Page 85 of She Haunts Me Still

“I can do it,” Saskia says, shimmying through the opening. She grasps the ledge with her hands, lowering her body carefully. Mallory watches, her inhales coming faster and faster as Saskia lets go and falls to the stage, landing deftly. “Now you. I’ll spot you.”

Heartbeat racing, Mallory turns, backing out of the small space, letting her legs dangle into the theater. She squeezes her eyes shut, and on Saskia’s cue, lets go, plummeting to the stage. She lands much less gracefully, fall broken by Saskia’s reflexive, steadying grasp.

“I’ve got you,” Saskia says. “Gimme your phone, I’ll call.”

But Mallory doesn’t even hear her, fixated on the pool of blood widening beneath Arden’s head. It spreads and spreads, surrounding her like flowers at a burial. One of her legs is twisted at an unnatural angle, and a shard of bone has ripped through her torn tights.

“Arden!” she cries, crouching beside her. “Arden—!”

But Arden doesn’t move. And the circle of blood is only getting bigger.

“Oh god, I think she’s dead,” Mallory says.

A white haze burns at the corners of Mallory’s vision, and her ears fill with a ringing sound that quickly drowns out Saskia’s cries for help. A thunderous roar of footsteps skitters down the hall, and she closes her eyes and goes completely limp against Saskia’s chest, seeing—finally—only black.

22

The air inside Providence Memorial Hospital is different, somehow. Heavier. As Mallory sits in the waiting room, it’s like she’s weighed down by the invisible pain and grief of strangers. A suitable punishment for putting Arden here.

Guilt floods her as she replays the evening. Red and blue beams cutting through the lobby like a kaleidoscope. The EMT shining a flashlight in Mallory’s eyes, replacing her terrifying hunger with fresh fear. The way Arden was lifted like a stiff corpse onto a stretcher. How Mallory and Saskia rode in the ambulance with her, and Arden never once opened her eyes.

It wasn’t until they got to the ER that Mallory recalled Hendrix’s warning about being in the theater after hours.No one at Shore can know we were in the loft,she whispered to Saskia, hating herself.We have no idea who tore the tape or broke the ladder. We were putting away our costumes in the dressing room. We heard Arden scream and found her in the hall.

Arden’s parents had appeared in the lobby just then, expressions twisted in worry. A doctor said the wordshead contusion, oblique leg fracture, stable condition,and only at that last phrase did the lines in Nancy Thatcher’s tear-dampened facefinally soften.She’ll be awake soon,the doctor added.You can see her if you want.

Nancy gestured for Mallory and Saskia to follow. But Mallory couldn’t do it.I’ll go after you’re done,she offered.She should be with her family first.

You’re family, too,Arden’s mother said. Mallory thought of all the weekends she’d spent at the Thatchers’ town house, the endless breakfasts in their sun-drenched kitchen, opening the refrigerator like it was her own. It was even Arden’s mom who drove her for a birth control prescription when she overheard Mallory talking about sex.You’re only sixteen,Nancy said at the time.You don’t want to get pregnant at your age, and you can’t always trust men to care. Didn’t your aunt ever talk to you about this?

But as much as Arden’s mother had been there for her, there was no way to look her in the eye now and say,This is my fault.Arden was searching for me when she got hurt.So Mallory mumbled a cowardly goodbye and chose to sit in the waiting room alone. Saskia volunteered to stay, but Mallory shook her head and promised she’d call when she returned to campus.

Facing Arden is something she’ll have to do on her own.

Mallory can’t say for certain how long she’s been waiting. She falls asleep at one point, and when she wakes, the sky is pink with sunrise. She brings both hands to her cheeks and finds them cool, as though her fever broke overnight. Bending her head to her knees, she distantly registers two damp moons kissing the curve of her thigh-high socks.

She frowns. She doesn’t remember getting her knees wet.

“Mallory?” A nurse materializes, interrupting her thoughts. “Arden Thatcher is ready to see you.”

Arden’s hospital room is bathed in the ivory light of daybreak. An oversized bouquet of yellow roses sits in a vase on the nightstand, and suddenly the stuffed bunny in Mallory’s fist feels completely inadequate.

“Hi,” she says.

Arden lies still, one leg propped and wrapped in plaster. A gauzy bandage is stamped to her forehead, and shadows cling beneath her eyes. She turns slowly, like it’s an effort to move. Or an effort to look at her.

Mallory sits on the edge of the bed.

“How are you feeling? I’ve been sick to my stomach. I thought you were…”

She trails off as she catches sight of how Arden is staring. Mouth curled in disgust.

“Arden?”

“We don’t have to do this.”

“Do what?” The words taste chalky.

“This. Pretend. You’re only here because you have to be.”