Page 91 of The Last Session

“We’ll give you two a little time to catch up.” Moon shooed them out as Mikki gave me a last questioning glance and shut the door behind them.

So Catherinehadbeen here the whole time. It felt odd to be standing in front of her, like seeing a cartoon character in real life. As soon as the door closed, Catherine’s smile fell. She stared at me, and I noticed the dark circles under her eyes.

“Want to sit and chat?” Her words were light, at odds with the heaviness with which she slumped at the table. I sat across from her, and her smile reappeared. This time it looked slightly wooden. Goose bumps stippled my arms. Something wasn’t right here.

“Catherine, seriously. Are you okay?” I sat across from her, feeling disoriented, fuzzy. That constant question banging in my head—What happened to Catherine?—had dissolved in the blink of an eye. But other questions, many more, were rising to take its place.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m great.” She squinted. “Oh, you want something to drink? Water? Tea? Actually, the teakettle just broke, so—”

“Wait, stop. What the fuck is going on?” I asked.

She blinked. “What?”

I scoffed, raising my hands. “Are you really surprised to see me?”

“Yeah?” She smiled uncertainly.

“You left me a secret note pointing me here. After you were basically kidnapped from the hospital.”

Her forehead creased. “I wasn’t kidnapped.”

“Yeah, but they used fake IDs to get in. Who were those people?”

“Thea…” She stretched out her hand. “I wasn’t kidnapped. Really. But I’m glad you’re here. It means a lot that you were worried about me.”

“I was.” Saying the words, I felt suddenly embarrassed. Had I been paranoid, reading into clues that didn’t even exist? “In the note you said you’d made a mistake and had to deal with the consequences.”

“Which was true. I ran away from the Center, and I shouldn’t have.” She shrugged. “I had to come back.”

“But why write me in the first place?”

“Because I wanted to thank you.” She scratched her nose. “Really. I didn’t have ulterior motives.”

“Why did you hide it like that, in the crayon box?”

“Because I didn’t trust anyone there,” she said. “And you told me you did that art class, so I figured you’d see it.”

“But why did you thank me for using my headphones? They were Amani’s.”

“Oh.” She drummed her fingers on the table. “I guess I forgot whose they were.”

So it hadn’t been a subtle clue. She’d truly just forgotten. Something I’d suspected briefly and moved on from, too excited by the other possibility. She’d been overwhelmed, on meds… of course she hadn’t remembered (or cared) whose headphones she’d borrowed.

I sat back, deflated. “Okay. So who were the impersonators? How did you contact them?”

“I didn’t. They just showed up. People who used to live here who are now in New York.”

“With fake IDs?”

She shrugged. “They knew it was the only way they could get in.”

“Why didn’t they just ask you to see them?”

“I didn’t leave on great terms.” She grimaced. “I think they knew I’d be too embarrassed.”

I paused. “So why’d you tell your parents you’d leave with them?”

“I was planning to. But when CRH people showed up, it seemed like it was meant to be.” Her leaf-green eyes were wide, guileless.

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