Dead Girl Running (The New Order Book 1) (18 page)

nd then I woke up in the hospital.”

Back in the real world of Franco’s apartment, I take a deep breath and focus on the books on the shelves, a lone sock stuck in a corner, and my clenched hands. Franco remains wordless, his face a mask of guarded inexpression. I avert my eyes, fidget with the bedspread, and a stuffed toy shaped like an elephant falls onto the floor.

That’s strange.

I turn to ask, “You sleep with stuffed animals?”

His face relaxes. “No. That’s not mine. Sometimes, the girls stay over if Linda works the night shift. I don’t think you’ve met them yet, have you?”

“No, I haven’t. But why don’t they stay home with Liam? I mean… not that it’s any of my business or anything.”

He shrugs. “Sometimes he’s busy. And they like it here.” He waves to his room. “I let them stay in here together, and I take the couch.”

I stare at him. He really did save Liam’s family. He does a lot for them.

“So, you believe me about the toy, right?” Franco smiles.

“Yes.” I smile back. Thank goodness I haven’t forgotten how, even after reliving my eleventh birthday. “Of course.”

He chuckles. “Well, for a moment there, you didn’t look so sure.”

All of a sudden, I realize how close we are sitting together, and this renders me silent.

Franco clears his throat. “If you don’t mind me asking, what happened next? I mean, once you got to the hospital.”

I frown. “They put me in ‘intensive treatment for depression,’ or so they said. But, since then, I’ve read several Psychology texts, thanks to Gus, and I don’t think those doctors were the real thing. I think they were still the Suits, dressed up like psychiatrists instead.”

Franco’s eyes narrow. “Why do you think that?”

“Because they asked all the wrong questions like: ‘Why can’t you accept that your father did this?’ and ‘Could you have done anything to prevent this from happening?’ or ‘Why won’t you answer our questions? We’re trying to help you.’”

I stand and pace the room. “I mean, why would they ask stupid crap like that? Once in a while, they’d ask ‘and how does this make you feel’ questions, but, even then, it was always about my dad. Never about me and my mom—which was the real problem.”

Franco rubs the five-o-clock shadow on his face. “How did your mom react when you tried to kill yourself?”

“Well, she finally woke up which was good. But then she went into hyper-drive, always worried about everything. At the hospital, she thought they were feeding me too much broth. Once I got home, she would go into a total panic before each appointment that we were going to be late or something else as equally stupid.”

Franco watches me pace without interruption.

“And she got so mad when I told her I hated the sessions. She called me ungrateful and uncooperative. But I’m sure that’s what the psychiatrists told her to say. It’s not like she attended any of the sessions.”

“Do you think that would’ve helped if she was there?”

I put my hands on my hips. “I think it would’ve helped if we were at a
real
psychiatrist’s office. We had a lot of issues, but, I guess, maybe it didn’t matter because they weren’t the only reasons I did it.” I fiddle with my wrists. “I did it because
they
kept coming after me, saying stuff about my dad.” I pause, trying to calm my racing heart. “And the second time—”

Franco’s eyes widen. “Wait a minute—there was a
second
time?”

“Well, sort of. My mom says so, anyway, but I don’t think it should count.” I drop back down on the bed, keeping a small space between us that I wish he’d close.

“Tell me,” he says gently.

“They came after me
again
, a year later, those sick bastards. They always played the card that my birthday was on the same day that Dad died. When I arrived at my so-called appointment with the fake psychiatrist that day, the Suits were there in the room along with her.”

“Go on,” Franco murmurs.

“With the Suits standing behind her, the psychiatrist told me that my sessions had been a failure because I never accepted ‘the truth’ about my father. So, I was going to have to be hospitalized and begin further treatment, shock therapy and such.”

“What did your mom say about all this?”

“She wasn’t in the room. She didn’t know.” I cross my arms. “But I wasn’t going to let them take me.”

His eyes widen. “What did you do?”

I take a deep breath. “I raced out of the room, knocked over an umbrella stand in the lobby, and then broke off a piece of this really ugly metal artwork hanging on the wall. It had sharp edges, and I used it to smash open a window. Then I climbed onto the desk nearest the window and threatened to jump.”

Franco pales. “How high up were you?”

“Eight stories, but I didn’t jump.”

He shudders. “Well, thank goodness they stopped you in time.”

I scoff. “No, I stopped myself. That’s the funny thing. They could’ve easily overpowered me. I was only twelve, and no one was on my side. I think they
wanted
me to kill myself. They were sick of me. I wouldn’t help them, and they were tired of trying to break me.”

“But didn’t threatening to jump just put yourself right back in the hospital?”

I shake my head. “No. Of course, Mom was totally freaking out, but I swore to her that if she let me quit therapy, I’d never hurt myself again, but if she let them hospitalize me, I’d find a way to finish the job.”

Franco takes a deep breath. “And did she believe you?”

“Yes, all of a sudden, she did. She told them, ‘My daughter’s never lied to me. Not even once. I believe her, and we’re going home.’ And we walked out of there together and never went back.”

He shook his head. “I don’t understand why they let you go like that.”

“I told you; they were done with me. But what I can’t understand is this: did you ever hear on the news reports that my father was to blame?”

Franco averts his eyes. “No.”

“If their investigation
really
led them to believe my father did it, that news would’ve been all over the place. Don’t politicians love a scapegoat? At least, that’s what Dad used to say. But the only person the psychiatrists and the Suits told was me. Not my mother, just me.”

Franco remains silent, staring far across the room.

“When I got home, I told Mom that they said Dad caused the accident. I hadn’t before because I was scared—scared she’d say the stories were true. She was horrified. She said Dad would never do such a thing. He’d never hurt people like that.”

I hold back angry tears. “But instead of being mad at the government, she’s spent the last five years trying to make them like me again, or, at least, that’s what it feels like. She’s convinced that they sent me down to Mortuary Services as punishment. And she’d do anything to fix that. I’m sure that’s why she’s playing the violin again.”

Franco continues to avoid my gaze. I wonder what he thinks of me now. And why do I always want to tell him everything?

Well…
almost
everything.

I’ll never tell anyone that Dad went to “meetings.”

I won’t tell Franco.

And I won’t tell Mom.

Because she’s wrong. I
have
lied to her.

I’ve lied to everybody.

And I’ll never, ever tell the Suits the truth about my father.

iam pokes his head into the room. “What’s going on in here? Meeting of the minds?”

“Yeah.” Franco throws a pillow at him. “That’s why you’re not invited.”

Liam catches the pillow and chucks it back in his cousin’s face. “Hey, man, how do you get that window open in your bathroom?”

Franco raises his eyebrows. “Is that where you’ve been all this time? Never mind. I’ll get it, although I’m slightly afraid of going in there after you.”

His cousin laughs and plops down next to me on the bed.

Now it’s really getting crowded in here.

Liam elbows me. “You ready to go? I can walk you home.”

Franco scoffs. “Better watch out, Silvia. He might get another cramp, and you’ll end up carrying him home.”

Liam stands with a scowl. “I’d like to see you try running as far as we did. You’d never make it.”

“I’d never be foolish enough to try.” Franco also moves off the bed which bounces up. “But I don’t hear Silvia complaining.”

“That’s cause she’s amazing.” Liam gestures that I should leave the room first.

I exit like a self-conscious engine leading a little train down the short hallway and into the main living area.

“Are you coming over for dinner?” Liam asks Franco.

“No, I’ll stay home tonight. I’ve got some stuff to do.”

“Suit yourself, but you don’t have anything here worth eating,” Liam says as we head out of the apartment.

Franco stands in the open doorway as we walk down the corridor. Every time I glance back, he’s still there, watching me, an unreadable expression on his face. I might have ruined something between us by telling him my secrets tonight. What if he acts strange the next time he’s around me?

As Liam and I near the elevator, I turn back for one last glimpse of Franco to find he’s shut the door. My chest aches as I imagine him avoiding all eye contact and making sure he’s never alone with me again.

“I can’t believe you’re totally fine after that workout.” Liam studies me as we begin to descend. “I’m completely exhausted right now, I’m going to be totally sore tomorrow, and you look like you could run another six miles if you wanted to.”