See how honest I’m being, Lansing, dear?
During the crossover, at dawn and dusk, just as the sun is moving behind or above the horizon, I can sometimes feel Carly coming. It’s hard to describe. I get sort of dizzy… like I’m high… and just as I’m about to go, I feel her brush past me. Not quite touch… more like a familiar scent or a gentle breath. It’s the closest we get to touching. I can almost talk to her in those endless minutes when we are neither one nor the other.
Almost.
But, since that’s impossible, we use other methods—the Message Book and little notes scribbled on purple Post-its stuck here and there.
Gotta go—I hear the nurse coming for checks.
Purple Post-it
Found between the pages of Kaitlyn’s journal
Remember to behave tonight. Only one night, OK?
PS: Grabbed you one of those gross marshmallow concoctions you love from the canteen. Under the bed. Also, Jane Eyre from the library.
Go nuts. Be good.
Xoxo
C
4:04 am
Where was I? Oh, yeah. Now that we’re heading back to Elmbridge High School, it’s safe to write in the Message Book again. For a while, back in late June, Dr. Lansing read it without our knowing, and would say things that could only have come from reading our exchanges. But we figured it out soon enough, and that was the last time we wrote in it. Lansing wanted that, of course. She saw it as Carly indulging in her alter ego—an “enabling behavior.” When Carly wasn’t writing to me there, Lansing probably smiled and put a neat little tick next to a task box that read “stop all messages.” But she was wrong if she thought that would stop us.
We wrote to each other in the bathroom mirror, in steam. We wrote Post-it notes, which we hid in unlikely places and swallowed after reading (not the nicest thing to force down your esophagus, but they checked the bins to make sure I wasn’t smoking). She forced us underground, and underground we’ll stay, until the day we pack our bags and head for the city, where the night never sleeps.
For now, my nights are full of nothings, and Carly’s days are full of everythings.
2
155 days until the incident
Session #45 Audio
Dr. Annabeth Lansing (AL) and Carly “Kaitlyn” Johnson (CJ)
Tuesday, 31 August 2004, 8:34 PM
(AL): How are you feeling tonight, Carly?
(CJ): Today was a good day.
(AL): Last day here. No anxieties about the upcoming school year?
(CJ): I like being at Elmbridge…
(AL): But?
(CJ): [Pause] They sent a notice that they’re giving me a new room. Apparently, it’s a little smaller. Different. It’s in the “L,” so I’ll be able to see the boys’ dorms across the courtyard, which is weird.
(AL): And it bugs you? The change?
(CJ): A bit. But it will be good being back.
(AL): Change affects us all in different ways. It’ll get easier as more time passes. Tell me, how much did you manage to eat?
(CJ): I ate in the hospital canteen today. I had salad and some tuna.
(AL): I’m pleased to hear that you ate… but you know that a salad really isn’t enough nourishment for the day.
[Pause]
(CJ): I know. Actually, I’m starving.
(AL): I have cookies. Would you have one?
(CJ): Okay.
[Rustling of plastic.]
(CJ): Thanks.
(AL): This is remarkable progress. Are you sure this is Carly I’m speaking to?
(CJ): You think I’m Kaitlyn?
(AL): Or maybe a new alter ego altogether. If you are, you’re welcome to speak.
(CJ): I’m Carly.
(AL): Kaitlyn, I know it’s you.
(CJ): [Pause] Then why ask what I ate? I know they report everything she eats to you.
(AL): It isn’t as prison-like as you make it sound. Carly doesn’t eat. We all know that.
[Silence]
(CJ): My answer told you who I was.
(AL): So why don’t you be honest with me, huh? Tell me how you are.
(CJ): [Mumbled incoherence]
(AL): Yes, I do care, Kaitlyn. About you, about Carly. Once upon a time, you trusted me, and I did everything I could to help you. Remember?
(CJ): You keep secrets from me. You won’t tell me what happened that night. You won’t tell me.
(AL): We’ve spoken about this. Carly isn’t ready to know what happened. Neither are you. You both need to work towards it. You need to integrate. [Pause] It’s been a while since you mentioned the Voice. Tell me what’s been happening with him.
(CJ): Why? So you can tick “crazy” on your little forms? So you can tick “Communicative”? So you can go home to Mr. Lansing and your perfect daughter and laugh about your demented patient?
(AL): Kaitlyn, you know I’d never do that.
[Silence]
Besides, Margo’s not perfect. [Pause] [Sigh] She was just suspended for mooning her English professor.
(CJ): No way, don’t lie. You’re totally fucking shitting me!
(AL): Don’t swear, please. And no, I’m not.
(CJ): [Laughing] Oh, my God!
(AL): So. The Voice—your Aka Manah. Has he been bugging you?
(CJ): You know already. I don’t like to talk about him. You think he’s a construct. You think he’s not real.
(AL): Tell me why you chose to call the voice Aka Manah. Why that name?
(CJ): That’s just his name. Arcane. Scary. Which is what he is.
(AL): And if I told you that in Zoroastrian mythology, Aka Manah was associated with evil thought? That, traditionally speaking, he was a kind of demon known to affect the mind? The thinking of people?
(CJ): So?
(AL): Don’t you think it’s telling? You give your auditory hallucination a name that implies he’s in the mind, influencing the mind? You have control over that. And this is a clue.
(CJ): A clue to what?
(AL): A clue telling you—begging you to see—that Aka Manah isn’t real.
[Silence]
(CJ): I’ll just agree with you, shall I? Get it over with?
(AL): Kaitie, I can’t help you unless you’re honest with me. Unless you try. We were friends once, right?
[Pause]
(CJ): Once.
(AL): Please.