Page 21 of I Need You to Read This
“Yes, I think you should quit,” he said again, so sharply I had to look at him to make sure he wasn’t joking, but he had the serious look he got when he made up his mind about something. “Then you can have time to go to school. I’ll even help you.”
“Really?” I asked him, my heart racing.
“Really,” he said. “You know I love you.”
“I love you, too,” I found myself saying, my throat thick with emotion. Things are changing, moving so fast it makes my head spin. Maybe that is just what happens when you take charge of your own life. Sometimes I worry that this is all in my imagination, that one day I will wake up back in my own room at home with no hope or future at all. I have to make myself look around, to recognize that this is all real. And it is mine. I don’t know how I got so lucky, Constance.
Now that Brian is on board with school, I am going to do it. I am going to quit my job at Sam’s and start my life fresh just like I’ve always wanted. It might not be far away, like I dreamed, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be good. I don’t know why I’m so nervous. I feel like I finally am making my own life, like I have choices. I just hope I make the right ones. How do you know what you are meant to be doing with your life, Constance? How do you learn to trust yourself?
Sincerely,
Lost Girl
NINETEEN
The mailroom is dark, and Alex can’t find the switch. She wanders in anyway, following the slim patch of light from the hallway. It illuminates the ragged edges of the bins. They have grown exponentially since she last saw them. They tower with letters now, masses and masses of them, piled so high they bow out overhead, threatening to topple. How are there so many? She hears something, a small voice, muffled by paper, calling for help. Is someone trapped inside the piles? She plunges a hand into the stack, trying to help. The voice calls out again. Clearer this time.Please,it says.Please help.It is frail and light, like the voice of a child. She begins to pull the letters away. But each time she stops and tries to orient herself, the pile has grown larger. It swells before her eyes, hitting the ceiling and bulging against the walls. She sees now that the letters are an organism, and this person is being slowly digested. She braces herself with her feet as she pushes her hand deeper; finally her fingers brush up against the hard warmth of a body. “I’ve got you,” she calls out just as the letters begin to fall. They are beautiful at first, like a gentle snow, but soon they are toppling, suffocating her, slicing at her face and arms. Now invisible hands clamp down on her wrists. But they are not the small fingers of a child. They are coarse and strong. She screams as the fingers grab her amidst the blur of white. The hands are at her neck, squeezing.They are familiar, and she knows they won’t stop until they extinguish every last breath—
Alex jolts awake in the dark with a shuddering gasp as she struggles to fill her lungs with air. The blankets are twisted around her, pinning her legs down. She thrashes against them wildly until the familiar ceiling fan and dark curtains of the window in the corner reassure her that she is in her own bedroom. Heart still thrumming in her chest, she slowly untangles herself and sits up. It is unbearably hot in her apartment and her throat is parched.
Alex drags herself out of bed, making her way into the kitchen to get a glass of water. She goes to the windows, still rattled from the dream, and checks the locks. Across the street the Bluebird is dark inside. She scans the sidewalk, reassuring herself that there is no one there she recognizes. Only a young couple clinging to each other, stumbling a little on their way home from a nearby Irish pub. Their laughter echoes up into her apartment.
It’s not normal to be like this, Alex thinks. She has been so isolated for so long. Ready to pack up and leave at a moment’s notice. She has done so much to escape what happened to her all those years ago now, but it is still with her. She is still locking doors and hiding. Will she ever be able to free herself from it, or will it lurk forever in her subconscious waiting to step out and torment her just when things seem to be going okay for a change? The job is a step in the right direction. She can no longer hide in her apartment. More and more she wonders if anyone is even looking for her, or if it is all in her mind. Maybe she exaggerated the entire thing. Either way, she realizes now, looking out onto the empty street, she can’t run anymore. Someday soon she’ll have to stop and look behind her.
TWENTY
Alex is still rattled when she goes into the Bluebird on Friday morning. She hasn’t slept well since the start of the week. Her eyes feel bloodshot and heavy.
“Looking rough, kid,” Raymond says.
“Thanks, Raymond,” Alex answers sarcastically, pulling a coffee toward her and taking a large gulp.
“They’ve got you working too hard up there,” he says, munching on some toast.
“I don’t know. I feel like I actually might not be working hard enough. I haven’t come up with my column yet and it’s due today.” As she says it, her stomach turns.
“Cutting it close.” Raymond whistles.
“Oh God, Ray. You really know how to make someone feel better, don’t you?” Janice says, disgusted, dropping off their breakfasts. “You’ll be great, Alex. Don’t listen.”
“I don’t know. I just keep thinking I’m going to choose the wrong one and everyone will hate it.”
“You just have to believe in yourself. What other option do you have?” Janice says. Alex smiles weakly, wishing that it were all so simple.
“Oh, but look. I wanted to show you both what I found.” She pulls out a small sample of Francis’s handwriting that she found in thekitchen cupboard—a Post-it, clinging to a box of expired peppermint tea:Francis’s! Please ask if you want one, you lovely thieves.
Raymond pushes his plate away and runs his napkin over the counter. “Let me see the other one, the note.” Alex retrieves the little notecard from her purse and hands it to him. He places the two paper squares on the counter next to one another and takes out his reading glasses.
“See how this one is more loopy? And this one is shorter, thewis more angular.” It is already clear to Alex that they were not written by the same person, but she nods politely, listening to Raymond’s impressions.
“Oh yeah, those are totally different,” Janice says, barely pausing to glance as she passes with a tray full of omelets. “Doesn’t take a detective to see it.” Raymond glares up at her as Alex pulls the notes back, tucking them into her bag.
“So that rules out Francis as the one who wrote the note to herself,” Alex says.
“Yes, I believe it does,” Raymond agrees. Alex takes a sip of coffee. “Like I told you before, I would treat it as a threat.”
“I didn’t want to worry you, Ray, but I got something a little off in the mail bin.”
“Show it to me.”
