Page 122 of Switch!

We’re only trying to help, I think as loud as I can.You need to get better.

“You’re young,” Patrick replies. “You don’t understand.”

I must have come close, because we’re in a stranger’s house under exceptional circumstances, but that’s not what Patrick is thinking about. His mind is on those conversations with Trixie, where she pretended to be Laura. Conversations that he never allowed himself to have. Patrick never felt like he deserved redemption.

“What about me?”Trixie had asked in Laura’s name.“Why are you punishing me too? Do you blame me for her death?”

“No!” Patrick croaks. “Of course not.”

“I was there, Patrick. I was the most capable of helping her at that moment in time. Don’t you think I would have if I could? I’m her mother! If I had thought for one second that Serena would drown that day, do you think I would have taken my eye off her? You know me. I never would have allowed this to happen, but sometimes that’s just how it is. The world takes from you, even when you’d be willing to die to prevent that loss.”

Trixie did a good job of getting into character, judging from Patrick’s reaction.

“That’s exactly what she would have said.”

She might still, if you give her a chance,I reply.

“I… I don’t know,” Patrick says. “I need to think.”

That’s all I wanted him to do. He crawls beneath the sheets and curls up, tears dotting the pillowcase, but at least he’s facing reality now, no matter how harsh it might be. I’m not sure what he’ll take from this. He must have thought about many of these things before and reached the conclusions that he did: Lock it all away, and if it keeps hurting, take the most drastic measure possible. I pray to all that is merciful that he won’t attempt suicide again, but I’ll have to trust him at some point. Otherwise he’ll spend the rest of his life locked away in an illusion, which as far as I’m concerned, is a fate worse than death.

— — —

I’m disappointed, when waking the next morning, to find myself in control. Patrick isn’t with me. He must be in the black box. I don’t bother checking. Unless he learned to leave his own body (hey, it’s happened before), he’s still in there, living a false existence. At least I tried… and failed, but I haven’t given up yet. Trixie might have some fresh ideas. I won’t bother her with that now. Not while we’re on vacation.

I get out of bed, take a shower, and enjoy a blissfully lazy day. Until the afternoon, when Trixie comes waltzing into the kitchen with a naughty expression.

“Look what I found,” she says, holding up a car key. “Must be a spare.”

“Uh-uh,” I say, shaking my head. “No way!”

“Yes way! Don’t worry, I’ll drive.”

“Do you even know how?”

“Vaguely.” When she sees my panicked expression, she laughs. “Of course I know how to drive. We need to go to Patrick’s apartment for more clothes. And maybe to the grocery store for some real food. Would you mind cooking again? We’ve snacked our way through three meals now.”

Gary made sure not to leave anything fresh like milk or produce before he left for his trip. I’ve eaten enough sugar and starch in the past twenty-four hours to last a lifetime. “Okay,” I say. “Can’t we take the SUV though?”

“You promised me an adventure,” Trixie complains, stomping a foot theatrically.

“Fine, fine,” I say. “If we get pulled over, you better hope it’s a dude so I can possess him.”

“Could you imagine?” Trixie says, transparently excited by the idea. “You as a cop… The places we could go, the things we could do!”

“Please don’t get us pulled over on purpose,” I plead.

“No promises. Come on. Let’s go for a drive.”

Once we’re in the car, we don’t return to the city. Instead she drives us south, where there isn’t much aside from small towns—which she avoids—and national parks. Whenever we find an empty stretch of road, Trixie hits the gas and guns it, reaching speeds that have me and the car trembling. I love the rush despite the fear. It’s like our own personal rollercoaster.

“This thing has terrible mileage,” Trixie complains at one point. Not wanting to run out of fuel, we set a course for Tacoma again, but we’re forced to stop at a gas station on the outskirts. I’m pulling out my wallet to see how much cash we have left when I notice Trixie looking sheepish.

“I found more than just the spare key,” she says, holding up a plastic rectangle.

“A credit card?”

“Yeah. Gary is rich. He probably has a ton of them. And we’re fueling uphiscar, so it’s not stealing exactly.”