Chapter 5
Kenzi
I’ve been practicing my part all day. Now I’m in a fresh gown, but it’s still no nicer than the other one. It hardly seems practical for the star performer, but I’m trying not to worry about that. I can ask Laurel once I’m backstage. She’ll know what to do.
Click.
Someone’s unlocking my dressing room door.
I spin in that direction. Maybe they have my costume. I hope not that woman pretending to be a nurse. She doesn’t seem to like me much.
In walks an impossibility. It can’t be.
I lean against the bed for support. Struggle to find words. “Claire?”
My sister has been dead for a long time, but here she is. Right in front of me.
Claire turns to me and tucks some hair behind her ears. She smiles, lines forming around her eyes as she does. “Good evening, Kenzi. My name is Dr. Hanson. You can call me Sofia if you prefer.”
Sofia? Dr. Hanson?
“What’s going on?” I study my sister with confusion.
She sets a bag on the counter. “I came in here to meet you. Hopefully I can help.”
“Are you with the stage crew?”
“Stage crew?” She pauses. “Oh, do you mean for the play?”
The doctor knows about the performance. Maybe she isn’t even really a doctor after all. Her name is fake, and she’s getting into her part. Claire has always been clever like that.
I stand straighter. “Yes, exactly! I’ve been waiting for directions all day.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It really is. I’m so glad you’re here, Claire.”
“Would you mind calling me Sofia? Or Dr. Hansen? That way we can get into our parts easier.”
“Definitely.” I nod vehemently. “Anything for the play.”
“Great.” She flashes me another smile. “Do you want to tell me about it?”
“Don’t you know? You have the part of the doctor.”
“I do, but I’m new. The original actor got sick, so I’m filling in.”
“That makes so much sense.” I think of my lines—the ones I’ve been practicing all day—but I can’t figure out what the storyline is. Why can’t I remember?
“Are you okay, Kenzi?” Her eyes fill with concern.
When I was little, Claire always made sure I was okay. At least until she left me alone with our parents when she went off to college.
I was so little, so defenseless.
“Kenzi?” She steps toward me.
“Why did you leave me?”
“Leave you?”
“With our parents. You went to college and never came back.”
“Claire is your sister?”
I cross my arms. “You know that.”
She takes a step back, putting space between us. “I’m Dr. Sofia Hanson. Would you prefer to call me Sofia or Dr. Hanson, Kenzi?”
Right. The play. It’s so hard to focus with my sister back from the dead.
“Would you like to talk about Claire?”
“You are Claire.”
She nods. “But we’re in our parts, remember. Talk about your sister to me as if I were a doctor and not her.”
“How does this help the performance?”
“The more I know you, the better I can play my part when we’re on stage together.”
I guess that makes sense. “Shouldn’t we be practicing?”
“We have plenty of time.”
“Is that what Laurel said?”
Claire nods.
I suppose it would be helpful to start thinking of her as Dr. Sofia Hanson. I don’t want to pull myself out of my part while on stage.
“Would you like to sit and talk? Or we can go somewhere else.”
“Where? Another dressing room?” I can’t remember having been anywhere other than here. That terrible nurse keeps locking me in.
“I have a dressing room with a couch and chairs. Does that sound nice?”
“You’d let me leave here?”
“While we work on our lines, yes.”
“What about after?”
“Then we all have to practice our lines in our own rooms.”
I frown. “Laurel’s behind that decision?”
“She’s the director?”
“Yes. You haven’t met her?”
“Not yet. I hear she’s very busy.”
“That would explain why she hasn’t even stopped by to see how I’m doing.” I sigh.
Dr. Hanson nods. It’s easier to think of her as that than Sofia. I’ll never think of her as having any other first name besides Claire. She glances toward the door. “Everyone is waiting to see her. Would you like to see my office? I mean, my dressing room?”
“Sure. I’m tired of running my lines, anyway.”
“Great.” She takes her bag and opens the door, gesturing for me to go ahead of her.
The hallway is bright, and the walls are white. This isn’t the normal theater.
I want to ask about that but don’t. There are many people bustling around, and several of them are wearing similar hospital gowns to mine. Many are dressed like the nurse who has been coming into my room. Clearly, the play involves a hospital. I’d better inspect the script when I get a chance.
Dr. Hanson leads me around other people until we come to another door. She opens it and motions me inside.
Her dressing room is nothing like mine. She has a long couch and several plush chairs, and off to the side is a very official-looking desk with a computer and a lot of papers. The walls are calming pastel colors, and she has pretty paintings of beaches all over.
She closes the door, and all the bustling noises from the hallway goes silent. “Pick your seat.”
I pick a spot on the sofa, and she moves another chair across from it, giving me another smile. “Tell me about Laurel. Is she a talented director?”
“The best.”
Dr. Hanson nods, looking thoughtful. “Do you mind if I take notes? It will help us put on a better performance.”
I shrug. “Okay.”
“Perfect, thanks.” She gets an electronic tablet from her desk and writes with a matching pen. “Is anyone from your family performing?”
“You mean our family,” I correct. “Just because you were dead doesn’t mean you aren’t part of the family.”
“Sorry, that’s what I meant. I’m so into my role as Dr. Hanson I wasn’t thinking about that.”
“We can stay in role. You’re right.” I wrap my arms around myself.
“Are you cold?” she asks. “I can get you a blanket.”
“No, I’m fine.”
“Do you want to talk about your… our family?”
“What about them? That won’t help the production.”
“We can talk about anything you want. Where do you want to start?”
It strikes me that this doesn’t feel like we’re practicing our lines. “Shouldn’t we practice our lines?”
“I can’t find mine. If we talk about the play, it might help me to remember.”
This doesn’t seem right. Something’s wrong.
“Take your time.” Her voice is soft and kind. Like we aren’t getting closer to the opening call, and neither of us has the script.
Dr. Hanson looks down at her tablet, and after a moment, she jots down some notes. The click of the pen touching the tablet reminds me of something…
Takes me somewhere…
Click, click, tap.
Everything goes dark. Screams sound in the distance. It smells damp here.
Something bad is going on.
I need to get away.