Miranda sat down hard on the closed toilet lid, putting her head in her hands. “They burned it. They burned it. All those people . . . everything . . . was anything left?”
“I don’t think so. The fire started in your building.”
Miranda was crying again, out of rage and loss, thinking of all her things—her guitar, her computer . . . her mother’s picture, framed and hanging on the living room wall. She had nothing, not even her wallet left, only the rags she had had on when she crawled from the lake.
“Can I borrow some clothes?” she asked in a small voice.
Kat’s eyes were wet, and she nodded. “You take a shower. I’ll get you something to put on.” She wiped her eyes and said, “It’s going to be okay, Mira. We’ll figure this out.”
Miranda pulled off her T-shirt and the sodden, muddy jeans, added her underwear to the pile, then gathered it all up and shoved it in the trash. She ran the water as hot as she could stand it and stood beneath the spray for a long time, scrubbing at dirt that couldn’t seem to come clean.
By the time she got out, she was on the verge of losing consciousness. She had to sleep. Something was happening to her body, and she was losing what was left of her strength rapidly. Her belly hurt unbearably, as if something were twisting her intestines and squeezing them hard; if there had been anything in her stomach she probably would have lost it. Her head was throbbing, and the roof of her mouth felt like it was on fire.
Her vision was swimming and she fell back against the bathroom wall, sliding down until her butt hit the floor.
Kat opened the door. “Here,” she said. “This should fit—it’s just sweats but I thought you’d want something warm.”
“Thank you,” Miranda managed, struggling into the unfamiliar garments. The legs and arms were too long, but they were dry, and soft, and smelled like fabric softener.
“What else do you need?”
Miranda stared at her hard, her eyes traveling over her friend’s face and down to her neck. She could see the tributaries of Kat’s veins flowing into the greater river, and how it pulsed.
“Oh, God,” Miranda moaned, doubling over. Realization hit her as the pieces flew together.
I died. Ariana killed me. And then I woke . . . and now I’m . . . changing . . . it’s not over yet. It’s only just beginning.
“I need someplace to stay for a few days,” she whispered. “Someplace dark. Does your guest room have windows?”
“Yeah, it does—and I’m asking again, what the fuck is going on? Why do you need dark? Miranda, we have to call the cops. Somebody tried to kill you. You just said so.”
She smiled sadly. “The police can’t help me now.”
“You said you were going to explain, Miranda. Don’t I deserve that much?”
“I’m not sure you’ll believe me,” Miranda told her. “I’m going to have to stay here . . . do you have spare blankets? Maybe a pillow?”
“You’re going to sleep in the bathroom?”
“I don’t know what’s going to happen to me. The bathroom might be the best place.” She grabbed the blanket she’d arrived in and folded it, laying it out on the floor as a pad. “Kat . . . whatever happens . . . thank you. I couldn’t ask for a better friend than you.”
“Just tell me, damn it—”
“Okay.” She tried to find words, but her head was hurting so much she could barely think; she lay down on her side on the folded blanket, not caring that the floor was hard and her hair was wet. “I’m sick, Kat. I’m going to be sick for a few days. The sun will kill me. I just need to be in the dark and safe until it passes. Then everything will be fine.”
Kat was staring at her as if she’d lost her mind, and really, she wasn’t far off. “Miranda, tell me right now. Are you back on drugs?”
Miranda laughed out loud at that. “No. I promise you it’s not drugs. It was never drugs. I want to tell you . . . you don’t know how much. I’ve wanted to tell you since you came to see me play last summer. I just don’t know how.”
“Let me take you to the hospital, then.”
“No hospitals. No police. Please, Kat . . . if you want to help me, bring me some more blankets, then shut the door and stay away until I come out. I don’t want to hurt you.”
Kat stormed off and returned a moment later, practically throwing an armload of linens at her. “You know, you are really stretching the whole ‘above and beyond the call of friendship’ thing. You call me at five in the morning asking for help, and I come and pick you up looking like you’ve been dropped in the lake, and now you say you need to sleep something off in my bathroom—I ought to throw you out on your ass!”
Miranda tried to organize the blankets into something like a bed, but her arms weren’t cooperating. She couldn’t seem to get up, though she tried and nearly cracked her head open on the clean white tile. Tired . . . so tired . . .
Kat saw her struggling and, with a sigh, knelt and started tucking and arranging things around Miranda’s body. “You owe me big-time,” she muttered.
“Turn the light off and lock the door on your way out, please,” Miranda said, closing her eyes.