Page 3 of The Imaginary Friend's Obsession

I drum my fingers on my laptop keyboard. My thoughts are a mess. “D-Dorian,” I say, nearly choking on the name. It’s been so long since I let myself say it, let myself eventhinkabout him. He’s not real, he can’t be real…but I can’t fight the surge of emotions every time his name comes up. “Is… Is he…?” I don’t even know what I’m trying to ask.

“He’s… I’m not sure ‘alive’ is the right word, but he’s still here.”

Relief shudders out of me even as I struggle to wrap my mind around this. No one at the MRF ever called Dorianhimwhen they interrogated me. They always said “it,” or “the subject,” or “this so-called friend.” They never talked about him like he was real.

Ezra clears his throat. “The reason I called is that we—the MRF—are under new leadership and taking a fresh approach to things. We’ve been going through our files, reevaluating our subjects in addition to our protocols. X-15—Dorian, that is—is a particularly interesting case, especially given his connection to you.”

The silence stretches while I try to work up the courage to say something.

“But how did you find me?” I manage. “I’ve changed my name three times. I’ve been all over the country. You went through all of the trouble to find me? To contact me at work?”

“I… well… It wasn’t mepersonallythat…” Another pause, this one almost guilty.

“The MRF has known where I am the entire time,” I say, realizing.

“The MRF has some strong feelings about loose ends,” he says. “But I didn’t contact you on a whim. I know you’ve been through a lot, Daisy. And so has he. So the reason I’m calling to ask is… Well. Do you want to come see Dorian?”

I stop breathing.

It’s a trick. A trap. It has to be. When they took Dorian from me, I asked so many times to be allowed to speak to him. I begged, cried, pleaded. They always said the same thing: “It’s a figment of your imagination, a way to deal with the trauma…”

When I persisted, they had me committed.

He’s not real. He’s not real. He’s not real.

“I…” My voice is barely more than a whisper. “I don’t… I can’t…”

A vague memory stirs. A record spinning. Running through the hallways of my home with a larger, heavier set of footsteps following mine. There’s a dull pain behind my eyes, a nameless ache in my chest.

I spent so long convincing myself that he was a coping mechanism, a false memory. But the yearning never went away. I’ve spent so many nights curled up in bed, crying over something I can’t name. Is it possible to miss someone who never existed?

My thoughts are a jagged, painful jumble. But my emotions tug toward home for the first time in seven years.

But that means returning to Ash Valley. To the house. To beingDaisy.

“I understand this must be strange and sudden, but I could use your help,” Ezra says on the other end of the line. “Something is wrong with Dorian, and I’m afraid we don’t have much time. You may not have another chance to see him.”

I can practically hear the metal jaws of a trap snapping shut around me. Even as I will myself to hang up, I know he’s caught me with something impossible to refuse.

If there’s the smallest chance that Dorian is real, that heneedsme, then I can’t possibly stay away. This could be my one opportunity to find out the truth about everything that happened.

I shut my eyes and take a deep breath. “What can I do?”

“It’s easier to explain in person. When’s the soonest you can come?”

I hesitate. “I’ll need some time to wrap things up at work. Next weekend?”

“Of course.”

We exchange information. I let him buy me a plane ticket. I promise to be there over the weekend.

Then I hang up and head to my already packed car. If I drive without stopping, it will take me about twenty-four hours.

I won’t run from this. But I refuse to follow blindly where the MRF leads. They chose to summon me with a phone call instead of sending men in black suits to collect me by force, so perhaps there’s some truth in what Ezra said over the phone. Perhaps they’ve changed.

Perhaps.

But before I go to the MRF, I want to go home, for the first time since my parents were murdered there.

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