Pretend She's Here(70)

Iggy walked into the hall to tell the family that I was awake. They all rushed in, completely ignoring rules about two visitors at the most at a time in the ICU. They surrounded me, every single one of them either touching my legs or arms or literally, like my dad, picking me up. He held me in his arms, cradling me against his chest, probably just like when I was a baby. Bea got right into the bed with me. She lay beside me, just like we did on cold winter nights when we’d giggle and tell stories, when we’d entwine feet to stay warm and wind up in a pillow fight. I felt her breath on my cheek, and it calmed me down a little.

But I quickly started struggling again. I wanted to untube myself and get out of there. A nurse came in. I liked her—Nina, with dark hair and long eyelashes and a way of telling me about her rotten boyfriend while I slept on. She herded my family out the door and talked to me while she took my vital signs, told me the jerk had had the nerve to show up at her apartment with a cactus—a cactus!—three days after she’d found out he was cheating with his upstairs neighbor.

The story slowed my heart rate, and if I could have laughed at the cactus, I would have. By the time Dr. Dean arrived, I was ready to breathe on my own. She and a resident and two nurses removed the thick tube, hurting my throat as if it had been sliced with razors, but giving me so much relief I felt freed from yet another prison.

Only an hour later, the agents showed up. I had thought they were detectives, a man and a woman, in the suits and solemn expressions, but they were FBI. I couldn’t believe it.

“I’m FBI Special Agent Chase,” the man said. “And this is Special Agent Madison.” He gestured to the woman.

“The FBI?” I rasped.

“Emily, we are investigating because you were allegedly taken across state lines,” Special Agent Madison said. “Can you tell us in your own words what happened?”

I wanted to laugh. I knew Bea was out in the waiting room, and she would have gotten it: Special Agent Madison was a woman in a pretty blue coat, with fair skin and blond hair. The kidnapper of my mother’s nightmares. But instead of laughing, I shrieked. I guess the medication had made me a little sensitive, and the reality, the nightmare of what I’d been through came roaring back. Having the FBI at my bedside made it realer than real. There was no way I could even start to tell what happened, what it was like in the basement.

“You’re not ready; it’s okay,” the agent said, when my shrieking got louder, when I felt myself going insane. Then I exhausted myself—my mind went totally blank as if all the bad memories were erased. I stopped screaming and became totally silent. I stared into space, not seeing anyone or anything, just blankness.

“We’ll come back,” Special Agent Chase said.

*

“Chloe is toast,” Carole said. Other than Casey, she was the first non-family visitor once I’d moved from the ICU to a room on a medical floor.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“They’re in prison,” Carole said. “All three of them. Mr. Porter’s in the Maine Correctional Center, Mrs. Porter’s in the Women’s Center, and Chloe is in the Casco Bay Development Center, which is another way of saying jail for kids.”

“But she didn’t do anything,” I said. “Other than what they forced her to.”

“It’s sad, I agree, but she had a choice,” Carole said.

“Not really,” I said, remembering how focused and controlling Mrs. Porter had been. “She went along because her mother needed her to.”

“If her mother had needed her to kill you, would she have done that?” Carole asked.

“No,” I said. “She helped me to get away.”

“Well, yes,” Carole said. “But only after you were there for over two months. By the way—two months? You couldn’t have told me?”

I stared at her. She was wearing a huge blue L.L.Bean fleece that I knew belonged to Mark, her gold CD necklace, and a cream-colored cable-knit cashmere watch cap. She looked both hurt and reproachful.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“It’s not just because we’re friends,” she said, “but I could have helped you. I keep thinking back, wondering if you tried to give me secret messages. Did I miss them? Did I let you down?”

“No, not at all!” I said, wishing I could leap out of bed and hug her.

“Okay,” she said. “But I’m so worried I did.”

“You didn’t.”

Carole nodded, then patted my hand. “Anyway, half the school wants to start a defense fund for Chloe, and the other half wants her to rot in jail.”

I thought about it, remembering moments with Chloe: when she’d lured me into the van, when she’d forced me to watch her mother’s FaceTime and send the email, when she’d brought me soup and led me to Casey’s house.

“I don’t want her to rot in jail,” I said. But I was confused about exactly what I did want.

“Yeah, well,” Carole said. “The FBI will sort it out. They’re in the hall, salivating to interrogate you some more.”

“I know,” I said, because they’d already been in to see me again and again. I was tired of talking. There was only so much I could say about what I didn’t understand.

*

A resident I’d never seen before entered my room. She was tall, thin, with curly red hair, hazel eyes, and surprisingly perfect makeup. She wore blue scrubs and I noticed the hot pink collar of a wool blazer peeking out. It was pretty and matched her blush.