Текст книги "Revived"

Автор книги: Cat Patrick

Соавторы: Cat Patrick
сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

thirty-eight

“Who are you talking to?” I ask Mason when I walk into the kitchen the next day. He has his cell pressed to his ear and a coffee mug in his left hand. He scowls at me for the interruption and shakes his head.

“If it’s David, please ask about my backpack,” I whisper. Mason is a killer multitasker: he hears and gives me a thumbs-up. I pop bread in the toaster and wait, then, because there’s no jam, I use a butter-like substance that I hope doesn’t kill me. I sit down and start eating, watching Mason and trying to will him to ask about my backpack with my mind. Right when I think he’s forgotten, he comes through.

“Thanks for the lab inventory,” Mason says. “Can I ask one other small thing?” He pauses to listen. “Great, thanks. Daisy needs her school backpack. It’s red, with a black-and-white patch on the front. I think it’s in her room…. Hang on.”

He looks at me.

“Yes, on the right side of my desk, on the floor,” I say.

Mason repeats the directions and then agrees to hang on while David goes to look for it. “No, the right side.” He pauses again. “Yes, do that,” he says.

I take another bite of toast, waiting for confirmation that the bag is on the way. Instead, Mason looks at me while he speaks to David.

“I can’t believe it,” he says. “Nothing else is missing in the whole house but a teenager’s backpack? Guess that rules out involvement from the program.”

Except that it doesn’t, I think to myself as my stomach sinks. I put down my toast, no longer hungry.

I know it was about Case 22.

And that has everything to do with the program.

In fact, it has everything to do with God himself.

When Mason hangs up, I catch him before he rushes out of the room.

“I need to talk to you,” I say seriously. It gets his attention. “And Cassie, too.”

“Okay,” Mason says, a concerned look on his face. “Is everything okay?”

“Not really,” I say. “Let’s get Cassie, and I’ll tell you what I mean.”

When my guardians are settled at the table across from me, I begin my prepared statement.

“I believe that God killed Nora Fitzgerald,” I say directly, looking Mason, then Cassie, right in the eyes. Mason’s eyebrows scrunch up in confusion; Cassie looks as surprised as she is capable of looking.

“That’s quite an accusation, Daisy,” Mason says. “Why do you think that?”

“Well, a few days after Nora spotted me at the mall, I was on the system and stumbled across a folder for a twenty-second case.” I leave out the part about Matt.

Mason looks at me like I’ve just claimed that the earth is flat.

“But there are only twenty-one cases,” he says.

“I know,” I say. “But this was number twenty-two. I was curious, of course, so I opened it, but the name was confidential. The relocation town was listed as Franklin, Nevada.”

“Okay…” Mason says.

Distracted, Cassie checks her watch and shifts in her seat. I know she’d rather be working.

“I told Megan about it,” I say. Suddenly, Cassie attacks Mason with her eyes, probably annoyed that he’s given me access in the first place.

“Daisy, you need to keep what you see in there to yourself from here on out,” Mason says.

“Fine,” I say. “But Megan’s not the point. Anyway, she and I were messing around online and we found an article from Frozen Hills that said that Nora Fitzgerald had been killed in a car accident. But then we found her alive, on Facebook.” Cassie looks confused this time: I wonder if she’s going to call me on what I’m saying. I’m messing up the timeline and leaving out David’s involvement, but basically, it’s right. I speak quickly so she won’t question me.

“Anyway, I’ve been talking to Nora,” I say. Mason’s jaw drops. Cassie inhales sharply.

“You’ve been talking to a girl who thinks you’re dead?” Mason asks, sitting straighter in his seat.

“See?” Cassie says to him. “You give her too much freedom. Now look at what she’s done.”

“You guys are totally missing the point,” I say forcefully. “The point is that Nora was killed—on purpose—then relocated because she knew about me. Except that she wasn’t told anything real. She thinks that her family’s in the witness protection program.”

Cassie rolls her eyes, then stands abruptly.

“I’ve got real work to do,” she says. “I’m going to let you deal with this mess, Mason.”

She leaves the room and Mason stares at me for a long time before speaking again.

“Daisy, I can tell that this is really bothering you,” he says. “So I want to understand. It sounds to me like maybe the agents following Nora because of the sighting took advantage of the situation when she crashed. They made the call to fix the problem by Reviving and relocating her. It stands to reason that they wouldn’t want to divulge program secrets, so they kept it from her. I’m not seeing how God fits in here.”

“I was getting to that,” I say. I take a deep breath and try to explain my hunch to Mason. “When we went to the aquarium when we first moved to Omaha, there was a guy who talked to me in the big ocean exhibit. He was there, asking questions, and then he disappeared. I couldn’t remember a thing about him other than that he had a lisp.”

I take a gulp of air.

“Anyway, when Nora told me about the crash, she said that the Good Samaritan who saved her sounded like Daffy Duck. Like he had a lisp. And when she described the situation, it sounded really weird. Like the guy didn’t move or react quickly, and he called a ‘friend’ instead of nine-one-one. It got me thinking.

“I wondered if it was the same guy. At first, I thought he was an agent, but in that case, why didn’t he identify himself to me that day at the aquarium? The only person I can think of who might talk to me anonymously, then kill Nora, is—”

“God,” Mason says pensively.

“Right,” I say.

There’s a flash of something in Mason’s eyes.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing. The lisp thing just reminded me of… Nothing,” he says. Then he shakes his head. “Why would God be in Omaha? He has no connection to Omaha other than me and Cassie, and he never meets with agents in person. There’s no reason for him to be there.”

“Who knows where God goes or what he does?” I ask.

“Well, he doesn’t kill people,” Mason says in a way that makes me feel like he’s trying to convince himself.

“He didn’t used to,” I say. “But you’ve said yourself that there are upsetting changes happening to the program. Like the new lab, like God wanting you to Revive new people—”

“I did say that,” Mason interrupts. “But this is over the top. We’re testing a drug that gives people life—we don’t take it away. There’s no way Nora’s accident was at God’s hands.”

“Then how do you explain that the one thing stolen from our house was my book bag, which contained a file detailing all of this and more?”

Mason looks away and smiles a little, then says, “Maybe you left it at school?”

“I didn’t,” I say flatly.

Mason’s phone rings again. He answers and talks for so long that I think of going upstairs and giving up. But I’ve come this far. When he hangs up, I try again.

“Mason, what did the lisp remind you of?” I ask.

He sighs. “It reminded me of the bus crash,” he says. “The local news interviewed an employee at a gas station a half mile from the bridge. Police were looking for the worn red truck that eyewitnesses said ran the bus into the lake. The gas station worker claimed to have seen the truck ten minutes before the incident. He said the driver stopped in to buy a lottery ticket. Apparently, the driver said, ‘I think it’s my lucky day.’ ”

Mason pauses; I look at him expectantly.

“The guy couldn’t describe the man other than to say that he had a lisp,” Mason says. He jumps when I inhale.

“Are you serious?” I say loudly.

“Daisy, calm down.”

“It’s not a coincidence,” I say. “What if God caused the bus crash, too?”

“Stop,” he says, startling me. “If that’s true, then the work I’ve done for eleven years is all for nothing. God would never—could never—purposely kill twenty-one people. Twenty children. It didn’t happen.”

“Fine,” I say. “But will you at least do me a favor?”

“What’s that?”

“Ask David to look for the file on Case Twenty-two,” I say. “If it exists, he’ll find it. And if he finds it…”

I let the words hang in the air.

“Promise you’ll let it go if David doesn’t find anything,” he says.

“Only if you promise to do something about it if he does.”

Mason calls David and I make my way upstairs. Once there, feeling edgy, I pull out Audrey’s letter. Something about the smooth handwriting calms me: I’ve started reading it every time I feel upset.

Daisy—

Promise you’ll do two things for me.

The first is easy: Take my clothes. ALL OF THEM. Even if you throw them away, get them out of our house (but I have pretty good taste—haha!—so you should just keep them).

You’ve seen those people who can’t let go. They sob over old T-shirts that aren’t worth anything. My mom is a pack rat; she’ll obsess. My ugliest pajamas will break her heart. Take them, Daisy. Do it for me (and for your wardrobe D).

The second thing: Take care of my brother.

He tries to be this strong, tough guy, because I think that’s what he believes is expected of him. But he and I are so close…. This is going to wreck his world. I know he cares about you; I want you to be there for him.

There are so many other things to say, but I have to go to the hospital now. I hope you’ll never read this, but just in case, I want you to know that you are unique and beautiful and funny and I’m glad to have called you my friend. My best friend.

Love,

Audrey

Beyond the clothes thing, I can’t help but think that I’m not doing too well with Audrey’s other request. I text Matt and when, after thirty minutes, nothing comes through, I wonder if I’ve waited too long to reach out to him. I wonder whether he’s already gone.

Not six hours later, Mason knocks at my bedroom door and tells me that he’s flying to Washington, D.C., tomorrow. Cassie will stay here with me while Mason goes to the top about God’s recent exploits.

When I turn out the light, I picture Matt lying next to me, and the idea of him makes me a little less restless. Still, with bus crashes and faceless men in my mind, it takes me forever to fall asleep, which is why I sleep until eleven o’clock in the morning.

By the time I wake up, the house is quiet.

Everyone’s gone.

thirty-nine

As I crunch through a bowl of old-people cereal, I grow increasingly anxious about Mason’s trip to Washington. I drum my fingers on the table as I consider the possible outcomes.

Worst case, God will be found guilty of heinous crimes, no one will want to step in to run a dysfunctional program already in progress, and the world as I know it will crumble. The God Project will die; Revive will be the basis for a study with new, willing participants. Disgruntled bus kids will speak out; newspapers will accuse the government of hiding a superdrug; the government will lie about the drug’s existence. Revive will become nothing but a myth; no one will have access.

Not even me.

And with no program to keep us together, what will become of me and Megan? Or of me and Mason, for that matter? Where will I live?

Shaking off thoughts of homelessness, I consider the more positive scenario.

Best case, God’s actions will be easily explained and the program will continue as it has been. The rest of the bus kids and I will remain in the God Project for another nineteen years, after which point—assuming there have been no major issues—the FDA will approve Revive and make it available on a very small, controlled scale, probably first to the military. Carefully and quietly, it will trickle out to the public, and new lives will be saved.

Except I can’t shake the feeling that the best case isn’t that great. The past few months have been eye-opening for me; knowing what I do now about the program, will it ever really be the same? When I look through the files of those who didn’t respond to Revive, will I dwell on the fact that they weren’t given other lifesaving measures? When I visit Gavin in New York, will I be able to love his parents as much knowing that they took him from his birth mother? When I think of Audrey, will I always feel that I kept something monumental from her?

When I look into Matt’s eyes, will I ever feel like he’s safe?

With no right answer to comfort me, I shiver in my sleep shirt despite it being hot here in Hell, Texas. I get up, rinse my bowl in the sink, and decide to try not to think about Mason’s trip. He’s not even on the plane yet; his meeting’s not until tomorrow. There’s plenty of time to worry about him later.

For now, I choose to focus on Matt.

I check to confirm that he hasn’t responded to my email or text. Then, I dial.

“Hi,” he says, as if he was expecting me.

“Uh, hi,” I say, surprised. I thought my call would go to voice mail; I glance at the clock and realize it’s the beginning of lunch period at school.

We’re both quiet for a minute. I wonder whether he’s thinking of the last time we saw each other, because that’s what I’m thinking about.

“Where are you?” I ask. It’s too quiet in the background.

“In my kitchen,” he says. “Where are you? You haven’t been in school.”

“Texas,” I say.

“What? Why?”

“Long story,” I say. “Something’s going on with the program. I don’t want to talk about it right now, okay?”

“Fine with me.”

Pause.

“Matt, I wanted…” I stop talking because I’m not sure what I wanted. Instead, I ask, “Did you get my email?”

“Yes,” he says quietly. “Text, too.” And then, just when I think he’s going to make an excuse for not writing back, he simply says, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Thanks for doing that thing for Aud, too,” Matt says. “The lyrics.”

“I didn’t really mean to start a trend,” I say. “I wanted to give her something.”

“I know,” Matt says. “I know what you mean.”

“I miss her,” I say quietly. He doesn’t reply. His mom says something to him in the background.

“Listen, I’ve got to go,” he says. “Can I call you back?”

“Sure,” I say, my voice blatantly disappointed.

“Okay, I will. Bye.”

Matt hangs up before I have the chance to say goodbye.

forty

I check the time on my phone: Mason’s flight is taking off in a few minutes. At least Cassie will be back from the airport soon to rescue me from loneliness. Then again, having her around doesn’t necessarily feel like company.

Frustrated by the feeling that I’m losing Matt more by the day, I grab a book and jog downstairs. I consider flopping onto the dingy couch in the living room, then turn instead toward the back of the house. Through the picture window, I see a line of trees acting as a fence for the property line. The middle one has a lovely reading spot beneath it. Fresh air calls.

I grab a blanket, bang out the back door, and stomp across the patio and the grass. It’s snowing in other parts of the country and here it’s still seventy degrees out; it’s strange to be in such a season-less place. As I walk farther away from the house, the grass gets more and more overgrown until it’s up to midcalf, just before the tree line. I throw down the blanket and ease to a sitting position, my back against tree bark.

I open my book and try to read, but I’m distracted by everything; the words don’t make sense. After rereading the first page three times, I give up. I set the book down on the blanket next to me, lean my head back, and close my eyes. Right when I’m starting to unwind, my ringtone makes me jump. I pull the phone out of my pocket; my stomach flips when I see that it’s Matt.

“You called back,” I say.

“I said I would,” Matt says softly. “You didn’t think I was going to call?”

“I… no,” I admit.

“I’m sorry,” Matt says. “I’m sorry for not replying or calling. It’s been hard. But I realized after I talked to you earlier that you’re the one person on earth who makes it better.”

I cover my mouth with my fingers and speak through them: “Wow,” I say.

“What?”

“Sorry,” I say, moving my hand back to the blanket. “I said ‘wow.’ I mean… that’s how I feel about you. Like if we could be near each other all the time, it would make it better.”

“I know,” Matt says. “I mean, you have the craziest life of anyone I’ve ever heard of, but you’re the only one who makes me feel calm and sane.”

We listen to each other breathe for a few moments.

“Do you want to talk about Audrey?” I ask.

“Not really,” he says. “My parents are making me go to a counselor. All I do is talk about Audrey.”

“I understand,” I say, wanting to change the subject. “So… are you on your way back to school?”

“Not yet,” Matt says. “I came home to take my mom to an appointment. Her car’s in the shop. After I pick her up I’ll head back. I’ll miss a little of next period, but no biggie. Half of another class after all I’ve missed won’t matter.”

“Yeah,” I say quietly.

There’s a lull in the conversation before he adds: “When my mom calls, I’ll have to go again.”

“Okay, no problem,” I say quickly.

“But I promise to call back,” he says, a hint of playfulness in his voice.

“You’d better.”

Pause.

“So, I know you said you didn’t want to talk about it, but is everything okay with you?” Matt asks. “You guys randomly took off again, and now you’re in… Where are you again?”

“Texas.” I groan. “And yes, I’m fine. Everything’s okay. It’s some heavy stuff, but it’s all going to be sorted out soon. Thanks for asking.”

“Sure,” Matt says. I think I hear a little disappointment in his voice, like he wanted me to open up. Then he moves on. “So, what’s it like in Texas?”

“The lamest,” I say. “At least where we are.”

“I thought Texas was cool?” Matt asks.

“Parts of it, yes,” I say. “But Hayes? Hayes is the opposite of cool.”

“Hot,” Matt jokes. I wipe my forehead with the back of my hand.

“It is definitely hot!” I say with a laugh. “I’m sweating like a pig right now!”

Matt laughs, too, the laugh I love so much it hurts, and for the moment at least, the mood is lifted. We chat about whether pigs really sweat that much and it’s so easy and normal that I blurt out what I really want to say: “I want to be your girlfriend.”

“I want to be your boyfriend,” Matt replies easily, without hesitation.

“What do we do about that?” I ask.

Matt pauses, thinking a moment. “I guess what we just did? I mean, if we want to be together, then we are, even if you’re in Texas.”

“So we’re dating,” I say, trying it on for size.

“Honestly, I think we have been for a while,” Matt says. “At least since that first kiss.” My stomach turns somersaults and I smile a smile that makes my cheeks sore.

“I miss that kiss. And the other ones, too.”

“Me, too.”

“But, Matt?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad we didn’t… you know…”

“I know,” he says. “Not that it wouldn’t be awesome,” he adds quickly. “I’m just glad we didn’t do something so huge on a day that was so bad. The experience would always be a little bit… tainted.”

Matt’s words are exactly what I need to hear. I want to run to him, but I have no way to get there. Instead I settle for telling him I love him, because suddenly I need to say it out loud—so he can hear me this time.

The moment I open my mouth, Matt’s phone beeps.

“Hold on a sec,” he says. “I bet it’s my mom.”

“Okay,” I say. He switches over to the other line and I consider how I should say it—Matt, I love you, or I love you, Matt—while I move my feet to the beat of his hold song. A fly buzzes near my exposed ear and I brush it away lightly. Feeling airy, I sing quietly along with the song, wondering what he and his mom are talking about right now. It’s been a few seconds but I don’t mind. I’ll wait all day for him.

Just then my other line rings, too. I switch over excitedly, expecting Megan and wanting to update her on the good news with Matt before I have to flip back over.

“Hello?” I say enthusiastically.

“You should keep your room tidier, Daisy.”

I hear the lisp immediately; it sends chills down my spine.

“Who is this?” I say, feigning bravery despite the terror surging through me.

“Give it a think, Daisy,” the voice says. “I’m sure you know.”

“Is this…” I stop. “Is this God?”

He laughs a low, thin laugh. I suck in my breath.

At once I’m thankful for Mason’s keen instincts: He whisked us out of Omaha and hid us in Texas, away from everyone, even God. And he was right to do it: God’s clearly lost it if he’s rummaging through my bedroom right now.

I feel myself relax the tiniest bit… until he speaks again.

“I’ve just finished reading the heartfelt letter from your dead friend,” he says. “So sappy, and yet so touching.”

My safe little world comes crashing down.

“You’re in Texas?” I ask.

“Oh, no, no,” God says, laughing. “I don’t do heat. But I have eyes everywhere, Daisy.” His tone changes to an evil hiss. “Don’t for one second think that you’re alone.”

I stand abruptly, panicked. The fly buzzes my head again and I brush it away. I look up to the house and am horrified to see a silhouette in one of the windows. My window.

“Who is that?” I ask, staring.

“I guess you could say that it’s Jesus,” God says lightly.

“What’s happening?” I ask.

“Silly girl, I think you know,” God says. “Mason’s headed to D.C. to ruin my life, thanks in large part to you. We’re hitting the road, but first I thought I’d gather some supplies. And, of course, return the favor.”

I don’t want to know what he means by that, so I focus on something else: Mason’s not here to protect me, but Cassie will be back from the airport soon. All I have to do is stall him until she can get here.

“Where are you going?”

“Daisy, you’re not a stupid kid; why do you ask such stupid questions?” he says. “But you know, I could live anywhere. I could be anyone.”

“I know who you are,” I say, taking a huge chance.

“You’re lying,” God says. “You have no idea who I am.”

“Yes I do,” I say. “I talked to you at the Omaha Aquarium.”

The line is silent for so long that I start to shake with fear. He could tell Jesus to come right out here and kill me on the spot.

“Nice try,” the voice says.

I know he’s lying. He can wear all the disguises in the world, but he can’t shake the lisp. I can hear it crystal clear, just like that day. Still, I don’t provoke him. In fact, I don’t say anything for a moment. I cover the phone with my hand so I can take a few deep breaths and try to calm my racing heart. As I do, I watch the window for movement. Then I hastily look around the wide-open acreage, trying desperately to remember in which direction the closest house lies. I take a step to the right, considering running….

“Daisy?” the chilling voice addresses me again.

“Yes?” I ask hoarsely.

“Jesus is excellent at many things,” he says. “Sharpshooting is one of them.”

I freeze. There’s a pause: I think I hear the tap of a keyboard.

“There we go,” he says. “That’s better. Now sit back down on your pretty little blanket. I do want you to go in out of the sun and meet my friend, but not yet. Wait for my word, will you now, dear?”

“Yes,” I say, trapped.

“And stay on the phone with me,” God says. “I’m loving our little chat.”

I drop to my knees, then sit. I think of clicking over to Matt, screaming into the phone for help, but it’s been too long. There’s no way he’s still holding for me. He’s probably on his way to pick up his mom right now.

The fly that won’t go away buzzes close this time, and when I brush it away, the back of my hand makes contact. The fly is too big to be a fly.

I freeze again, for another reason.

I hear what I didn’t before: the hum in the background.

I look up, and there it is.

On a branch directly above me, I see it.

The hive.

“I have to move,” I say into the phone.

“What’s that?” God murmurs. It sounds like he’s preoccupied with something else.

“I said I can’t stay where I am,” I say. I’m not sure what he’s planning for me, but it might not be death. That’s more than I can say for the bees.

“Why not?” God asks curiously. “Just a moment.” I hear tapping, then nothing for a few seconds. I watch the silhouette appear in the window, then disappear again. A few seconds later, I hear two more taps, and then a small laugh.

“Oh my goodness,” God mutters to himself, amused. “That is too good. Ironic, if you think about it.”

“I’m moving, okay?” I say, standing slowly. “I’m walking toward the house. Tell your friend not to shoot me or anything.”

There’s a long, drawn-out pause. I can hear him breathing into the phone, through my ear and into the fear control panel in my brain.

“I told you to sit still.” His voice is humorless and frigid. Terrifying.

“I can’t,” I say. “The bees will sting me.”

“I assure you that worse will happen if you move,” God says.

In the end, I don’t debate it that long. Rationalizing that God would have instructed his lackey to shoot me in the beginning if he’d wanted me to die that way, I take a step.

Then I take another.

I hear tapping.

“Bad move,” God says. “What a colossal waste of Revive you were.”

Ignoring him, I take one more step, and the silhouette—Jesus—appears in the window. He props open the glass, and even from this great distance I can see the weapon aimed in my direction. I close my eyes and hold my breath, willing it to be quick.

There’s a funny sound behind me, like a pebble hitting a pillow. Confused, I turn to look. And that’s when I realize what he’s done.

Jesus didn’t shoot me; he shot the hive.

Angry bees spill out of the gaping hole in their home, seeking vengeance on anyone stupid enough to be standing nearby. I turn back to the house and see that Jesus is gone from the window. Even though I’m unsure where he is, there’s no question now that I have to move. I take three steps before I hear the bees swarming above my head. Tears fill my eyes and fall down my cheeks; I don’t move to wipe them away. In fact, other than my feet, the rest of my body is still. No. Sudden. Movements.

Step.

Inhale.

Step.

Exhale.

It’s not that far.

It’s not that far.

It’s not that far.

I realize that the phone is still pressed to my ear. I’m afraid to move my arm, but I’m not going to sit on the phone with God while he and his puppet watch me die. With my thumb, I hit the call button; miraculously, I hear hold music.

I’m still on hold with Matt!

The music drives me to take another step. And another.

I don’t think I’ve been stung yet, but the adrenaline in my body could be masking the pain. A single thought runs through my head: Reach the EpiPen. There’s one in my bag, in the kitchen. All I have to do is cross our yard and the patio and go inside. It’s right there. I can do it.

Don’t think about the man in the house. He doesn’t know where it is.

I can grab it before he knows better.

More and more bees swarm my body. Carefully, I step onto the shorter crunchy brown grass and start across. It can’t be more than fifteen steps to the patio. Then only a few more to the door.

My mind jumps to the morbid thought that I’m trying to push away: There is very little Revive in the house, and surely Jesus has already taken it to boost God’s stash. Even if there was a spare syringe, there’s no one sane to administer it. I’m alone.

A bee lands on my forehead as I step onto the concrete patio. I can feel it crawling across, finding the perfect spot to inject its venom. I manage to stay calm until, suddenly, a person appears behind the sliding door. The sun is reflecting on the glass so I can’t see more than a shadow, but still it terrifies me. I gasp and stop moving.

And that’s what sets them off.

Bees on my arms, cheeks, head, and neck start stinging at once, like they’re synchronized. In the second before I close my eyes, the reflection on the door shifts and I realize that it’s Cassie.

She’s home!

A wave of relief rushes through me despite the fact that bees are wreaking havoc on my body.

“Cassie!” I scream. The bees try to crawl in my mouth, so I slam it shut. I walk, covered with bees like a beekeeper but without the protective gear, two more steps.

Elated that I’ve reached the door, I extend my hand to open it.

Cassie reaches over to help.

I hear the lock click shut.

Baffled, I try the door. It’s definitely locked.

Confused, through blurred vision, I stare at Cassie. Maybe she doesn’t understand. Maybe she thinks she unlocked it. Except…

Her face is normal. Neutral. Robotic. But there’s also a hint of curiosity.

I realize that Cassie’s actually typing something into her phone. How can she be working at a time like this? My other line beeps. Even though I know who it is, I decide to answer, hoping God will show me mercy. I flip back over.

“Now you see the error of your ways,” God says, enjoying this. When I don’t speak, he continues. “Well, I guess the cat’s out of the bag now,” he says jovially. “Daisy, meet Jesus. You might also know her as Cassie.”

My eyes widen as I look in disbelief at the woman I’ve lived with for six years. The woman I’ve pretended to love like a mother. I get it now: She’s been in communication with him. Today. Maybe always.

Fruitlessly, I tug at the door again. Cassie shrugs a shoulder at me and smiles. Then, like it’s nothing, she turns and walks away, my school backpack slung over her shoulder and cases in both hands.

“Don’t feel bad, Daisy,” God is saying in my ear. “The problem is that you’re too smart for your own good. You and Mason were never going to survive this day. The bees just gave us some extra fun. Enjoy!”

God disconnects and the rage rushes out of me: I scream as loud as I can. A bee stings my tongue. More sickened by that than by the external bites, I chomp down hard and spit it out. Desperately, I flip back to Matt, but he’s not there. I drop the phone and run over to the garden hose. Somehow, through already puffy eyes, I manage to turn on the water and scare off the majority of the bees.

But it’s too late.

They’ve done their worst.

I fall to the concrete, wheezing and swelling, dropping the hose next to me. I cry out even though my face, tongue, and neck are expanding, making it increasingly difficult to speak.

“Cassie!” I shout. “How could you do this?”

I know it’s fruitless; she’s already gone. I try to shout a generic “Help!” to draw in the neighbors, but I’m wheezing now and the word is nothing but a whispered “hup.”

Then I stop trying, and I know it won’t be long.

Seconds later, my throat closes up completely.

And just before the bright day goes dark, I think of Audrey.