Chapter 14
Eight Weeks Ago
I dreamed I was running so fast it felt like flying, like one long leap would send me airborne.
Ahead of me was an indistinct figure, also running.
I was chasing it, gaining on it. I’d overtake it in a minute, but right now I focused on the joy of the chase.
On the way my prey ran away from me like a frightened little mouse.
It was fun when people ran. I liked to chase them.
I liked the smell of fear streaming off them as I gained on them.
I liked the long, weightless moment when I leaped, and I liked the shock of collision when I landed on my prey and forced it to the ground.
Best of all, I liked the bright fountain of blood—
My eyes flew open, and I stared around wildly.
My body felt heavy, and my mind was full of dark mist. “What happened?” I said, but no sound came out.
I tried again, my mouth making the shapes of the words, but not the sounds.
I was alone, immobile and voiceless. Panic slammed into me with enough force to move my hand a few centimeters.
“Shhh,” a voice said, startling me. I felt my body attempt to jerk away and fail.
“Calme-toi,” the voice soothed. It told me not to try to talk or move because I had stitches, and I needed to let them heal.
I wanted to ask why I had stitches, but my voice didn’t work. Where had it gone? Who’d taken it?
Another voice joined the first. Dad’s voice. “Tosh? Are you okay?” Relief broke over me; I didn’t know where I was, but Dad was here, too, so I was safe. I tried to turn toward him. My head swam for a second, my stomach lurched, and then everything went away.
When I woke up again, I could move. I was weak, but my body responded when I asked it to.
I lay in an unfamiliar bed, covered by a sheet and a thin blanket, in a sparsely furnished room.
An IV fed into my arm. Hospital, I thought.
Why? I rolled my head to the side and saw Dad, asleep in a chair near my bed, his head at an uncomfortable angle, his face gray and unshaven.
Madame Dupuy sat nearby, reading on her phone.
She glanced at me, saw I was awake, and took hold of my hand.
I tried to speak, but she shushed me. She told me that I’d been hurt, and I had stitches, and I shouldn’t talk.
Where do I have stitches? I wondered. She must have seen the question on my face because she gestured to her neck. I put my hand up and felt the dressing taped there.
“You lost a lot of blood,” she said. “We were very worried.” She turned to Dad, still asleep, and raised her voice slightly.
“Monsieur Reeves.” He started straight out of his chair, saw my eyes were open, and gathered me into his arms. I inhaled his familiar smell of cloves and soap, and memories of Mom’s funeral washed over me.
Then I’d been clinging to him; now it was the other way around.
“I thought I’d lost you,” he whispered, choking on tears. “You were—” He broke off.
“You were attacked,” Madame Dupuy said softly.
I remembered running, hearing another set of footsteps behind me. Being so scared. The rest of it came back to me like a blow, and I closed my eyes to try to keep myself from seeing Le Bec’s face again. I’d been sure he was going to kill me.
“Did you see who did this?” Dad asked when he finally let me go. I nodded. He turned to Madame Dupuy and asked her to call the police officer who’d taken their statements, but she was already tapping the number into her phone. He turned back to me. “Why were you out alone?” he demanded.
I tried to reply, but pain jabbed my throat, leaving me breathless and sweating.
“Well?” Dad said. I pointed at my throat and tried to shake my head, but the motion made me feel like my skin was tearing apart.
Madame Dupuy realized what the problem was, reminded Dad I couldn’t talk, and left the room to find some paper and a pen.
Dad took hold of my hand, and I looked up to see tears slipping down his face.
“When the police called…” He squeezed my hand.
I squeezed back. I remembered the final, dizzy, stomach-dropping feeling of knowing I’d never see him again, and I was so full of gratitude and guilt that I started to cry, too.
When Madame Dupuy returned with a pen and a block of sticky notes with “Cordarone” printed across the top in an imposing red font, Dad asked me again why I’d been out by myself.
“That could have waited till I got home,” he said when I wrote that it was a tampon emergency.
I underlined “emergency” and wrote, Store would have been closed then.
It was still light out. He shook his head. There were lots of people, I added.
“You should have waited,” he lectured. “Or planned better.” I wanted to cry. My period isn’t always predictable. And sometimes I forget to buy tampons, just like everybody in the world forgets things. A tampon run shouldn’t almost cost me my life.
The police officer Madame Dupuy had called poked her head through the door, and Dad waved her in.
It took ages before she was finally done asking questions, ages that turned into centuries because I had to write all my answers out in French.
She complimented my grammar, though, so yay summer school and Madame Dupuy.
She didn’t react when I told her I knew my attacker, but she asked me a lot of questions about where he hung out and who his friends were.
When she was done, she assured me they’d find him, which was comforting.
She gave me her card and left to chase down Le Bec, I hoped.
I slumped back onto my thin pillow and closed my eyes. I was so tired.
“I’m sorry I have to say this, but I can’t let you see any of those kids anymore,” Dad said.
I reached for the sticky-note pad. Why? I scribbled.
“Because they’re friends with the guy who attacked you.”
They didn’t know he was the one doing the attacks. And Nick had apologized for hanging out with Le Bec.
“Are you sure about that?”
What a horrible thing to say. He attacked Noor. If they were part of it, he wouldn’t have done that. Also, they wouldn’t do that to me. They’re good people.
“You’ve only known them a few weeks. How can you be sure what they’d do? And the guy who attacked you apparently was one of your friends, too.”
No. He was someone they all knew, but they weren’t tight with him. He kind of kept himself aloof.
“At best they sound careless, Tosh. At worst, they’re friends with a monster who almost killed you.
When you get home, you’re going to have to tell them you can’t see them anymore.
And you won’t be leaving the apartment until this guy is caught.
Do you understand that? Do you understand that no woman is safe right now?
Tosh, I trusted you to be smart, and instead you just waltzed out like the world was full of kittens and rainbows because you couldn’t wait overnight to buy tampons. ”
I started to cry. He was talking to me like I was five.
I didn’t waltz carelessly out; I had a plan.
I was vigilant. And a tampon emergency is a real emergency, not just some minor inconvenience.
I wrote that on a sticky note and handed it to him.
He just shook his head and put it into the wastebasket.
I went home the following afternoon with a huge dressing on my neck and pain like shaking a tumbler of broken glass whenever I swallowed.
I had to drink my meals, and I couldn’t talk, but the doctor said it could have been so much worse.
Meaning Le Bec could have taken my life instead of just my voice.
I crawled into bed full of hurt and grateful to be alive and fell asleep.
I woke that evening when Madame Dupuy knocked on my door with a homeopathic infusion to help my throat heal and a small whiteboard and marker so I could “talk.” Swallowing was torture, so the tea was cold when I finally drank the last of it.
She stayed with me till I finished, then took the cup, felt my forehead, and asked me if I was hungry.
I shook my head. She stood there a moment, smiled sadly, and said, “I am sorry about your friends. I believe you.” Then she left.
I heard her wishing Dad a good evening, and then I heard the front door close.
Dad poked his head in my room. “How you doing?”
I made the seesaw hand motion that meant Could be worse; could be better. He nodded. “It’s time to tell your friends you can’t see them anymore.” He stayed in the doorway, leaning on the jamb, until I’d sent the text and held up my phone to show him.
Me: Le Bec attacked me Friday night. It was bad—I just got home from the hospital. He really messed up my neck, and I can’t talk. Dad’s so angry. He says I can’t see any of you anymore because you introduced me to Le Bec. I’m so, so sorry. I’m not mad at you
Then I turned my phone off so I didn’t have to hear all their “WTAF” pings.