The Love Sucks Club(33)

Touching Jamie’s face in a photograph, it occurs to me that if she died today, I don’t know how I would find out about it. The floor creaking interrupts my thoughts and I look up, resigned to whatever is happening next. Esmé is walking into the room, holding a copy of Annabelle Lies. Shaking my head slowly, I sink slowly onto a chair. Her feet come into my line of vision and a hand rests on my shoulder.

“Esmé,” I whisper. “I just don’t have the strength to do this right now.”

She drops to her knees in front of me and puts her hand on my chin. “Come on, Dana,” she says, quietly. “Let’s see if we can make contact.”

“You have the wrong idea about me.”

“I’ve read the book. I know you and Fran had a telepathic connection.”

“That was me and Fran. And it was most likely facilitated by Fran.”

“We can find out.”

I’m too tired to argue. The logical part of my brain is trying to break clear of the fog and demand to know why she thinks she has a right to just barge into my house. The other part of my brain is too tired to fight. Maybe Esmé is right. Maybe I should try to go deeper and find out what Fran is trying to tell me. If Brad is right, she has a message for me from beyond. If Sam is right, there’s something physically wrong with me and all of this is just a manifestation of some sort of brain problem. Esmé puts her hand against my forehead.

“Just relax,” she says in a soothing voice.

Her voice is low and lovely and her hand is so strong. I can feel myself leaning forward, but she’s strong enough to hold me up. She continues to talk in a soothing voice and I can feel it turning into a murmur. My head feels so heavy. I can’t hold it up any longer. All I want to do is fall asleep to the sound of her beautiful voice.

Fran and I are in my car, driving home from a friend’s house. We’ve both had too much to drink but she’s way drunker than I am. That’s why I’m driving. I have to keep us safe. Fran is drawing little hearts in the condensation on her window and singing along with the radio. Reaching over, I rest my hand on her thigh and she lays her hand on top of mine. I’m smiling. I feel great. Fran was a hit with my friends and that makes me happy. She didn’t exhibit any particularly weird behaviors tonight. At one point, I did overhear her talking to one of my buddies about aliens, but someone else started in on me, and I missed the conversation. We had a good time. Happy and grinning, I tap my other hand on the steering wheel with the beat of the music. Fran’s voice is slurred but sweet and I ask her to sing louder. Laughing, she smacks at me. It’s a perfect moment until she suddenly stops singing and presses both hands to her chest. I look over at her and her face is stricken. “It’s me,” she tells me. “I’m the one.” Grabbing for one of her hands, I swerve over the yellow line and correct back to my lane too fast, knocking her against the door. She lets out a small moan and I grab for her hand again. “I can see it in your mind. You know my people are coming for me.” Shaking my head, I try to keep my eye on the road, but the vision of her, the one that I’ve had before, is coming in fast. I know that in a second, I won’t be able to see anything but the inside of my own mind. Slamming on the brakes, I reach blindly for Fran. The vision consumes me for a minute or so, and when I come to, Fran is pale and shaking. I reach for her and she collapses into me, crying and mumbling. Holding her, it takes me a second to realize that there are headlights in my back window. Big, bright headlights. I have only a second to wonder what it means before they slam into the back of my car.

Blinking in the bright light, it takes me a minute to realize where I am. Banging my head back against the chair, I shake both fists in the air. “Come on. I’m sick of this shit.” Esmé is still sitting on the floor in front of me.

“I saw it, too,” she says.

“That wasn’t a vision, it was a memory.” Shrugging her off, I walk into the kitchen and hold my head under the faucet to drink some water. If that was just a meditation-induced memory, than why does my body hurt so much?

Esmé has followed me into the kitchen.“She didn’t die in that crash, though.” It isn’t a question. She knows how Fran died.

Without looking at her, I shake my head.

“What else happened?”

“We were taken to the hospital.”

“And?”

“And I decided I didn’t want a car anymore.”

“The crash really wasn’t your fault.”

“I was stopped in the middle of the road,” I snarl at her.