“No. We watched the movie after you went up to bed and just fell asleep a bit ago. I didn't see or hear anything.” September gets up and checks all the doors then returns with worry etched into her features. “Everything is locked. Are you sure she’s not in the bathroom?”
“Do you have a key?” I ask, my hands sweating and stomach turning in knots.
She grabs one of the all-purpose keys from above the door frame, and we all head upstairs together. Cline is mumbling something to September, and I crane my neck to hear what he’s saying.
“What?” I ask, turning toward him before we get to the guest bedroom door.
His face is pale, and his eyes are wide as he looks beyond me into the darkness. “I was telling her about Audrey’s confession at the tree. She said that the reason she stopped talking to me was because she’d tried to kill herself when she was fifteen. She’s in therapy now, though. And she’s been so happy this whole trip.”
“You’d be surprised how easily people can fake it,” September says matter-of-factly as she slips the key into the lock. When the door opens, her hand flies to her mouth, and she turns directly to Cline. “Call an ambulance. Elliot, I need you in here now.”
The sight of Audrey splayed out on the bathroom floor surrounded by pill bottles, white foam pooling at the corner of her mouth, lips turning gray, is an image that will haunt me for the rest of my life.
“Lift her up,” September instructs, and I gather this lifeless girl in my arms, pressing an open palm to her chest to feel a faint heartbeat beneath my hand. September raises the toilet lid, and without any pretense whatsoever, she opens Audrey’s mouth and sticks two fingers down her throat.
There’s nothing at first, and then suddenly Audrey’s entire body convulses and she gags, retching into the bowl. Her heart slams repeatedly against my hand, and she claws at my grip on her, but I will not let her go. September will not stop trying to empty her stomach. We will not stop trying to save her from herself.
“How many, Audrey?” She’s asking, and there’s only a choking sound and moan in response before she gags again.
Cline is in the doorway, phone in hand, white as a ghost. “Five minutes. They’re five minutes away.”
“Pick up all of these and put them in a bag. They’ll want to know what she took. Get her purse. And here …” She slides Audrey’s phone my way. “We’ll need to get in touch with her emergency contacts.”
September takes over for me, and I let Audrey go, watching her lay her head in the other girl’s lap. Her eyes open just enough to focus on me as I press the home button on her phone. I bend down and use her thumb to grant access to her contacts and she whispers, “I found out about my dad. Miranda told me everything.”
The paramedics arrive faster than I can fathom, and within minutes, she’s on a stretcher and being rolled out into an ambulance. September jumps in with her, and I’m left holding Audrey’s phone and standing in the driveway with a shaken Cline and a stomach full of bile that empties onto the grass as soon as the sirens turn on and the ambulance drives away.
I don’t want to look, but I have to, so once I’ve composed myself, I begin to scroll through the texts between Audrey and Miranda. The ones I had seen earlier were Miranda telling her that she was irresponsible for being at the lake house and that it was no longer her property to use. The next came to say that she was ungrateful for the amount of money they had put forth for the care she was being provided. Not to mention the money for school. There was one about calling her dad. Then, when she wasn’t getting a response at all, Miranda had said that she was tracking the phone and knew where Audrey was. If she didn’t call home immediately there would be hell to pay.
Audrey responded that she’d been on a trip. Said she would call her dad in the morning.
Miranda demanded to know where she had been, and I’m not quite sure why she did it, why she felt like telling the truth, but Audrey’s text was honest. She said that she had gone on the trip to find out more about her mom. And in doing so, she thought maybe she would find out about her dad.
This is when Miranda’s rage hits the roof. It’s hard for me to read the words. I can’t bring myself to understand the level of pain it must have caused Audrey in that moment.
YOUR FATHER? YOU WANT TO KNOW ABOUT YOUR FATHER? WHY THE HELL WOULD YOU WANT TO KNOW ABOUT THE MAN WHO RAPED YOUR MOTHER AND RUINED EVERYONE’S LIVES BY GETTING HER PREGNANT?
There’s no response from Audrey after that. I check her call logs to see if she tried to contact her dad or her therapist or anyone, for that matter. Nothing. Why didn’t she wake me up? How alone must she have felt after reading that?