But no one responds. A few people stop to stare at me, watching with curiosity rather than concern, and others ignore me altogether.
“What the fuck is wrong with all of you?” I shout, spinning to look at them. “We need help! Get an ambulance!”
“Miss Casella,” a voice calls from behind me at the front desk. In that moment life stops. The faces of the people around me blur together and what’s left of my sanity shatters completely. It can’t be. It can’t. . . .
Slowly I turn to face the front desk. Standing there in a burgundy uniform, his hands folded on his chest, is Kenneth—smiling pleasantly. I gulp in a breath of air, sure I’m going to faint. Just as things start to go fuzzy, Kenneth holds up a black envelope.
“Good news,” the concierge says pleasantly. “You’ve received an invitation to the party.”
Chapter 14
My mother died three months and eleven days ago. Some nights after she was gone, I’d search my memories for the bad times, thinking that if I could realize something horrible about her, it’d make accepting her death easier. Prove she deserved it somehow. It was sick—I knew that, but I also knew that most days it hurt too much to live. I couldn’t let go. I didn’t know how to move on. But like Daniel showed me, those negative thoughts only made her more real. More mine. And so I tried to stop thinking of her altogether.
It wasn’t fair that it had been such a normal day. Her death should have been an international disaster—the world sharing in my misery. Instead it was a Wednesday. I had just arrived at school, and Ryan was next to me as we entered the front doors into the main hallway. Normally, the jocks would call out to him, fist-bump him on his way past. But not this time. The first moment I noticed something wasn’t right was when we passed by the office. Through the glass partition I could see the teachers crowded around the main desk. No one was crying, that would have given too much away. It was Mr. Powell, my science teacher, who betrayed the controlled group. His stern face had gone slack, his jaw hanging open like it had come unhinged. He was mouth-breathing, hunched slightly forward as he stared toward my mother’s open office door.
I followed his line of sight and saw that my mother wasn’t in her office. She wasn’t with the group. Mom had left for school a half hour before Ryan and I did; she should have been there. But my mother never made it to school. She had stopped to pick up coffees for the office, something she did when she was in a good mood. At the counter of the Coffee Break my mother had a stroke. She stumbled a few steps before collapsing in a heap near the trash can. She was in a store full of strangers, but I was told that several of them tried to help her. One older lady held her hand even though she was unconscious. That same lady came to my mother’s funeral, but I didn’t thank her. I should have thanked her.
The school had been notified right away. My father was on his way to the hospital, and it was up to the staff to break the news to me. Looking back, I like to think that I sensed her pain, had a small headache of my own—but I know that’s probably some psychosomatic bullshit.
I stopped in the middle of the hallway, my stomach lurching. I quickly scanned for my mother’s messenger bag on her office desk, any sign that she had arrived. The smell of floor wax was thick in the air, filling my nostrils as I started to tremble.
“Audrey, what’s wrong?” Ryan asked, touching my arm. Before I could answer, Mr. Powell turned, his eyes locking on mine.
His jaw snapped shut, but then he covered his mouth with his palm, as if he’d seen a ghost. He must have murmured something, though, because the entire room of teachers turned to look at me. The Spanish teacher squeezed her eyes shut, and the coach put his hand on her shoulder to comfort her.
I’m not imagining this, I told myself as the principal rushed toward me. This is really happening.
And as I stand here now, in the lobby of the Hotel Ruby, I’m telling myself the same thing: This is really happening.
Kenneth’s smile widens, splitting wider than possible—a Cheshire cat. I scream, loud enough to crack my voice; the sound sputters away. My head spins with horror and fear. The people around me stare, and yet others continue by as if it’s completely normal for a girl to be standing here covered in blood.
Unable to comprehend, I feel my natural instincts kick in and I bolt for the front door. My feet can’t carry me fast enough, and my sandals flip off, my arms pumping at my sides. I have to get out of here. I have to find help!
I expect to be attacked at any moment, and I launch myself against the door, sending it flying open as I rush through into the fading sunset. But the minute I cross the threshold, I skid to a stop, tearing flesh from my bare feet on the marble floor. I’m just inside the door of the lobby. How . . .