Between Life & Death Read online

  "Lydia. We are in a hospital. Keep. Your. Voice. DOWN."

  "You want me to stop shouting? WELL FIX MY FUCKING HEAD!" I scream.

  Then she slaps me. Right across the face, a full on bitch slap. I shut up right away, silent tears falling down my face. I'm falling apart. My mother has never laid a hand on me. Ever.

  Her eyes are glassy with tears. "I will not be talked to like that. Ever. Again." She looks so broken. More broken than I am.

  Suddenly there's a knock on the door, and a nurse rushes in. "Is everything all right?" she asks.

  Then she sees me, tear-stained, heart-monitor going crazy, probably red in the face. And she sees my mother beside me, also crying. And she heard me yelling. And for all we know, she heard my mother's hand make contact with my cheek, like a gun-shot. And I can see it in her face that something deep in her mind has clicked. My stomach plunges and it's like I can touch the embarrassment that floats off of everyone in the room like B.O.

  The nurse looks like she's contemplating what she should do or say, but my mom speaks.

  "I'm sorry. Lydia's just getting kind of wound up. I think it's the medication."

  The nurse nods and pastes on a small smile, and something wakes up inside me.

  "She hit me," I announce. My mom's jaw drops. i don't know why I said it. But I really don't care.

  "She...what?" The nurse says, even though she knows perfectly well what I said.

  "She slapped me, can't you see the mark? There's gotta be a mark," my voice rises with every word. "It's throbbing like crazy. It's red isn't it?"

  My voice is thick from crying, it doesn't even sound like me. The nurse's eyes are wide, and she starts to back up. She leans out the door and calls to another nurse. "Hey, Barb? Can you grab someone from security for me? We've got a problem in here."

  My mom stifles a sob and looks at me. I meet her eyes angrily and raise my eyebrows.

  "Lydia!" Miranda yells. "What is wrong with you?"

  I turn to face her. "Wrong with me? Unlike you and mom, I'm not the one beating on minors."

  And then security shows up to take away my mother. And as they escort her out, Miranda trailing close behind, I feel nothing. Absolutely nothing.

  18. She Takes a Break

  My dad picked me up the next morning. No one has come to visit me since Miranda and my Mom left, and Dad didn't say much until we got in the car.

  He turns off the music and I sit with my hands in my lap, counting the yellow lines that separate traffic before they disappear underneath the car. "What the hell happened?" He asks after a while.

  "Miranda threw a pillow at me in the living room and a bookend hit my head," I say monotonously, not wanting to talk but to turn the music back on so loud that I can't hear anything. I know that I'm lying, that it wasn't Miranda that landed my ass in the hospital, but I'm pissed at her for not siding with me back there.

  "No, smart-ass," Dad snaps. That's not good...Dad's never angry. "I want to know why the hell I'm here picking you up and taking you home so you can pack up and live with me for Winter break. I want to know why your mother is being questioned by the police for child abuse. What the hell were you thinking?"

  I wish he'd shut up. I'm sick of thinking, sick of being asked questions all the time. I'm worn out.

  He just drawls on and on and on and on. "You know your mother didn't want to hurt you. And she barely did. You're being a child, Lydia, and I'm extremely disappointed in you. I don't know where you learned that it's acceptable to act like this, but it's got to stop."

  "And since when do you care about what Mom does? You're divorced. Who gives a shit if she's being questioned? I can't even believe you're siding with her."

  "Just because we're not married any more it doesn't mean I don't still care whether she's being arrested or not! And don't say shit."

  I roll my eyes. "You parents are so controlling. Of what I do. Of what I say. Soon you'll be telling me what to wear, who to hang out with, when I can and can't drink water. And anyways, I'm the victim here. She hit me, remember? She deserves this."

  My dad's silent, but I can hear his ragged breathing, like maybe he wants to hit me too. When my dad gets mad, all hell breaks loose. Under normal circumstances, I would have backed off or crawled under a rock or something, but I'm still pissed off.

  "Listen to me, Lydia. And don't talk back or I'll really give you something to cry about, far worse than what your mother gave you. I'm the adult here, and what I say goes. So that's no cussing. No trash talking me or your mother. Miranda, too. I don't give a shit if you just got stitches, you're still a kid. Now end of subject."

  "Is that a threat?"

  He slams on the breaks. "Yes! Now not another fucking word until we get back. Pack your stuff, then meet me back at the car. Or I'll just drop you back off at the hospital and let them deal with you."

  I'm at a loss for words, my eyes tearing up. We ride the rest of the way in silence and I think of all the places I'd rather be than in this car.

  ~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

  "And he's making me stay with him for Winter break! He's fucking mental, that's what he is! I won't even get to see you guys! Ugh!" I practically scream into the phone, throwing my sketchbook and pencils into my canvas bag.

  Sam hesitates for a while. I pack my favorite sweatshirt, a few tubes of paint, and grab my ipod before she finally says, "I can't believe your mom's being questioned by the police..."

  She sounds lost, like she doesn't know what to do with herself. "Well she deserved it, Sam! God, I am so done talking about this! Maybe I can convince my dad to have you come with me."

  "Lemme talk to her," I hear on the other end. It's Adam.

  "Lydia?" He says into the speaker. I roll my eyes.

  "Yeah?"

  "You need to chill."

  "Excuse me!?" I snap.

  "You. Need. To. Chill," he says slowly, like I'm special needs or something. "You're not being yourself. I think your pain meds are messing with your brain."

  "Oh, yeah? Well I'm glad you're here to tell me that I'm not being me. Classy, Adam."

  "No, seriously. You're really pissy, like at everyone. Sam won't say it to your face but I know she's thinking it, too. Just think about it, okay? Like, you totally got your mom arrested. You cussed out your dad. Would you have done that a week ago? This head injury is making you into a bitch. You need to get your shit together."

  I want to punch him. Or something. "I don't think you understand. They shaved my fucking head. In the back there's no hair. Do you expect me to be fucking calm?"

  "Dude, chill. It's just hair," he comments.

  I raise my eyebrows, even if he can't see. "Yeah? Well easy for you to say, dude! You're a guy!"

  "Just think about it, okay?"

  I'm about to protest but then I hear a click, and the receiver goes dead. Thanks, asshole, for hanging up on me. I throw my phone under my bed and head back to my dad's car. Suddenly, getting away from my "friends" seems to be the most appealing thing that's happened all week.

  19. She Needs Answers

  I'd like to believe that everything that's been happening has been my imagination. My really fucked up imagination. I think I'd rather be certifiably insane at this point than admit that I think there's a ghost in my house. And admitting it makes me feel insane, so.

  But I can't get the images of her out of my head. I can't get the whispering to go away. Sometimes when I'm just sitting in the den, watching television or sketching, it just comes. That rushed whispering sound that sounds like a recording going backwards.

  So I draw her.

  And I paint her, and I color her in, and my sketchbook is nearly filled with pictures of a little girl that isn't supposed to exist. Ever since Josh suggested that she's a demon, I feel less and less like Lotty really wants my help. But I don't know anything about demons.

  My dad got me a wig for Christmas. It's a shoulder-length, bright pink bob-like thing. I hate to admit that I like to wear it. Dad's been a litt
le easier on me since Mom got off the hook with a warning and a huge-ass fine. Oops. Whatever.

  I feel like I'm in rehab or something. I'm not allowed to leave my dad's house, and it's not like anyone has come to see me... But I guess it's a turn for the better? I don't know, I'm trying to look on the bright side of things. Even if there hardly is one. Mom won't talk to me. Miranda won't talk to me. My friends won't talk to me. It makes me wonder if I should apologize. But I don't think I'm feeling that much better...

  So five days before New Years, I sit down to do another sketch of Lotty. I sit on the floor beneath the window and open up my sketchbook. The drawings give me the creeps, even if I did create them. I lift my head and catch a wiff of something. Looking around, I realize it's me. I really need to shower....

  So I leave my stuff on the floor and grab some clothes, including my favorite sweatshirt. I tuck my hair into a shower cap (Dad doesn't want me to wash my hair until I get my stitches out, so I just wash the front of my hair in the sink at night) and wait for the water to get really hot. I try to make the shower quick so I can get back to my drawing (or at least start it, ha.).

  You do realize you're going insane?

  Fuck. I almost drop the bar of soap, because I haven't argued with my more logical self in ages.

  "Shut up," I mumble, trying to think of other things.

  Then out of nowhere I just giggle. Like some mad, insane fucking-psycho. Just a little giggle, like an I'm-better-than-you-and-so-I-find-your-pain-kind-of-funny giggle. And it scares the shit out of me, so I shut off the water (which I've just been standing under like an idiot for maybe ten minutes) and get dressed. For the first time since I've gotten here, I want to call Sam. I need to call Sam.

  I go into my room and pull off my shower-cap, then I head straight to my closet for my wig. I twist my hair into a bun (Or at least what's left of it.) and turn around to get a look in the mirror.

  Behind me, someone's sitting on my bed. I scream and drop the wig, then turn around.

  "What the hell Josh!?" I snap.

  He laughs. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you!"

  "God, for a second I thought you were--" I stop short. For a second I thought he was Lotty.

  His smile fades and he tilts his head. "You thought I was who?"

  "No one. Er, a rapist or something. Jeez, just leave it alone, okay?"

  I expect him to laugh, or at least to do something normal, but he just stares at me. "You've been drawing her."

  He points to the sketchbook on the floor and I blush a little, embarrassed. "Well, it's my sketchbook, isn't it? I can draw whatever I want to."

  He ignores me. "Have you talked to Miranda lately?"

  "No," I say, putting my wig back on. "She hasn't made an effort to talk to me, why should I do her a favor? And why?"

  "Because she's talked to me," he says.

  "So? Wait. She barely knows you! What the fuck?"

  Josh shakes his head. "I ran into her at the hospital, when I came back. You were sleeping when I came, so I went to the cafeteria with her and we had a talk about...you know."

  Despite the serious topic, my stomach does a backflip. He came to see me!

  "So, she says she's never seen Lotty, but she's heard her? Do you know what she's talking about?"

  My bad mood suddenly dissipates. "Yeah, actually! I think. I mean, I hear these, um, whisper things."

  I describe the incident when Lotty took my paper and tried to talk to me. When I'm done, he leans back against my headrest and sighs. "That's...it's just really weird. I wish we could have a way to communicate with her, you know?"

  I nod, then after a while I realize there is a way. "But we can!" I almost shout. "We have a Ouija Board!"

  He raises an eyebrow. "Aren't those really bad? Especially when we could be dealing with a demon?"

  I roll my eyes. "Josh, could you leave this demon crap alone? It's kind of scary."

  "Well good!" he says. "Maybe then you'll be motivated to get rid of the thing!"

  I sigh. "Whatever. So are you in?"

  After a while, he agrees. "Fine. But I'm not happy about it."

  "Score!" I cheer, pumping my fist in the air. "But first, we need to talk to Miranda."

  ~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

  "No, just hear me out!" I shout into the receiver, but hear a click nonetheless. I turn to Josh. "The bitch hung up."

  He sighs. "I think we need to talk to her in person."

  I bite my lip. "I don't know if Dad's gonna let me out of the house..."

  "Could you just ask? Please?" He puts a hand on my arm. "There's no way she's going to listen on the phone."

  I continue chewing on my lip but stand. I motion for him to follow me, and we find my dad in the kitchen, making pizza.

  "Is Josh staying for dinner?" He asks.

  "Um," I look at him and he shrugs. "I guess. But I was wondering...do you mind if Josh and I stop at home to get a couple of things?"

  Dad stops kneading dough and looks at us. "Um, no. I don't have time to drive you."

  I sigh. "We'll take a bus. I have money..."

  "You won't be back in time for dinner then."

  "I don't mind cold pizza..." I say, even though I do. I hate cold pizza.

  My dad just shakes his head. "You know what? Do whatever you want."

  "Cool, thanks," I say, not falling into his guilt trip. "Let's go."

  I grab Josh's hand and practically run out of the house.

  By the time we catch a bus, ride back down to Charlotte, and walk to my house, the sun is setting. I take a deep breath and open the front door.

  It's unlocked for once, and Miranda has assumed her position of holding down the couch. Her stomach is absolutely huge, and she's glaring at me. "What the hell are you doing here. Did Dad drive you?"

  "We took a bus. Anyway, we need your help."

  She snorts. Like actually snorts, it's ridiculous. "That's funny. Why should I even consider helping you? You're a total bitch, you almost tore apart what's left of our family, and now you want my help?"

  I ignore her and say, "It doesn't matter. You promised you'd help me like a month ago."

  Her face goes a little pale. "Oh. It's about that?"

  I nod. "Why do you look so freaked?" I ask out of sincere worry.

  "Have things been getting worse?" Josh asks.

  Miranda looks down. "It doesn't feel right here anymore..." she mumbles. All traces that she was pissed off a minute ago have completely left her face. A chill goes down my spine.

  "What do you mean?" I ask softly. She looks like a little kid.

  "It's always cold. All the time, even when the heat is on... And things kind of," she stares into space, then snaps back to reality. "Things move around."

  "What kind of things?" Josh asks with a serious face.

  As if on cue, I hear a giggle and we all look around at each other. Then, a picture frame above the television shatters and falls to the ground with a thud. Miranda's eyes are like saucers and she looks like she's going to cry.

  "Lydia," she squeaks. "I can't handle this. The doctor says I should stress out too much with the baby... and this is definitely stressing me out...I'm worried that Lotty's gonna have birth defects...can that even happen?"

  My heart stops. It literally skips a beat. I cough. "Sorry? Did you just say Lotty?"

  "Yeah?" she says meekly. "That's what I'm naming the baby. Isn't it cute?"

  "Oh my god..." I say and sink to my knees. "Where did you hear that name?"

  "Oh I don't remember! It's not like it matters! I think I read it somewhere."

  I shake my head and rush to my room, Josh at my heels.

  "Wait! Don't leave me here alone!" Miranda calls. I glance at Josh and nod, and he stays in the living room with my sister.

  As soon as I get into my room, I head for my jewelry box under my bed, not even bothering to turn on the light. Milky twilight pours in through the window and it's hard to see much of anything. But I know where what I need is. I
grab the piece of paper from Halloween, and after thinking twice about it I grab the sketch of Lotty at my mirror.

  On my way out, I bump against my mirror and it sends a static shock through my body, which makes me jump. Then that giggle resonates through the air again. I run as fast as I can back to the living room, suddenly glad that I'm staying at my Dad's house. This place was not this creepy the last time I was here...