Page 141 of The Last Session

I tried to push Dom backwards so I could stand, but my wrist was bound. Cold fear filled my chest as I saw I was handcuffed to the bed.

“No.” I pulled against it.

“Oh, okay.” Dom nodded, slipping back into the chair. “The doctor’s coming now.”

I shrank into the bed, raising my knees, preparing myself.

Someone yanked the curtain back.

“Hi there.” The doctor had blue eyes and a sandy beard. I knew him from somewhere. He grinned. “Ready to feel better?” He held up a needle dripping with clear liquid.

I screamed.

“For heaven’s sake.” Mom shook me. “Just wake up.”

I sat up in bed. I’d been dreaming about a hospital, someone coming towards me with a needle…

“Let’s get this show on the road. You’re going to be late.” Mom looked tired, her face pale against her teal pantsuit. She dressed up to drive me to school, waving merrily to other parents in the drop-off zone. Then she came home and changed into sweatpants. Then put the nicer clothes back on before Dad got home. Keeping up appearances.

“I don’t want to go.” My voice was small and whiny. “My stomach hurts.”

“Your stomachalwayshurts.” She strode out. Daylight streamed in the windows, lighting up the collage of Catherine and Sebastian pictures I’d taped to the wall. Their lives were so colorful and sparkling, whereas mine felt dreary and gray. They could be together at this very moment. My chest ached, even more strongly than my stomach cramps.

“Hurry up!” Mom yelled.

I padded into the kitchen. The sadness shifted into anger. Mom didn’t care that my stomach hurt every morning before school. She didn’t care at all.

In the dining room, she crouched down, scrubbing at the floor with a pink sponge. Her red hair hung in a frizzy braid down her back.

The cereal box was on the counter. I went to the stove and picked up the cast-iron skillet with both hands. It was even heavier than I’d anticipated. I crept behind her and raised it up as high as I could before bringing it down on her skull.

The impact broke my vision into particles like a mirror smashing; when my sight reconfigured I was in a different kitchen. A dark-haired woman slumped at the table, but there was no blood. I was no longer holding a skillet but an empty vodka bottle. It smelled in here: rotting food and unwashed dog. A squeal came from the doorway: a small mutt was whining at me. Ranger. He was hungry. I put the bottle on the table and went to the dog food bag, but it was empty. I got some stale bread from the fridge and put it on the floor, and he tore into it.

“Hey.” Steven stood at the entrance of the kitchen. But he was young, sixteen at most, acne sprinkling his cheeks. “You didn’t come to school today.”

“I couldn’t get a ride.” I was also sixteen, but Mom had forgotten to sign me up for driver’s ed. First she’d had the funeral to take care of. Then she’d fallen into a deep well of depression and now barely spoke. I didn’t even know if she’d been fired from her job or if they’d given her leave.

“I told you to call me.” Steven took a step forward. “I can pick you up.”

“Yeah, the phone’s out.”

“Oh.” His eyes snaked around the room, landed on Mom. “I’ll get you tomorrow. I’m just down the street, you know.”

Ranger finished eating and went over to Steven, wagging his tail. Steven bent and petted him, distracted.

“Do you ever feel like you want to destroy someone?” I asked.

“Sarah.” He focused on the dog, stroking his chin. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”

Was my name Sarah? I thought I had a different name, but I couldn’t remember what it was. Though I was pretty sure it started with anM.

“Not, like, random people,” I said, brushing the thought aside. “Bad people. Bad people who deserve to be destroyed.” Startingwith Dr. Miller, the man who’d started my brother Jason on pills he couldn’t stop taking.

“I guess so.” Steven considered. “Like vigilantism?”

The word impressed me. “Yeah.”

“How are you going to do that?”