Like, Follow, Kill

By 4pm, I’d taken an hour-long “bath”—which involved me scrubbing myself with water and soap while I sat in my new shower chair that the doctor had recommended because it was too painful to get in and out of the tub if I sat all the way down inside it. I’d limped around my kitchen, sweeping the floor. I’d washed a sinkful of moldy dishes and started and stopped three editing projects that were due next month. As much as I wanted to stay busy and keep my mind from wandering back to Valerie, or something worse, I just couldn’t focus. The words on the page were jumbly; my head throbbing; thick waves of red washing over my face and neck.

Valerie hadn’t posted all day, nothing since that shaky, sinister live vid at 2 in the morning. I’d skimmed through nearly a thousand of her previous posts, and then her followers’ posts … I’d also sent her three direct messages, asking her how she was doing, if she was okay … they had all gone unanswered.

Something is wrong. Something happened last night to Valerie.

I had gone so far as to make a scribbled list of hotels, motels, and inns that were in or around eastern Kentucky. There weren’t many, and most of them were listed outside of Paducah. There was nothing in their local news either—no kidnappings, rapes, assaults …

No murders.

I’m worried about a stranger; meanwhile, I can barely take care of myself. This is insane!

Once again, I pulled up a manuscript I’d been paid to edit. I made it through three lines, before my thoughts drifted back to her again and I couldn’t read the words on the page. The shaky sound of Valerie’s voice in that darkened street still haunted me … she had seemed so afraid, so unsure of herself …

I leapt from my computer chair as someone pounded on my front door.

I wasn’t sure how to react. It had been so long since I’d had any visitors. My mind immediately thought of my neighbor, Karen. Or Carol, whatever her name was … or possibly my physical therapist? But we didn’t have an appointment and my neighbor had never stopped by before. I’d always assumed she was a hermit, like me, and that worked out well for both of us.

My heart thumping in my chest, I tiptoed over to the living-room window and peeked out through the dusty blinds.

“I see you, Camilla! Let me in!”

Fuck.

It was Hannah. Suddenly, it occurred to me that I hadn’t answered any of my sister’s texts today. Also, I hadn’t taken my medicine. The switch-up in Valerie’s routine was affecting my own.

Dammit.

Reluctantly, I unfastened the deadbolt and opened the door.

“Jesus. I was worried. I had to leave work an hour early …” Hannah brushed past me, nearly knocking me over with her oversized purse and puffy pink coat.

Hannah was tall and elegant, with white-blonde hair. The polar opposite of me, with my short, chubby frame and dark-haired features. I’d often wondered if I was adopted.

You hatched from an egg, Milly. Fell out the back of a farmer’s truck and went splat on the ground. You were lucky I scraped you up when I did. She had told me that when she was eight and I was four, and for some reason, the image had stuck with me.

My sister plopped down on my living-room sofa, dropped her purse by her feet, and kicked off a pair of shiny brown loafers.

“You alright?”

I was still guarding the door. I closed and locked it, breathing in through my mouth and out through my nose.

“I’m okay, Hannah. Just busy.” Awkwardly, I sat down on the couch beside her.

She instantly launched into conversation, about how hectic her schedule was today—she’d been a dental hygienist since she was twenty, earning her associate’s degree and completing her clinical practice in less than two years—and she reminded me, twice, that she’d had to take off early to come check on me.

Through all her chatter, her eyes never once met mine.

Even my own sister, my own blood, can’t look at my ugly, disfigured face anymore.

I wanted to reach over and shake her. Yell: Bring my fucking sister back, please! She’s the one I want. Not you. Not this bumbling girl who can’t even look me in the face!

And it’s not just the not-looking that bothered me … it’s that every time I did leave the house—which wasn’t often—people either quickly glanced away or stared straight at me, unapologetically, like I was some sort of circus freak …

I missed the days of being looked at appreciatively by men and women; but mostly, I just missed being looked at like a normal person, another face in the crowd …

“I’m sorry you came all this way. I promise, I’m fine. Just busy. I’m editing a manuscript for a client right now.” Maybe Hannah isn’t the only one acting unlike herself. I, too, have been treating my sister like a stranger, I realized, uncomfortably.

Hannah was staring across the room. I followed her gaze to my computer screen and the mess of cans and crud on the floor around my desk space.

The manuscript I was supposed to be working on was pulled up on the home screen (thankfully, I’d minimized Valerie’s profile).

“I’m glad you’re working and getting back in the swing of things. But what have you been doing for fun? You need to get out more. They miss you at the buffet.”

The Pink Buffet was an old-timey restaurant that I’d worked at for nearly six years, before the accident. I’d used to go in early to set up prep for the buffet, and sometimes waitress in the evenings. I didn’t miss it; and I didn’t believe for a second that they missed me there either. The other girls were probably thrilled to have my extra hours.

I realized then that Hannah was still talking, although my mind was somewhere else. “Huh?”

“I was saying that we should do something together … go catch a movie, or better yet, have one of those girls’ nights at my place, where we stay up all night watching movies and …”

“And drinking wine,” I finished for her.

Wine. She can’t even say it. Because she knows my drinking is what caused the accident in the first place.

Say it, Hannah. Look me in the face, for once, and say what you and everyone else is thinking: How could you be so reckless, Camilla?! How could you be a drunken fool, like Dad?

“What have you been doing for entertainment in this stuffy place?” Hannah pressed, breaking through my guilt-ridden thoughts.

What do I do for entertainment? I imagined myself telling her the truth: I spend all day checking up on a girl I barely know, consumed by other people’s lives while I watch my own shrivel up and disappear. How is that for fun, big sis?

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I’d forgotten how to speak to her … how to relate with anyone, for that matter.

How long has it been since I’ve spoken out loud to another person?

“I-I need to finish this. It’s due tomorrow,” I said hurriedly, pointing over at my screen. My couch was less of a couch, and more like a love seat, and the two squishy, smelly cushions were making me uncomfortable.

Too close. Hannah’s sitting too close to me.

I stood up, suddenly, mindlessly rubbing the incision sites on my thighs.

“Thanks for checking up on me, though …”

Hannah nodded, squeezing her lips together in a way that made me feel like she was disappointed in me.

You’re not the only one, sis.

“Okay, I’ll let you get back to what you were doing then,” Hannah said, reluctantly rising from the couch. “Can I use your bathroom first? I’ve been holding it for hours.”

“Sure. It’s …”