Lost in La La Land(60)

I dropped to my knees, hating the realness of this world and the truth in everything he’d said.





Chapter Twenty-Seven


I tapped in the number, the one I’d planned to call. The one I’d avoided until Mike left. The one his unkind words made me see needed to be called.

I’d tried to talk to Lana before calling, give her the chance to stop on her own.

I had showed her the mirror; I made her look at herself.

I had forced her to get on the scale.

I’d even tried to tell her the machine wasn’t working or the electrical in the room was acting up.

She refused to listen, having fits and screaming in the bathroom with a razor in her hands, the girl who would never cut herself. The crazed look in her eyes suggested she might.

She twitched and pulled her hair out, and I paid Gilda more money to stay longer, for one week.

I’d lost control of my friend and I needed her to see there was no going back.

As the phone rang, I glanced at the monitor on the counter, the one watching Lana sound asleep in the machine.

An older woman answered with a hesitant expression on her face. “Dr. Hartley?” She was perplexed. I sensed it.

“Hi, Mrs. Nervier, I’m calling because I need your help.”

Her eyes widened as I floundered, trying desperately to find the words to explain our situation.

“Lana is addicted to the machine I made. All along I thought it was impossible. I even joined her on these journeys for some time. But I can’t help her and I can’t force her out of it. She threatens to hurt herself and I’m ill-equipped to handle the situation. I’m more of a numbers and code sort of person.”

“What do you mean addicted?” she asked. “What are you talking about?”

“She lives in the machine, like the mayor said she did. He was right.” The words are whispered and hoarse, but I force them out nonetheless. “Everything he said was true.” Including the part where I was to blame.

“Lives?”

“Has a life with Danny and their children. A fantasy world she has created in which she is still with him.”

“Jesus Christ.” She paled, her skin losing color so noticeably that I could see it on the tablet. “What have you done?”

“I don’t know.” I had nothing. I was responsible. I should have stopped her. I should have forced her. But I didn’t. Stopping her would have been admitting my machine was faulty, my science was faulty, and that I had a problem.

Before Mike, before the house, that wouldn’t have been possible.

But I saw clearly now.

I saw the flaws in the machine, the ghosts we put in there.

I regretted everything and nothing simultaneously.

“I thought the machine could heal her. I thought she was better. She’s sick, Mrs. Nervier. I don’t know what to do with her. I’m thinking about committing her, but I can’t make that decision. I’m not her next of kin. What should I do with your daughter?”

“We don’t have a daughter anymore, Dr. Hartley. She’s been gone for years. Do what you have to, but leave us in peace.” She disconnected the call, leaving me holding the tablet with my own face staring back at me.

And then there were two faces. I frowned, not certain Lana was really there.

“You bitch!” Her face wrinkled as she screamed.

I turned to her and then looked at the monitor, as if to check that the reality in front of me were real. Her absence from the picture proved this was indeed real.

“Lana, you need help. I love you, I just want to help you. You’re not even talking to me anymore. And I don’t know what to do. It’s time to help yourself.”

“You fucking bitch! You dare to try to commit me, when you know how much they need me? You would keep me from my family?” Her bloodshot eyes were wild, matching the way her hair frizzed out everywhere and the baggy tee shirt with stains on it and loose-fitting jogging pants. It was like seeing the “after” of a drug picture, only she was real and raving in my kitchen. “You backstabbing bitch. You think you’re so much better than me, ‘cause you don’t need the machine anymore? You think you’re so great, when even your husband wouldn’t show up in your dreams? Even he didn’t want you. And that fucking Wentworth douche knew who to pick. He never loved you. He always loved Anne. You’re pathetic. For a smart lady, you’re dumb as shit. Marshall was right about you—sad fucking spinster who needed to get fucked.”

Venom poured from her chapped and cracking lips.

“You think anyone will listen to you, why? ‘Cause you took a shower and got your hair dyed? You still look like shit, Emma. You always did. You’re a plain Jane. You should have kept that name like your phony fucking accent. That’s why Mike left. He saw what a fraud you were.” She ranted and paced, screaming at me.

I was so lost in her words, letting each one hit me just a little harder, that I missed the blood on her hands for several minutes.

When I saw the crimson droplets hitting the floor, I scanned her rail-thin arms, searching for a cut but there was none.

My eyes darted upstairs.

“What have you done?” I rushed past her, leaving her to scream and shout. I ignored the vile things she said, bursting up the stairs. She couldn’t keep up and was still shouting from downstairs when I got to the medical room, pausing in the doorway at the scene before me. “Gilda!” I screamed, pressing a number on my phone and rushing to her. I dropped to my knees, seeing the warm blood pooling under her.