33 #2
I didn’t know why—perhaps I was regaining strength now that I wasn’t leaning against the time stream, or perhaps it was just the emphasis I put on those words—but the end of that sentence echoed, not out of Nicola’s hearing aid but out of the phone still clutched in my claw, my voice thready and thin.
“. . . without me?”
I rolled my eye around to see the screen, glowing green. Nicola had never hung up.
“Nicola,” Ginger said, inching back a step. “What is this?”
“A ghost,” Nicola answered. “Either that or one very long, very elaborate prank by my audiologist. And, before you say it, I’m not hallucinating. I thought that at first too, but she knows things, things only the real Lucy would know, and—”
“Nic talks a lot when she’s scared,” I explained.
Ginger jerked back. “Nicola, what is this?”
“It’s Lucy. I swear. She’s here. She’s in this doll.” Nicola held me up.
I waved one exhausted claw.
Ginger stumbled back another step. “No. No. That’s not Lucy.”
“It is. She is. It’s . . . fuck. This isn’t how I imagined this going. Actually, this is exactly how I imagined it going. You don’t believe me. You’ve never believed me.”
“Nicola. This isn’t . . . this isn’t OK. I know everything has been awful tonight, but you can’t . . . you can’t believe this. You know that isn’t Lucy, right? Lucy’s been gone since—”
“Listen or leave,” Nicola snapped. “I checked Kyle’s car. The key’s in the ignition. Either you listen or you get out of here, but don’t patronize me.”
Ginger stared at her for a long moment, face white, shoulders shaking, even though it wasn’t cold. It felt like minutes, it felt like years, but then she crossed her arms and planted her feet. I figured that meant she wasn’t leaving. She was staying, for now at least. Which meant it was my turn.
I wasn’t sure what I should say. I wasn’t sure there was anything I could say that would make her believe. With Nicola, it had been easy. A phone number, a password. This time, I didn’t have any get-out-of-jail-free cards. Only words.
My grandma used to say I had a way with words. My English teachers had never agreed.
“We sat at the same table in year six,” I began, too tired to think of anything better.
“You let me borrow your glue stick because mine never worked. Also, yours was blue glue, which was just cooler. Actually, my glue stick worked just fine. I just liked yours. I liked talking to you, even though I was kinda scared of you too.”
Ginger was shaking. “That’s . . . that’s not . . .”
“And then we went to high school, and you were popular, and I wasn’t, which wasn’t anything new, but still stung I guess. It all feels kinda pointless now, doesn’t it? High school drama. We graduated, and then you started to message me. I’ve never had many friends. Mostly just Krissy.”
“This isn’t . . .”
“Do you remember year ten formal?” I continued, rambling, unsure if any of this was what I was meant to be saying, what she’d want to hear.
“You wore a pink dress and bedazzled Vans, which I said were cringey as fuck, but actually I was jealous as fuck, ’cause your feet looked like disco balls.
Also, I’d colored my shoes in black with marker, thinking they’d look cool, but they didn’t.
They looked like . . . well . . . shoes colored in with a marker.
Really, the more I think about it, the more I think I probably have an issue where I lash out at those I’m jealous of, but, like .
. . I’m dead, and I don’t think they do therapy for dead people, so . . .”
“None of this . . . ,” Ginger whispered. “None of this means anything. None of this is—”
“You always were bright, brighter than anyone else. I guess that’s what I want to say.
You don’t need to believe I’m real, but I hope you know that.
You’re so much better than a loser like Kyle.
That’s why I brought the strawberry Cruisers to your tea party.
They were glittery and pink, and they made me think of you.
You were always such a Barbie. But, like, a hot Barbie, which was so—”
“I never told anyone about those drinks. I . . .” Ginger’s hand fluttered up to cover her mouth. She wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.
“Lucy brought Cruisers?” Nicola said, looking down at me. “Holy shit. I didn’t know it was that kind of party.”
“It wasn’t,” I said.
“It wasn’t,” Ginger echoed a beat later. “My mum would’ve freaked if she knew. She was convinced I needed to lose weight. Sugary, alcoholic drinks like that? No way. I hid them. After Lucy vanished, I told myself I’d give them back to her when she came back and—”
“Do you still have them?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Ginger said. “I still have them. I couldn’t throw them away. Not when Lucy said she’d come back and get them.”
“Did I say that?”
“Are you . . . are you serious? That was the last thing you ever said to me, Lucy. I’ve thought about those words every day for years. There were nights I couldn’t stop thinking about them and you forgot?”
“I had a lot going on! Have you ever had to control-alt-delete your way out of death? It’s not as easy as it looks, you know.”
Nicola was laughing, hoarse, barking, and beautiful.
Ginger looked like she’d rather be crying.
I wished I could do both. I wanted to laugh, to cry, to howl and dance and show the concrete puddle I’d left in the construction site middle fingers I didn’t have.
Kyle was dead. He wouldn’t hurt anyone else ever again, and it didn’t save me, killing him didn’t save me, but that didn’t matter, I couldn’t let it matter, I wouldn’t let it matter.
Because I’d won. I’d won. And that was a good thing. A good thing.
I didn’t realize I’d started shaking until Nicola squeezed me tighter with her arm, locking my limbs against her side.
“It’s OK, Lu. It’s OK.”
No, I said, no longer projecting my voice into my phone, no longer wanting to talk to anyone but her. It’s not. I fucked up. I died. I was—
“That’s OK, that’s OK.”
I stole your GoPro. I stole it and lost it. I’m sorry.
She coughed out a tight laugh. “That thing hasn’t worked for years. But, if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll add it to your bill. Why did you have it?”
I was trying to make him confess. But then I . . . I couldn’t . . . I . . .
“It’s OK. It’s O—”
He told me where he left me, I said, softer, sadder. He didn’t bury me. He just put me in an old wombat hole on the creek and covered up the entrance. It was beneath a big, old willow. Krissy and I used to play there when we were kids.
Nicola’s face was a schooled mask.
He might’ve been lying. I don’t know. I’m sorry.
“It’s OK,” she said again, quieter but more confidently this time, and turned back to Ginger, who was crying silently as she stared at me. “Take Kyle’s car home,” Nicola told her. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow, we’re going to the creek.”
“The creek?” Ginger repeated.
Nicola nodded. “Bring a shovel.”