Prom

Calls

Amy opened the front door and then stopped when she saw she was still in the warehouse district. She turned around. There was her living room. No mistaking it. What kind of a hallucination was this? What had Andrew given her? She had to find him, fast. She got her bike out of the closet. It was muddier than she remembered, and this worried her too.

She rode off in the direction the cab had gone. As she came to bigger streets she turned to follow the flow of traffic, and gradually she got into a more populated part of town. She pulled out her phone. This time she had reception. She mapped out the route to Andrew’s place and she was there in half an hour, fear and anger lending speed to her pedaling.

He lived in a rough, dirty concrete apartment building. She chained up her bike to the rack, then stormed up the stairs to his apartment. She hammered on the door. There was no response.

She hammered harder. “I know you’re in there, Andrew!” She pounded a few more times, then stopped and put her ear to the door. She could hear footsteps, and a few seconds later, the door opened.

Andrew stood there, chunky headphones over one ear, dirty blond hair sticking out in thirty ruffled directions, pupils huge in slate-grey eyes. He grinned. “Ames! Hey! I wasn’t expecting to see you today.” Amy balled her fists and Andrew’s eyes registered her irritation. His eyes grew cloudy. “Did we have plans?”

Amy took a deep breath. This was frustrating, but at least he wasn’t trying to brush her off anymore. “I’m in trouble, Andrew. Can I come in?”

His smile faltered as he took in her face. “Yeah, of course.” He stepped back and ushered her into the apartment. A dirty t-shirt dangled from one of the eight arms of a statue of Kali next to the sofa. Andrew sat and patted the seat next to him. She joined him.

“Those anti-anxiety pills you gave me. Can they make you black out?”

Andrew scratched his head. “Depends how many you take.” His eyebrows drew together. “Didn’t I tell you never to take more than two at once?”

“I know. I don’t remember taking them. But I think I may have done something bad when I was on them. And it’s getting worse. I’m hallucinating. Getting strange feelings. I don’t know what’s happening anymore.”

Andrew scratched his head. “That shouldn’t happen,” he said. “Are you taking any other meds? Sometimes there can be interactions.”

“No,” said Amy, and then her phone rang. She looked down. It was a number she didn’t know.

“Go ahead,” said Andrew, so she picked up the phone.

The voice on the other end of the line was breathy and urgent. “Amy?”

Amy’s vision flashed black for a second and she gripped the phone so hard it hurt her hand.

“Yes?” said Amy. She was afraid, now. More afraid than she had ever been. Because she recognized the voice on the other line. It was Beatrice Walker.

“You can't trust him,” she said. "Run."