Prom

Visitation I

The dead girl was in Amy's bedroom after dinner. Local news had been nothing but her clover eyes and nervous smile for days. Online they were saying she had been buried alive, face down, six inches below the soccer field of her private school.

She was clicking through Amy’s iTunes and when she heard the door open she turned around, her red hair cascading over one freckled cheek. Her smile twinkled.

“Hey! Nice tunes!” She said it so comfortably, just saying it, not trying to introduce. She was wearing the same outfit from TV, burgundy cable knit sweater and dark blue jeans.

Beatrice Walker, thought Amy. It's Beatrice Walker. Someone in homeroom had told her Beatrice had been found nailed to the wall of a big red barn out in the cornfields. One nail in each palm, one nail in each forearm, one nail just above each elbow. Big nails.

The girl nodded at the sreen of Amy's computer. It was splashed with the jagged red, white, and black cover of Radiohead’s Kid A. “I love this album,” she said. Her perky nose twitched as she smiled.   “I like music you can listen to when you’re sad. It can be so pretty, you know?"

Amy's friend Samantha's dad was a police officer. She said Beatrice had been found at 3:30 AM, lit up under the harsh glare of an all night gas station, her naked, pale body perfectly untouched except for the six-inch drill wound where her heart had been.

Amy didn't move. Her throat felt tight and very dry, and her heart beat loud in her ears.  She was breathing roughly. She looked at her hands and saw they were shaking slightly.

“Come on, Amy,” said the girl. “You don't have to be scared. Let's be friends.”

Amy felt a small icy shock behind her eyes and she squinted. “How do you know my name?” The girl looked surprised, then bit her lip. She didn't say anything. Amy felt hysteria creeping in. She raised her voice. "How do you know my name?"

The girl didn't answer.

From downstairs, her mother shouted. “Are you okay, honey?

The girl gave her a sheepish smile. "Parents, huh?" Amy looked in her eyes and found nothing but softness. That scared her more.

“No! Come up quick!" she shouted. She heard a chair scrape backwards, heard heavy steps running towards the staircase.

"Uh oh," said the girl. She winked at Amy and then hunkered down behind the backrest of the chair. Anyone could see her kneeling legs on the seat. Amy heard a barely repressed giggle. She backed away farther from the door, and heard her mother's steps coming closer.

“Mom!” said Amy. “There’s someone in my room.” Her voice was skittering, breaking.

When the girl heard that she straightened up from behind the chair. Her smile was fading and there was a trace of concern in her eyes now. "Hey, Amy, it's okay. I'm not going to hurt you. See?" She lifted up her hands, showed Amy her empty palms.

Amy risked a look back and her mom was almost there, moving fast and looking scared. She was still carrying her US Weekly in one hand. With the other, she reached for Amy's wrist, pulled her further back into the hallway towards the stairs. She draped a protective arm over one of Amy’s shoulders. Her voice was an urgent whisper. “Should I call the police?”

"Just look," said Amy. They both leaned around the edge of the door.

The girl was still sitting in the chair, looking embarrassed now. She raised her eyebrows when her eyes met Amy’s. For a moment, silence. Then: "She can't see me, you know."

Amy's mom stepped out and stood square in the doorway. Amy thought she ahd heard the girl, but when she looked back at her mother's face her tense eyes were still sweeping the room. Her voice came out as a shaky breath. “Where?”

Her eyes darted and Amy watched them flit over the spot where the girl sat again and again. Amy felt a fresh shock rolling out from her head. She held on to the door more tightly, and looked back at her computer chair.

The girl was still there. She shrugged. "I told you."

Amy's face whipped back towards her mother, desparate for any sign of recognition. "You really can't see her? She's right there! Look!"

"See who?" asked her mother. Amy stared at her, silently pleading. Blood pounded in her head. She could feel her eyes starting to sting. Slowly, her mother's look of fear turned into one of worry. She stroked a clammy strand of Amy’s hair back from her forehead. “Honey? Are you feeling sick?"

She was, then, a little. Sick, dizzy, weak. For a moment she couldn't feel the ground underneath her. She nodded.

"Stay right there. I'm going to go call Dr. Bazarov."

"Wait!" said Amy. But her mother was already bustling down the hall, courdorys rubbing. She threw Amy a reassuring glance over her shoulder. "I'll be right back, honey." Amy wanted to go after her but her knees felt weak and she didn't feel steady enough to walk. Unwilling to turn her back on the girl, she looked back into the room.

The girl was leaning on the chair back with both hands, hair hanging in front of her case, eyes downcast. "I'm sorry," she said. "I shouldn't have just showed up like this. I should have texted or something first."

Amy was so surprised she spoke without even realizing it. "You have a phone?" 

The girl glanced up for a second, and when she saw Amy's confusion she laughed. It was high and pleasant, a laugh for spring picnics in the park. "Come on, everyone has a phone."

She reached into her pocket and pulled it out to show Amy. The case on the back showed holographic puppies, soft and fluffy with little pink tongues. The girl tilted the phone and the puppies seemed to bound and leap. In spite of herself, Amy could feel the corners of her mouth twitching. The girl noticed, and let her own smile spread wider. "From my baby sister, Anna. They're named Whiskers and Bartholomew."

Amy smiled a little too, now. "Cool names."

"Right?" said the girl, grinning. "She only just turned six in April." For a second, her eyes clouded. She turned the phone back to herself and moved it from side to side, watching the puppies with a rueful smile.

Amy felt the fear leaving her body. The nausea was subsiding, too. This girl didn't seem dangerous. "You're Beatrice Walker, aren't you?"

The girl looked up from the phone case and gave Amy a clear view of her wide, light green eyes. She nodded. "I get why you're surprised," she said. "And I know you must have a ton of questions. But let's not talk about any of that stuff until we get to know each other better, okay? It's sort of personal."

"Okay. But why are you here?"

Beatrice grinned. "You've got the best music collection in the whole city."

"That's it?"

Beatrice breathed in to say something else, but then they both heard the approaching footsteps of Amy's mother.

She called to Amy from the hallway. "Come on, honey. They can fit you in at the clinic. Can you make it to the car?"

Beatrice winced. "Oh, no," she said. "I'm sorry."

"I'm fine, mom," said Amy. "I still have some bio homework."

Her mother was behind her, now. "Look at you," she said. "You're still staring into that empty room. We're getting you checked out."

Amy wanted to protest, but she knew it was true. She gave Beatrice a helpless look.

Beatrice laughed. "Don't worry, we'll hang out again soon. And just tell the doctor you didn't get any sleep last night, it worked for me."

Amy nodded and waved a subtle goodbye as her mother began to lead her out in the hallway by her shoulder. It wasn't until she was halfway down the stairs that Amy had the thought.

What did she mean, it worked for her?

A.N - Welcome, friend. Much weirdness awaits. I'd love to know what you think about any of this, so feel free to leave a comment or shoot me a PM.