Page 25 of One Last Lie

Me? In a mental hospital? That can’t possibly be true. Something is wrong here. Something has been fabricated to make me look unwell. Does someone suspect that I’m looking into Johnathan’s death?

I pull the business cards out of my pocket. One is for Doctor Yareli Gonzalez, the woman I’ve just spoken with.

The other is for Doctor Alexander Harrow.

I release a short laugh that earns a nervous glance from Javier. Then I look out the window and put all thoughts of psychologists and paranoia and sanitariums from my mind.

One image remains, and it’s an image I haven’t dwelt on for years.

Her smile, eternally youthful, remains in my mind later that evening when I head to bed.

CHAPTER NINE

“I’ve made my decision, mother. It’s final.”

Mother frowns at me, an expression that conveys a distaste so pure it could be distilled and crystallized. “Odd, the decisions you choose to stand behind. You approach cowardice with more bravery than anyone I’ve ever known.”

Her words sting, but I’ve long ago learned to hide the pain. “There’s no cowardice in choosing to be an educator. The world needs teachers.”

“The world needs doctors as well, and few people spend four years in school showing such promise as you only to throw away a scholarship to the finest medical university in the world to pursue a career teaching elementary school.”

“Perhaps more people should show such humility.” I counter.

“Cowardice, Mary, not humility.”

“Don’t presume to know my thoughts.”

I try to keep emotion from my voice, but I can’t stop the crack that comes on the last word. She just makes me so angry!

“But I do know your thoughts, dear. You’re a coward. You always have been.”

She says this with the same casual tone one might use to say, “That is a housecat,” but her face drips with scorn.

I wait a moment to allow the sting to pass, then say, “I’m sorry you feel that way.”

“What would Annie think, I wonder? Had you not abandoned her, she might be here to—Oh!”

Her face whips to the left from the force of my blow. She stares at me in shock and lifts a hand to her already reddening face. I’m sure I wear the same shock in my own eyes.

I’ve never struck my mother before, but what’s done is done. And the bitch deserved it anyway. “I didn’t abandon her, mother. I chose to remember her as she was and not fixate on the horrible fate that might have befallen her.”

“You could have spared her that fate, you fucking coward!” she hisses. All pretense of civility is gone from her voice. “You signed that bloody document. It’s your fault they stopped looking for her. If she’s dead, it’s because you let her die.”

I open my mouth to continue the argument, then close it. My mother’s gone. I’m no longer in her home in Boston. I’m in the forest. The air is bitterly cold, and the trees are devoid of leaves. Their skeletal forms loom over me, reaching for me with bony, grasping fingers. A fog thickens around me, and I remain perfectly still, convinced that if I budge even an inch, they’ll reach me.

The hairs on the back of my neck lift. I want to shiver, but even that movement is denied me. My heart thumps thickly in my chest, and my breath adds to the fog in front of me.

Something’s behind me. Someone is behind me. I can feel it. I can feel her. She's behind me, and if I turn around, I'll see her; if I turn around, I'll know; if I turn around, it'll all be over, and my sanity will snap, and I'll scream, and I'll scream, and I'll scream, and I'll never stop screaming and God, just please go away, go away, go aWAY!

Something slithers over my shoulder. My eyes turn slowly to my right, and I see porcelain-white fingers moving over me. I lift my gaze up to the owner of those fingers. When I meet the specter’s eyes, I open my mouth and—

***

I sit bolt upright and gasp. I am soaked in sweat, but I shiver uncontrollably.

"Oh God," I whisper, a breathy hiss that sounds like it comes from my chest and not my throat. "Oh, Jesus Christ. Oh God."

The terror of the dream leaves me trembling and still for a long while. I wait until my heartbeat calms, then several minutes after. An irrational fear convinces me that if I move, something horrible will happen.

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