The Calling Of Quinn Taylor

Chapter Twelve

I’m standing at the door of Mr. Milgram’s office that sits next to a psychiatric hospital; perhaps for counseling of the troubled youths that occupy the hospital. 
    I shouldn’t be here. I should simply walk away and forget I ever made an appointment. 
    But the thing is, it was supposed to start five minutes ago.
    After everything that has happened today, my insides are all rattled up as if they’re a drink a bartender just made-- everything is mixed together. My emotions are in my throat, my thoughts are exploding out of my head, and my fear rests deep in my gut, sending shots of pain up my nerves every other second. 
    And Brandon. 
    What do I say about Brandon? 
    I’m terrified it was true. I’m terrified that he took advantage of me… or that I let it happen. 
    I just want my thoughts back. I want it all to run away.
    I wish Maeve never died; then none of this would’ve happened. 
    I’d probably be off with Keller somewhere, slurping down a milkshake. We’d go to the river, skip rocks, and maybe talk about the drama that’s going down in all the friend groups. 
    We wouldn’t have to worry about a thing. 
    But she died.
    And me and Keller’s friendship went down with her. 
    So I open the door and step in. 
    “Hey,” he says.
    His office is completed with colorful couches and bean bags in every corner. 
    He sits behind his desk, directly next to the curtain-covered window, letting in just enough light. 
    “Have a seat,” he says, sliding papers into his drawer. With a smile ear to ear, he continues after I sit on the couch in front of him. “So what have you been up to? Anything spectacular happen this summer already?”
    Flashes of the party run through my mind. 
    Dancing, singing, trying to find Keller, drinking, drinking again… lots and lots of drinking. And Brandon. Kissing Brandon. 
    I scoff.
    “A lot… a lot has happened.”
    I remember Jessie from only a few hours ago; his yelling, threatening. But somehow, there’s a feeling deep in my gut that tells me he didn’t do it. 
    “Tell me about it,” he says, propping his head up with his folded hands. 
    I don’t fully understand why, but something about this makes me trust this guy; like I can tell him anything. It’s safe here… anything I say won’t go anywhere. 
    I’m safe.
    “I lost my best friend, I went to a party and I was stupid enough to get so drunk that I can’t remember what happened, and I’m going crazy trying to-” I cut myself off. If everything is safe to say, is this? Can I tell him this? “Trying to make sure my friends are okay.”
    It’s the truth. 
    Solving this murder will put me, Wesley, Mia, and Keller at ease. I’m doing this for our benefit too, not only for vengeance.
    “Okay,” he says, leaning forward. “Let’s start at the beginning-- how’d you lose your best friend? Or better yet, why do you think you lost your best friend?” 
    My leg shakes uncontrollably as my foot bounces up and down and my thoughts start to race back and forth at a million miles a second. 
    Keller.
    I lost him. 
    We’re not like we used to be. 
    “I did something stupid. I-I lied to him… I didn’t tell him I was doing something.” 
    A tear slips from my eye, but I quickly wipe it away.
    “I don’t think you’ve lost anyone,” he says. “Quinn, you’re an amazing person and you can mend anything hurt because what’s broken can always be mended.” 
    Then suddenly, all the thoughts stop.
    What’s broken can always be mended. 
    “But what if it can’t? What if I… did something terrible? I told him something he shouldn’t have known,” I say in a near whisper, feeling almost as if I’m talking to myself. “and it’s destroying him.” 
    “Well,” he says, standing up. He walks to the window and stares out, not saying a word. Until eventually, he speaks again. “If it’s something that terrible, then you did the right thing in telling them. That means it’s important.” He turns around. “And they’ll come around again. They always do.” 
    He sits on his desk, leaning forward. We’re only inches apart now, so I try to shy away, pushing myself deeper into the couch. 
    His words dig into my skin, reaching my heart. He’s right. Keller needed to know that-- he needed to know she wasn’t hurt by him. He’s not the reason she felt like she did. 
    “So what about the party?” 
    “What about it?” I say, closing my eyes. I don’t really want to talk about this. I haven’t told a soul… I don’t even know if it’s true. “I got drunk and I think I did something stupid; but I don’t know if I actually did or not.”
    I ramble with my voice going in all different directions.  
    “But what if I did and I didn’t want to? How am I supposed to feel? What do I do? It’s not something I would’ve wanted-- I never would’ve done it sober… but I woke up the next day and all the signs pointed towards yes.”
    “Quinn,” he says, leaning even closer. 
    That’s when I scoot the entire couch back, trying to not smell his coffee-filled breath. 
    “If someone hurt you, you can tell me. I won’t tell anyone.” 
    He somehow leans closer and suddenly, I’m trapped. His hand reaches my thigh and he moves his hand up slowly, until it gets to the point where I want to scream.
    Stop! Stop!
    “Brandon Hamilton!” I shout as I jump up, away from him. 
    Then all at once, the feeling of safety is gone. 
    Tears stream down my face as he approaches me, grabbing my wrist. 
    “I can help you,” he whispers, breathing down my neck. 
    No. No, I want out! Let me out!
    “If you just let me.”
    He grabs my other wrist and fear rushes down my spine. 
    “I’ll fix your Brandon problem.”
    Quickly, I shove him with my sudden urge of adrenaline and race out the door.
    What. Just. Happened. 
    I didn’t imagine any of that, did I? Mr. Milgram… he just-- he just did that? No-- he didn’t. He couldn’t of. 
    But he did. 
    I run to my car, quickly starting the engine before he has enough time to find me and stop me. I have to get out of here. 
    So I drive as fast as I can until I eventually make it home, away from all my problems. 
    I just want everything to end. 
    I run in and slam the door shut, falling to the floor the second I make it inside. 
    Tears uncontrollably stream down my face and I gasp for air, believing that my entire world is falling apart. 
    “Sweetie,” Mom’s reassuring voice cries as her arms wrap around me. “Sweetie, what’s wrong?” 
    I squeeze her tight, not letting go. She’s the only thing going right, right now. If I just hold her, maybe everything will be okay. 
    “I love you,” I croak. “Mom, I love you so much.” 
I grasp onto her, making sure she doesn’t leave me. I can’t have her leave me. 
***
That night, we invite Wes, Mia, and Keller over for dinner when Dad arrives back from work. 
And it’s nice-- we all get along, have a good time, and for once, we’re not worrying about a murder. 
“So how’d you meet Quinn?” Dad asks Wes before shoving a fork of green beans in his mouth. 
Wes looks over at me, and I remember prom night and how we had such a good time. I remember kissing him, him telling me we had something special. 
But my parents don’t need to know that. 
“School,” is all he says, although him and I are the only ones who know the truth. 
“Hmm,” Mom says, getting up to put her empty plate in the sink. “Well your dad and I are going out tonight, so I can trust you, right?” She laughs, leaning against the sink. 
“Yeah, mom. We’ll uh-- we’ll be fine.”

    After she leaves, we succumb to the basement and watch horror movies, enjoying ourselves. It’s something different-- it’s something abnormal.
    It’s being happy. 
    Keller and I laugh and tell jokes, making it feel like nothing happened. 
    With the thought of Mr. Milgram starting to disappear, Mia and I grow closer with newly-found inside jokes and something we have in common-- pure joy. 
    For once, I’m not worried. 
    For once, I have something good in my life. 
    But it doesn’t last long. 
***
    The next morning, Mia and I wake up on the basement couch, finding Wes and Keller long gone. I’d nearly forgotten they left late last night. 
    She rolls over, grabbing her phone on the floor. When she turns it on, her face completely shifts. 
    “Mia?” I say, groggy from last night’s sleep. “What’s-what’s wrong?” 
    Her hands shake vigorously as she attempts to steady her phone between her hands and tears slip from her dark eyes. 
    We were so happy.
    What happened. 
    She looks up with teary eyes and quivering lips and then… she speaks. 
    “Brandon died.” 
    I sit frozen for a few moments, trying my best to process what I’ve just been told. 
    Brandon… Hamilton? As in, the guy I’ve desperately been fighting in my head? Brandon Hamilton. He’s dead. 
    No, he’s not. He can’t be. It’s impossible. 
    “Quinn,” she whispers, bringing her head back. “He was shot.” 
    Shot? As in, he was murdered? 
    I didn’t even get a chance to talk to him… to tell him everything. Why would someone do something this extreme to him? 
    I want to go back. I want to confront him about everything and ask him about the party. Deep down, I know he’s a good man. 
    Maybe… maybe he just made a mistake. Or maybe, he didn’t do it at all. 
    Wait-- yesterday.
    The appointment. 
    Mr. Milgram. 
    I told him; I told him what I thought Brandon did and he… he said he’d take care of it. 
    But what if-- what if he actually took care of it.