Rapid Falls(51)

I take the glass cleaner and a musty dishtowel back into the bathroom. The blood from the cat’s paw is everywhere. I follow the trail, wiping, spraying, scrubbing. As I’m scraping the dark stains from the cheap linoleum, I gag. I shake my head as my mom’s story from last night replays in my mind. She didn’t choose to save me. She left me behind. I stand up to clear my head, running the rag under water in the sink. The cold water stings my hands, and the sink turns pink with blood. I remember that black whirlpool Anna drew at rehab. I feel like I’m being sucked down to a place that’s so deep I can’t swim out.

I turn to the litterbox in the corner, which is dotted with fetid lumps. Grabbing a plastic grocery bag and the small scoop, I pull them out, one by one. The simple task gives me something to focus on. When I’m done, my hands aren’t shaking anymore. It’s a disgusting job, but for once I see the distraction that an animal can provide. The constant stench of a litterbox, the picking up and disposing of warm feces, has never appealed to me. I didn’t see the point of putting energy into a cat or dog that could never learn right from wrong. Rick agreed with me about pets. We usually saw the world in the same way, but after we left the rehab facility, he remarked on how happy he was to see something coming to the surface for Anna. He thought it was a good thing. I thought it was terrifying.

As I finish the last of the cleaning, my phone vibrates. It’s a text from Larry:

8 a.m. call with mayors’ council. Tomorrow.

I look at my calendar app. The entire day is blank, as is the rest of the week. For some reason the calendar isn’t syncing. I need to get to a computer to check my schedule. I’m still working to restore Larry’s full confidence in me after the whole email fiasco. I need to figure this out quickly. Larry doesn’t like to wait.

I walk into Anna’s cluttered bedroom to find her computer. The laptop I bought her last year is teetering off the edge of her nightstand. Part of me is surprised to see she hasn’t pawned it.

I press Enter and the screen lights up. An internet browser is already open on a social media site. She’s still signed in. I tell myself to open a new browser window, but I don’t. There are several new notifications. I click on them, already devising an excuse. I’ll tell her I thought I had logged into my page, if she even realizes that I’ve done anything. After all, she’ll probably have plenty of new notifications by the time she checks her feed again. She can’t be on the internet in the rehab facility.

I see a new message in a thread with our dad. I’m surprised. My dad opened an account years ago, at my pestering, but I haven’t received a message from him since his first week on the site. The message to Anna came in yesterday. I raise my eyebrows as I read it.

Hi Anna. I am thinking of you. Sorry I haven’t visited. I think I should. Not sure you can see this now. But I wanted to write. I miss you. Dad.

The historical thread between them is long, and I draw a breath as I scroll to read the rest. The previous message was sent about a week before Anna was arrested.

Hi. I’ve been thinking about your last message. Sounds like you’ve got a lot going on, and I’m feeling like maybe I’m not always the best person to talk to. You need to sort through some of this stuff—maybe with a professional? I don’t know much about therapy. Think about going to a meeting too. It’s not perfect, but sometimes the best thing you can do is be with people who know what you are going through. Love you.

Dad

I can’t stop reading. I think the last time my dad told me he loved me was when he visited me in the hospital so many years ago. Something in Anna’s last message had stirred him, and I needed to know what it was.

Hi Dad. Do you ever have dreams about a memory? Or like, a recurring dream over and over? I keep waking up in a panic. Cold sweats and screams. Ron won’t even sleep over anymore because he says I scare him. It’s been going on for weeks. It always starts with blackness. I’m in a dark place, like really dark, and I don’t know where I am or what’s going on. But I know something’s wrong. Then these streaks of light come in and everything is glowing orange but it’s still dark. It’s hard to explain, but I can’t really see anything except these weird strands of glowing light, kind of like a fire, but not enough to light anything up. And I get a feeling that I’m in a forest, but there’s no sound and I can’t really see trees. I just know. And then I know something else. I’m not alone in the trees. There’s someone else there, and they can see me but I can’t see them. And they are watching me. And they want to hurt me. Then I start to hear them breathe. And it keeps getting louder. I know they are coming to get me. I know it’s going to hurt. And I know I can’t stop them. Then I’m falling into the coldest water I’ve ever felt. It feels like glass cutting into my skin. All around me is a roar like a river that’s turned into a monster that’s trying to devour me. The water feels like teeth, biting me, and then I realize my feet are missing, then my knees. It keeps taking chunks and the water around me turns red, like I’m in the middle of a shark attack. That’s when I wake up. But every time it seems to be able to eat more of me. I don’t want to go to sleep anymore.





A


My skin is crawling by the time I finish the message. It’s the last in the thread. I open a new browser window. I focus on the meeting tomorrow. Deal with that, then deal with Anna, I tell myself. I log into my calendar and try to concentrate on my schedule for the next week, but my mind keeps dipping back into the darkness of Anna’s dream. She can’t talk about this with a psychiatrist. The next time I see her, I need to have a plan. I need to protect her. But most importantly, I need to protect myself.