Page 43 of Fever Dream

Chapter Twenty-Three

Grace

“Where do you think they sent Joy?”I ask Elizabeth.We’re sitting in the cafeteria.Neither one of us is particularly interested in what is on the menu, nor on our plates.We just sort of sit there picking at things, and when that gets nowhere fast, we turn to each other.

I notice right away Elizabeth is quieter than normal.Contemplative.I’m not yet sure whether this is a good thing, or if it’s bad.I don’t know her well enough to make that kind of determination.“Hello?”I say, and she looks up.

I realized last night that I need Elizabeth’s help.If anyone can help Joy, it’s her.

She throws a sharp look in my direction.“What?”

So quiet is not good, it seems.“I asked where you think Joy is.”

“Somewhere deep in the belly of this place,” she tells me with a shrug.“How should I know?”

“Why did she say you were going to escape?”

“Because I told her.”

“Why would you do that?”Elizabeth had to have known she was running the risk of Joy saying something.

“She asked.”

My mouth falls open.“She asked?”

“Yeah, she knew.”

I don’t believe her.

Elizabeth looks at me and shakes her head.“She’s disabled, not stupid, Grace.”

I get the sense this is a dig at me.How would Joy know?How could she have seen it if I hadn’t?“How are you going to do it?”

“Why should I tell you?”

I turn back to my plate, acting like I don’t care, even though it’s going to eat at me until the end of time.“Maybe you shouldn’t.”

I feel her eyeing me, like she wants to tell me something.It gives me an uneasy feeling, which I try to ignore.I have so many questions.Mostly, I want to ask if I can tag along.I need to know more about her plans, but I get the sense she doesn’t want to tell me, and I know the fastest way to get a person to keep things from you is to pretend like you’re overly concerned.

“The less you know, the better,” Elizabeth says.“Just ask Joy.”

“I want to, actually.I need to help her.”

“You can’t.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Elizabeth studies me for a long beat.“How did you get here?”

She must be joking.Everyone knows my story.It’s not every day a woman is accused of murdering and disappearing her entire family.

“What do they have on you?”she asks.Her voice is low and clipped and edgy.

“I don't know.”

“Liar.”

“I had a break.I attacked a police officer,” I say, stabbing at the meat on my plate.Looking at it closer, I’m not at all certain it is actually meat.It has a gelatin-like consistency, and it looks like the pretend food we bought Eleanor for her play kitchen.“It could be worse.I could be in jail.”