The Perfectionists

Chapter 19

SATURDAY MORNING, MAL SAT IN Elliot's office, her hands gripping her knees. The room smelled faintly of a cinnamon candle, and a New Age song heavy on the wind chimes and didgeridoo tinkled faintly out of hidden speakers. The therapist offered Mal a gentle smile from across the room.

"So," he said, "how has this week been?" "Trying," Mal admitted. "Can you tell me why?" Mal shut her eyes. "There have been a lot of police at school. It's awful."

"Have any of them spoken to you?" She tensed. "Why would they talk to me?" Elliot held up two palms. "I assumed police officers talk to everyone in a case like this."

Mal let her hair fall around her damaged face and twisted her mouth. Way to go, idiot, she thought. Way to make yourself look super guilty. Why don't you just confess what you did?

She cleared her throat. Elliot was sitting across from her so patiently. She almost felt like she could tell him everything. She needed someone to listen, and she wanted it to be him. But then she thought of the other girls. They'd vowed to keep their secret.

"The police did talk to me, yes," She mumbled.

Elliot tented his fingers together. "Did they ask you about your relationship with Ben?"

Mal raised one shoulder. "Actually, they didn't." The detective had gone through each girl's motives one by one, but he'd barely looked at Mal. "Maybe he felt sorry for me," she muttered. For all she knew, he remembered her from when her dad was arrested.

Elliot crossed his legs and leaned forward. "Did you want him to ask you about Nolan?" "No," Mal said quickly. But then she glanced at the ceiling. "Maybe."

"Is that because you want them to know what he did? That he was kind of responsible?"

Mal peeked at him. Tears began to fill her eyes, thinking how Ben wouldn't even look at her when she'd returned to school after her time in the hospital.

"I just wish he would have said he was sorry," she said. "We wouldn't have been friends after that, but I could have let it go."

Elliot nodded thoughtfully. "Have you ever considered forgiving Ben?" Mal made a face. "I could never."

"Hear me out, Mal. What happened has already happened; you can't take it back. Your dad is gone, Ben is dead. Now you need to find a way to move forward."

Mal cocked her head. "How do I do that?"
Elliot stood and held out his hand. "How about we take a field trip?" "Don't you have another session?"

Elliot shook his head. "You're all I've got today, Mal Moors. So you're stuck with me."

He led her down the gray-carpeted hall and out a heavy door to the parking lot. Mal's bike was chained to the rack, but Elliot bypassed it, heading to a silver car with a couple of bumper stickers for car-racing companies on the back.

"Let's go for a drive," Elliot said, opening the passenger door for Mal.

"O-okay," she said, but her heart was thumping. She knew Elliot in the context of one safe room. Venturing out felt different—somehow foreign. But she trusted him.

Elliot slid behind the wheel and started the engine. In moments, a fast-paced, hard-rock song by a band Mal had never heard blared through the stereo. Elliot turned down the volume, casting Mal a sheepish grin. "Sorry."

"It's cool," Mal said, pushing her hair off her face for one moment. She caught a glimpse of herself in the side mirror and nearly gasped. The way the shadows angled, she almost looked...normal. She almost couldn't see her scars.

Elliot pulled onto the main road and drove a few miles over hilly terrain. They passed the main square and all the shops, several developments, the high school, and then the road Ben had lived on, a road Mal had once known well. She looked at the turnoff, then back at Elliot.

"Uh, where are we going, anyway?" She'd thought they were going to park outside Ben's house, and maybe Elliot would ask her to say good-bye to Ben on his front lawn or something.

"You'll see," Elliot announced, hitting the gas.
Mal shrugged. Maybe they would keep driving all the way to the sea. All the way out of her life.

But Elliot was slowing to a stop. Mal frowned at the rolling green hills in front of her, then at the wrought iron gates to the left. In scrolled writing along the top read MCALLISTER CEMETERY.

Her heart froze.

Elliot shifted into park and cut the engine. He got out of the car, then swung around and opened Mal's door.

She stared at him. "What are you doing?" Her voice was flinty, sharp. Mal shook her head violently. "No. No way."

Elliot frowned. "What do you mean?" "I mean I'm not going in there." Mal got out of the car and took a few big steps away from him.

"Why?" Elliot cocked his head. "What's happening in your mind right now?"

Mal wasn't sure what was happening—all she knew was that warning bells were going off like crazy. She saw flashes of light, then felt the painful twinge of an oncoming migraine. Ben's face swam in her mind, his eyes narrowed. Then she saw her father's face above her. His hand coming down again and again. She heard someone screaming and only realized later that it was her. How she'd lain there, limp, lifeless, on the floor.

When she looked at Elliot, all she could do was shake her head. Pain seared from temple to temple. "I can't go in there," she whispered, her eyes closed tightly. "I just can't."

A crow flew overhead. Elliot's throat bobbed as he swallowed. "Okay," he said faintly. "It's just that—"

"Mal?"

Mal whirled around. Evie stood behind her, looking angelic in a white diaphanous blouse and with her hair strewn around her shoulders. Her eyes were round with concern. "I was just on my way to town to get something for my mom and saw you here. What's going on?"

"Thank god you're here," Mal said, collapsing against Evie.

"Come on," Evie said, reaching out her hand. She glanced at Elliot. "I'm taking her home. We'll catch the next bus."

Elliot blinked. "Uh, sure," he said, stepping aside. "I was just trying to help."

"You have to be careful with her," Evie said protectively, carefully taking Mal's arm. The headache had come on full force, blocking Mal's vision, turning her stomach, sending waves of pain down her back. "It's okay," she could hear Evie's voice above her. "You're going to be fine."

"I couldn't do it," Mal moaned, though every word she spoke hurt. "I just couldn't."

"I know," Evie said, seemingly understanding even though Mal didn't quite get it herself. Maybe it was another hole in her memory: Maybe old Mal had hated cemeteries. Maybe something bad had happened to her in one.

But she didn't care about the reason right then. All she wanted to do was sit on the bus bench with her eyes closed. All she wanted was to never think again.