The Dead House

Later, Attic

Dee, I had a dream. A nightmare. A house. A dead freaking house. I felt that house like it was a part of me… God, it was so real.

Something else.

A deep, black stillness has come over me, Dee. Slowly, like time itself is bending around me, decaying at the edges. Nothing seems real. Still nothing from Carly in the Message Book, even though I wrote out what Lansing told me… the lie. But nothing, no reply.

Something is wrong.

I scoured the room looking for tiny squares of purple—jeans, no; dresser, no; bathroom mirror; nothing. And then—I found one! On the corkboard over our desk. Except… it was my note. The one I left her yesternight, the one that said No note?

Still there. Completely untouched.

What the hell is going on? I feel sick, Dee.

I pulled out my Post-its and scribbled a message for Carly with shaking fingers: “Are you okay? Why didn’t you write me? Is Lansing right? Am I hurting you by writing to you? Please tell me.”

Having no sign of Carly makes me feel exactly as I did in the dream—terrified and alone. Even though I’ve never seen or spoken to my sister, she is always there in her scribbles and in the evidence of her movements by the little acts of kindness—a new book, a folded sweater—that she leaves behind. But this morning, our room looked unchanged, and I suppressed a shudder at the nothingness I felt in the pit of my gut.

Just like at the end of my… nightmare.

I still feel it now.

Maybe she was busy. Maybe she needed time to process the anniversary. Maybe she went to talk it over with Naida.

I’m going to check.


[If Kaitlyn went to talk to Naida, no record of the conversation has been found.]





38


81 days until the incident




Diary of Kaitlyn Johnson


Saturday, 13 November 2004, 9:00 pm

Attic

Still nothing from Carly. Dee, what’s happening?

4 blue pills

12 white pills

32 yellow capsules



How many should there be? I don’t know. I should have been counting!

She discarded me directly in bed, and it was warm, the mattress soft—as though she’d been lying there for a while. I went straight to the Message Book, a dead, horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. I don’t know what I expected. A note telling me she was actually doing better? That she and Lansing agreed on her treatments? That Lansing was trying another trick on us?

All I got were white pages with nothing in them. My own message glared at me with amusement and derision, and I suddenly felt panicked. Where is Carly? Why hasn’t she written to me?

I’ve always heard her words, even though I was only reading them, because without them, the silence feels deep and dangerous.

I hear Aka Manah sniggering somewhere in the shadows.

“Go away,” I tell him. “Leave me alone.”

But his breathy sounds seem only closer.

Later

I picked up the phone, even. I was going to call Dr. Lansing. The closest thing I have left to a parent. I picked up the phone… almost dialed the number. Hung up.

What could she do except tell me I was “integrating”? That I shouldn’t be afraid?

She lost my trust long ago, when she first called me a symptom. And now I have nowhere to turn.

The girl is here. So thin, so painfully thin. She is grinning even though her yellow hair falls like spiderwebs into her waiting hands.

I wish she would stop smiling.

Later

Whereareyou whereareyou whereareyou whereareyou whereareyou whereareyou

whereareyou whereareyou whereareyou whereareyou whereareyou whereareyou

whereareyou whereareyou whereareyou whereareyou whereareyou whereareyou

whereareyou whereareyou whereareyou whereareyou whereareyou whereareyou

whereareyou whereareyou whereareyou whereareyou whereareyou whereareyou





39



[The following diary entry is barely legible, the ink smudged, pages curling, the letters small and untidy, as though written in great distress.]



Diary of Kaitlyn Johnson

Sunday, 14 November 2004, 9:00 am

Attic

Here, in the dark, I can write.

What’s happening, Dee? Why is this happening? I woke up this morning.

I woke up.

This morning.

The sun was worse than fire, exposing every single part of me, and everything else. The room was complete like it had never been before. Bigger, more complicated. Harder. It was not a room I have ever seen.

Dee—Carly is…

Where is Carly? I don’t know how or where or why. I woke up this morning and it was light and bright, and she wasn’t here. I was. She hadn’t written in the Message Book, because I was where she should have been— I can’t do this.


I don’t know where she is. First, she didn’t look at the Message Book yesternight, and now she’s gone. Have we switched? Was this meant to happen?

I threw up in the bin, saw my reflection—it’s all wrong! I looked like every photo of Carly I’ve ever seen. And all I could hear was Lansing’s voice in my mind— Integration. Integration. Integration.