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I spent twenty-two years doubting what I saw that night.
Twenty-two years thinking I might have helped commit an innocent girl to a hospital for the criminally insane.
She did it, though.
She killed Heather.
Who toppled my chair once as a “joke”? Patrice. I remember it now. It was shortly after we met. Oh, she’d said it was an accident—she only meant to tilt it—but it was a test. Would I put up with her shit? Apparently, yes.
The footsteps stop right in front of me. I’m very aware then of the fact that I am on my knees, hands bound behind my back.
I am kneeling at her feet, defeated and trussed up like a goddamn offering.
I shift, trying to stand, but I’m not that limber. I’m stuck on my knees, looking up—
My nostrils pinch closed. I jerk back, but the grip is tight, and that initial startle of surprise turns to confusion.
And then I can’t breathe. One second I’m trying to figure out what the hell is going on, and then I can’t breathe.
My mouth automatically opens for oxygen… only it can’t get any. There’s duct tape over it.
I still don’t panic. It’s just something—Patrice?—pinching my nose shut. An annoyance, an insult even. Mocking me.
I jerk back, but it’s as if a vise grabs my head, pinning me in place. As my lungs begin to burn, actual panic sets in.
I can’t breathe.
No, this is silly. Patrice is just holding my nose to mock me.
Pull away. Yank backward. Rip from her grip.
Only I can’t. Something pins me there, keeping my head firm, my nostrils closed.
I can’t breathe.
Oh God, I can’t—
Hello, Janica.
I freeze. It’s the voice I heard last night, the one that seems both inside my head and out of it.
The voice continues.
Remember Sandy’s party? When you drank too much punch, not knowing it was spiked? You were always fun when you had a little to drink, but when you had too much? That’s when I saw the real Janica. Sad and scared Janica. You started crying and babbling about how you were afraid to die, how you couldn’t stop thinking about what it might be like one day, when your lungs gave out and you couldn’t breathe.
The voice slides through my ear, straight into my brain.
Is it everything you imagined, Janica? I hope so. I hope you die in tears and terror, and I hope your last thought is regret. Regret for betraying me.
I can’t answer. Can’t think. My lungs burn and my vision clouds, and I am going to die.
I can’t breathe, and I am going to die.
You knew what happened to Heather wasn’t my fault. You knew I couldn’t have been in my right mind. You were my friend. You should have protected me, made something up, told them you saw a stranger in the forest.
I can’t see. Everything is dark, and my lungs are on fire, and why can’t I break free? She’s pinching my nose. Such a simple thing. I just need to jerk away, but I can’t and I am going to—
“No!” Shania screams, and my heart leaps.
