I should have been joining them on this hastened journey of justice, but here I was, restrained to the bed with special handcuffs that made sure I couldn't summon the flames and go on a killing spree.
This was all because I tried to do exactly that after waking up from a horrendous night terror. Hmph. Rude.
Whenever sleep tried to greet me, I pushed it away, which led to insomnia and me feeling more drained than ever. The moment I closed my eyes, there I'd see her. The woman playing her bingo before calling out to me.
"Alice! You're going to be late for school!"
How I wished to hear those words one last time. To groan and roll my eyes as I lay between the sheets and waited for the woman who helped raise me to climb up that ladder and listen to me questioning if her knees were still strong enough for such activities.
I smelled the scent of her quick meals to get me energized for another horrendous school day, and the simple cheap snacks and packed lunches that would ensure I'd survive without a fainting episode.
I could already see her disappointment on her face when she confirmed I'd lost my strikes at the current school and needed to search for another, and the exhausted lines in her expression as she peeked into my room while I pretended to be sleeping.
She had her own issues, ones I ignored while attempting to be a good daughter, but in the end, it was because of me - my existence - that she was now resting in the morgue.
Her death wasn't an accident, nor was her time on this earth up. All of that was stolen from her by a gunshot to her head. What people were trying to claim was suicide because of the troublesome sixteen-year-old girl who drove her into insanity.
The town was blaming me...like always.
It surely wouldn't have made a difference if I picked the gun up and shot her myself. The blame was always pushed in my direction because it was just that simple. A hindrance of a child, abandoned by her mother, attempted to be raised by a drunk father, only to be dumped on the grandparents.
Poor due to the instability of constant school changes and traveling, and the constant rejection only forced them to age more. Compared to my dad, who drank his sorrows and troubles away, they sought other outlets like bingo, where they smoked weed and drank whiskey and took drugs that kept their sanity.
Truthful words were leaking out into the community, and even I knew what was being said and spread around.
That child has to be switched.
An abomination for sure.
The poor woman lost her life after dedicating it to that waste of space.
That child should have been thrown in foster care instead.
Their words hurt even in tiny whispers, and I could only imagine what it would be like to try and remain living in this place anymore. There would be no future here. Not unless I did have a death wish that involved putting me up on a stake and burned as people chanted in glee.
The familiarity of that scene made me wonder if that was my next fate after this boxed suffering ended.
"Alice."
I blinked and looked over toward the tender voice. My gaze landed on Clara once more as she looked at me with worried eyes. I couldn't blame her for worrying about me. I'd be worried about my own sanity if I felt like being selfish for a brief moment.
Why would I focus on myself when someone was dead because of me?
Because I'd decided to save those I cared about?
My savior efforts rewarded me and my team a perfect score, and I knew without a doubt that we'd stolen the positions of what was known as the Blazing Horsemen.
I'd made them angry...or at least made someone angry for taking their petty position that brought more clout than success in their pitiful life.
To say I was angry enough to kill was an understatement. I would kill if the opportunity rose from the shadows and my logic was taking a day off. That was why I was stuck here, though I wondered if Dad would let them keep me over Christmas?
A holiday in a medical mental institution. Marvelous.
"Yes?" My answer was more of a croak, leaving me to question if I was thirsty.
When was the last time I drank water?
Clara scrunched her face in confliction before she lifted the lid of the tray and began organizing everything she'd brought for what was surely considered dinner.
Little bowls of various foods for me to try and determine what my stomach would hold down. Having no appetite was defiantly a pain, but after a while, the hunger pain would be nothing but dull aches that fought through the fog of my pain.
After she finished setting up my table, she poured a large glass of ice-cold water and slipped a straw in the clear cup.
"Ready to eat?" she asked with a smile.
I looked at the food as if it wasn't as appealing as it smelled, but the idea of disappointing Clara after she'd come all the way from her home yet again was enough to force me to nod in approval.
She beamed at my approval, just like she had the past four days, before the door opened once more and a nurse walked in. It was one of the observation nurses, forced to watch me for eight- to twelve-hour shifts.
How boring the idea was. To sit and stare at someone do nothing but eat, sleep, and stare out the window. Surely the first days in this cube of dull, painted walls and the single window that gave me a glimpse of the outdoors was thrilling with my outbursts and threats to burn everything to a crisp, but now?
Nothing to see but a girl silently mourning the death of her Grandma.
Could this be even categorized as mourning? I hadn't shed a tear in a while. Or maybe I had and couldn't remember. I wondered if I'd be allowed to go to the funeral at this point, but apparently that would happen later on after the Christmas holiday.
Plans were in motion, but I'm sure no one would want me involved in any of that.
It was my fault she was dead.
The nurse worked on removing my handcuffs, analyzing me carefully like I was a match, seconds away from being lit and bursting in flames.
I couldn't blame her for her precautions. That was her job, after all, on a mental floor like this. My eyes lowered to my wrists, which were red. I frowned while Clara seemed to follow my gaze and then looked at the nurse.
"You guys have been putting the cuffs way too tight," she pointed out the obvious. I surely could have mentioned the same thing, but my acknowledgment would float on deaf ears versus Clara, who'd make sure the management knew of the negligence.
"She had an episode last night and they needed to be tight," the nurse coldly replied.
Me? An episode?
I arched an eyebrow in confusion and Clara looked at me before she narrowed her eyes at the nurse. "Why weren’t any of us contacted, then?"
"It was late."
"It's been noted three times that if she has any sort of episode that her father or three boyfriends should be contacted and if you can't reach all four of them, my number was the last resort," Clara emphasized. "I didn't leave my contact information for it to be ignored when my best friend is dealing with the PTSD episodes and flashbacks."
Best friend.
That made me smile just a bit at her kind reference of what we were. I didn't feel worthy of her kindness or even attention. Just because I'd saved her life as well as many other students, I didn't expect anything in return.
Her loyalty was something I'd never really experienced from anyone, especially when we were just that: friends. I was only now getting used to the idea of having boyfriends, and that was fresh soil I worried was tainted with the blood of my grandma's death and the stress all of the investigations, interviews, and avoidance of media spokespersons who were trying to make this murder into the next big thing for the town to discuss.