind has risen, swirling snow swallowing my neighborhood. But as I get closer, I see a thin light on in the living room.

I throw my bike on the snowy front lawn and climb the porch. The door is unlocked. It's ice-cold inside, my breath fogging. A lamp in the living room is on. I wonder if Jack's been paying the electric bill.

"Hello?" I call softly.

Her voice comes at me from the living room. "In here, Alice."

Mel is sitting at the dining room table, still wearing her coat and bobble hat. She's sipping a glass of water. Another glass of water sits across from her, leaving a damp ring on the pale wood. Next to it is a small, amber-colored bottle. Mel's Ativan.

"I thought you'd be here," I say. "Jack said you come back sometimes."

Mel looks pale and worn. Sometimes—maybe more than sometimes—I forget how much she's suffered. How devastated she's been by their loss, too.

"It's where I feel closest to them," she says.

She motions for me to sit, so I do. She slides the glass of water to me and picks up the little bottle. The pills rattle inside. Mel's hands are shaking, I realize.

"I know you've been taking them," she says.

"I'm sorry—"

She cuts me off. "What I'm more interested in is why you're taking them. Why you aren't coping and what we need to do about it."

A gust of wind raps against the window. Mel shifts in her seat.

"It's your fault, isn't it, Alice."

I bend my head, tears tightening my throat. A bone-jarring tremor is spreading up my arms, into my shoulders, rattling my teeth. Pain fills me, that old wound cracking open.

"Yes," I whisper.

She tips the bottle into her palm. Two tiny white pills tumble out. She pushes them toward me. "Take these. They'll help."

I do as she commands. The pills are acidic, sticking to my throat like bugs in a flytrap. I gulp down the whole glass of water. I've never taken two at once. I wonder what will happen.

"I shouldn't have told him," I say.

Mel cocks her head and raises her eyebrows. Go on.

"I saw Mom go into Theo Moriarty's house. I was so ... angry." A tear slips out, and it's like the floodgates open and I can't hold them back anymore. Hot tears fall, splashing onto my cold hands. "I told Dad, and they fought about it. But they seemed to get better. I thought everything would be fine, but at the Christmas party, something was off. They weren't arguing, exactly, but ..."

I dash at my tears.

"If I hadn't told him, maybe he wouldn't have done it. Maybe they'd be alive. It's all my fault."

Mel closes her eyes and takes a deep, centering breath. When she opens them, I see a sheen of hatred there. Mel blames me, too. Maybe as much as I blame myself.

"Wouldn't it be nice if all the pain could just go away?" She stares at me, her face blank. "I think that all the time. How do I get rid of this pain? And I wonder if you ever think that way, too. Because it is your fault, Alice."

I slump in my chair, feeling boneless. Hearing my own blame externalized like that, maybe it's a relief, like lancing an infected wound. I stare at the painting behind Mel. It's one my mom did of our family standing in front of the lake, the sun setting in the backdrop, Mom, Dad, and me smiling down at Ella, who's grinning up at us mischievously.

Mel tips more of the pills into her palm, a whole fistful, and pushes them toward me. I look down at the pills. Mel is giving me a choice. A way out.

Do I want to take it?

Already, I feel the two Ativan taking effect, combining with the one I took earlier. A blissful, warm sleepiness winds through my body. It's like riding a gentle wave, floating free as it carries me under a blue summer sky. How good it would feel to just dive beneath the surface, to let it engulf me.

I sweep the pills into my hand and lurch to my feet, palming them into my mouth as I press the glass of water to my lips.

"I need to lie down," I croak.

Mel's eyes are hooded, impossible to decode. "That's a good girl."

I stagger toward the battered brown couch in the living room. The floor rocks under me like I'm riding a ship in a stormy sea. I sway, trying to stay upright, but crash into a wall. I rebound off it, nearly falling to my knees. The glass flies out of my hand and shatters against the hardwood floor.

Mel scoops up the fragments of glass, sets the pieces on the table.

"Here." Her voice comes at me from very far away. She grips my elbow and guides me to the couch.

I curl onto my side, fold my hands under my chin, and close my eyes, riding the narcotic wave. Darkness creeps in at the edges of my mind, swallowing the living room light until all that's left in my mind is a dark, blank emptiness. Sleep threatens to take me under.

Someone sits at my feet. I think it's Mel, but when I slit my eyes open, it's Isla.

"Why are you here?" I ask her, my words already slurring together.

But Mel is the one to answer.

"This is my safe space," she says. "I come here all the time. Ever since that night."

Mel kneels next to me, her icy hand brushing the hair from my forehead. I shudder. My eyelids are so heavy. I let them close, stop resisting the sandbags weighing them down. Silence falls, like the snow settling outside.

"You understand, don't you, Alice? Why I had to do it?"

I fight to open my eyes and peer at her, groggy and dazed. That nagging thought that had been bugging me as I cycled over slams into me again. The beeping That Night. And then again earlier, as Mel was standing outside my room. The scent of cigarette smoke. The crackle of shoes over broken glass. The photo of my mom and Mel at the Christmas party, heads bent together.

The thought had leaped out of the dark, crystallizing. And now: confirmation.

"You were there." My voice is a raw whisper, scraping over my throat like it's been raked at with a cheese grater.

Her eyes glisten in the thin lamplight. "Do you remember?"

"The beeping . . ."

"My pacemaker malfunctioned. But it made for a pretty good alibi. You really never saw me?" she asks. "You came back. I saw you."

"I didn't see anybody else. Only Dad. I thought ..." Tears fill my eyes. I thought he would come after me next.

"I wondered, when I saw you in the hospital, if you had seen me, but you never said. You were talking nonsense about a dead little girl, completely unhinged."

"You ... killed them?" Tears are flowing now, silent, sticky sobs that feel like they're being ripped from my chest.

"It was an accident." Mel inhales deeply. "I only wanted to stop the car. To talk some sense into them. Your mother was going to go to the police. She wanted to tell them the truth about what we did to Theo. She told your dad everything, and he convinced her to turn herself in. We argued about it. That's why she wanted to go home that night instead of staying like you usually did. I had no idea you and Ella were in the car; you were supposed to be at my house! I went after them, but Pete lost control on the ice. I didn't mean to hurt any of you. I just wanted to talk some sense into her."

"But why do you want to hurt me now?" I whisper. "I won't ... tell anybody."

"I'm so sorry, Alice." She bends her head, and she really does look sorry. Just not sorry enough. "I can't risk you going to the police, like your mom wanted to. After everything I've done. I can't let you ruin it."

She grips my hands, too tight, her eyes burning intently. "But it'll be okay, I promise. I'll stay here with you the whole time. You'll just slip away peacefully."

She traces a finger over the scars on my wrist. F R

Hot tears leak from the corners of my eyes. Nobody will even question it. She'll say I've been stealing her Ativan, mixing them with my new antidepressants. All my friends will say I've been a mess since my family disappeared, drinking, partying, smoking pot, running out of class. Unhinged, as she's just said. Dr. Pam will say I've skipped my counseling sessions. Plus there's my episode in Killer's Grove.

I've been my own worst enemy.

"Tell me ... what happened," I slur.

Mel sinks onto the floor, sitting cross-legged next to me.

"Tell me . . . everything."

She waits, her eyes bright, her cheeks flushed. She has time, I'm sure she figures. Time for the pills to dissolve in my bloodstream like tiny bits of sand.

Finally, she takes a deep breath and begins.