The Second Treatment

I awoke, panting, cold sweat trickling down my face. It was the dream again. The old dream. The one that never left.

The empty parking lot, the dark road, Gracie’s face.

And Jonathan.

I looked at the clock. 4:30, I thought, Two hours and two years ago today, Gracie was- no, I can’t dwell on it. I couldn’t be helped- not then, not now.

Knowing that sleep was no longer possible, I arose and dressed. After pulling my hair into its usual ponytail, I quietly slipped out of my room and crept cautiously down the hallway, determined to not wake Mom. When I arrived at the kitchen, I began making coffee.

As I sipped the warm, strong brew, my eyes fell on the picture of Hazel and I when she won first prize at the state fair for her chickens. Who had taken that picture? I wondered. Then I remembered. Of course, I thought, Gracie. She had

been with us that day.

           Gracie. No one deserved what she got. And yet- No, I told myself you promised yourself that you wouldn’t think about it. Not today. But I couldn’t shake the images that had seized control of my mind. Gracie, in the parking lot, all alone. Her fear. Her shock. Her hurt. And, worst of all, her dying words.

           Why was I going through this all again? I couldn’t help her now. She was gone, that was it. Besides, there was Hazel to consider. Shouldn’t I be celebrating today? They all would, privately, not wanting to upset Gracie’s family. My mother would be sure to bring it up at breakfast. The day that I saved my little sister.

Footsteps in the hallway. Hazel came into the kitchen, wearing her pajamas and bathrobe. “Hi, Hazel,” I smiled.

           “Hi, Lila,” she scrambled into the chair next to me and yawned.

           “Why are you up so early?” I asked, handing her a cup of milk and sugar, with just a splash of coffee.

           “I heard you wake up, so I came out to see you,” Hazel answered simply.

           We sat in silence for a few minutes, sipping our coffee, one of us content, the other miserable. Then Hazel asked, “Are you going to Gracie’s grave today?”

           She had remembered. “I’m not sure,” I had had no intentions whatsoever of doing so, but what if I didn’t go? Would it look suspicious? Would they know?

           Hazel sighed. “You know, Lila, today’s the day you saved me.”

           She had remembered that, too. “Well, it really wasn’t until you had the surgery.” Hazel had been sick with something so rare that doctors didn’t even have a name for it. They had, however, assured her mother that it was life-threatening and dangerous.

           “Do you remember it, Lila?” Hazel’s eyes were wide.

           I remembered it, all right. That period had been the worst in my life. Eating take-out, trying to stay awake while the doctors were examining Hazel, waking up on the floor of the hospital, laying in the hospital bed with Hazel while my mother had long, intense discussions with the doctor, and all the while this knowledge that, in all likelihood, Hazel was going to die. Unless…

           “Yes, I remember.”

           “I remember being scared of the treatment, ‘cause Mama told me it probably wouldn’t work, unless I was in the lucky tent or cents.”

           “Ten percent,” I corrected her. She was right. The treatment was not likely to work. One in ten people were saved by this specific treatment, and only about a million people in the history of the world had ever had it. But there was the second treatment. The one that no one had talked much about, because everyone knew that we couldn’t afford it. Everyone in Frillshyre knew that the Huffingtons, whose father had left them when poor Lila was only six, were dirt poor. The second treatment was too much, they knew.

           Hazel was still talking. “And then, you came in today and showed Mama the money to pay for the treatment. You said you got it at the- what?”

           “The stock market.” One lie after another. Of course I had invested in the stock market, I had told my mother. I had sold at an incredibly high price and now we had money for Hazel’s treatment. They had been so happy.

           A few hours later, Mother came out, dressed for the day. “Morning, girls,” she beamed at us, radiant with joy on this oh so happy day. I could tell she was about to start talking, and I looked for an exit. It came in the form of a knock at the front door. “I’ll get it!” I sprang from my seat and ran to the door, disappointed to find that it was only the mailman, who had now preceded to walk away.

           I glanced through the mail, and something caught my eye. A white envelope addressed to Miss Lila Huffington. I quickly tore it open, and nearly passed out with shock. On the single sheet of paper inside the envelope was written:

           3335 South Algerian ln.

         Frillshyre, Georgia

         87524: seven p.m

           Below it was printed a picture. I almost threw up. Thoughts swirled in my head. Who was it? No one knew who wasn’t dead. Hazel. My mother. The picture. Gracie. The picture of Gracie’s dead body, printed below the address of the parking lot where I had killed her.

           I walked back into the kitchen, hardly aware of those who were talking. All I caught was Mother’s usual, “The day you saved your little sister.”

           Oh, yes, the day I saved my little sister. The day I killed my best friend.

***

           At 6:45 that night, I told my mother that I was going to the library. More lies. As I biked, I kept going over the words of the letter in my mind. Not the letter that afternoon, but the letter from two years ago, written in a hospital room.  

           Miss Patten,

               Come to 3335 South Algerian Ln. at 2 o’clock tomorrow. Bring the six-million dollars that you recently inherited from your uncle. Come alone. Tell no one. Your brother is with me. His life depends on it.

           Gracie’s brother had cut himself off from the family years before, and no one had seen or heard from him since. It was a terrific lie. She was also the niece of an incredibly wealthy man, who had just died, leaving her an enormous fortune. The circumstances couldn't have been better. Or so I thought.

At 6:55, I parked my bike and looked around. It was already darkening, but I could still make out the figure of a young man walking toward me.

           I gasped. No! It couldn’t be! I had killed him, he was dead. Shot through the head—twice! Was I dreaming again? That must be it. But if I wasn’t? If he was alive, I was a goner! He alone knew. He had seen it all.

           I couldn’t speak for a full minute. He just stood there, smiling maliciously. “Jonathan?” I finally managed to choke out.

           He nodded. “Hello, Miss Huffington.”

           “How?—Where?” I couldn’t speak.

           Jonathan Ringwald smiled again. “How did I survive? Great question. Let me see. Let’s start at the beginning, shall we? I am on my way to my apartment, when I notice two teenagers in an empty parking lot. It’s 2 A.M., so they’re either in trouble up to it. I watched you break the neck of Gracie Patten, rob her of the six-million-dollar check that you had told her, in your anonymous letter, to bring. You turned around and, seeing that I had seen, you shot me in the leg. You should have killed me then and there, but you didn’t. You couldn’t bring yourself to watch another human die by your hand, so you tied me up and went to drag Gracie’s body to an empty road where someone was sure to find her and assume that she had been run over. Then you came back and, still reluctant to watch me die, you shot at a distance. You knew you aimed well, you probably even intended to check to make sure I was dead, but you remembered Gracie Patten’s last words and you couldn’t bear to hear mine. Am I right so far?”

           He was. In fact, it was scary, how right he was. How much he knew. I nodded, terrified.

           “Good. I, while tied up, had counted on your emotional state after having killed your friend. It showed itself obviously when you failed to search me for a pocket knife with which I cut myself from your make-shift bonds. I had just enough time to hide myself before you returned. You came back, shot my sleeping bag twice, and then went on your way.”

           “I knew I couldn’t stick around. You had already shown yourself capable of two murders, what was to prevent a third? I went to South Dakota and hid myself for a few months, fully intending to come back to sort you out. But then my father got sick. He was sick for many months, my mother, too. They died, one after the other, last summer. I was finally able to return home and bring justice to Lila Huffington.”

           I was panicking. “You don’t know anything! I had to do it!”

           He shook his head, no longer smiling. “No, you didn’t. Do you remember Gracie Patten’s last words?”

           Of course, I did. I nodded through my tears.

           He smiled again, looking dangerous and angry. “What were they?”

           I didn’t have to say them. I didn’t have to remember her or her words. But somehow, I found myself telling him.

           “I stooped over her body to make sure she was dead. She wasn’t. She looked at me, so hurt, and she said-” I could barely breath for sobbing. “She said, ‘I was going to give it to you.’”

           He nodded. We stood there a moment, me with tears running down my face.

           Finally, I looked up. “What do you want?” I asked.

           He shrugged. “Justice. You’re going before a court for murder, attempted murder, and theft. You can come with me now and I’ll take you to a police station.”

           My mouth went dry at the mention of that word: police. Suddenly, I remembered the gun. I pulled it out, ready to shoot. Jonathan’s eyes widened in fear.

           “Lila-” he whispered.

           All I had to do was pull the trigger. Then, no one would know. Hazel’s alive. Hazel’s happy. No one will know how she got there. Except you.

           My hand dropped to my side. I couldn’t do it. I had ruined my life once, I couldn’t do it again. I dropped the gun and kicked it away from me. Jonathan looked surprised- and relieved. He walked forward. “Let’s go, kiddo,” he said. I nodded through my tears and followed him to the car.