Read Online Ultraviolet by R. J. Anderson - Free Book Online Page B

him to help. But it wouldn’t be fair to put him through that. If I pitted my parents against each other, all of us would lose.
    “I don’t know,” I said, struggling to keep my voice steady. “They’ve got me on some medication, and I think they want to make sure it works out. I’m trying to appeal the decision, but . . .”
    He made a melancholy noise of assent, and went quiet again. Then he said, “Your friend Melissa’s been asking about you. She wants to know if she can come and see you, now you’re feeling better.”
    Warmth spread through my chest. So Mel hadn’t given up on me after all. She was a true friend, no matter what Tori— what anyone else said. “I’d love that,” I told him. “Tell her to come anytime.”
    My dad nodded, his big hands twisting in his lap. “May I ask you something, Alison?”
    Uh-oh.
    “The police said you were the last person to see that girl, Tori Beaugrand, before she disappeared. And that you’d claimed . . . you’d said . . .”
    “I said I’d made her disintegrate. I know. That’s impossible. I’m not saying that anymore.” Lying to him without actually lying was one of the hardest things I’d ever done. I just hoped he wouldn’t force me to do it again.
    “So . . . do you remember what really happened, then?”
    Of course I remembered. No matter how many times I tried to push Tori’s death to the back of my mind, the memory of that day still haunted me. But I could taste my father’s hopefulness like powdered sugar on my tongue, and I knew that deep down, he still believed I was his good little girl. Maybe even believed, in spite of everything, that I was sane.
    I couldn’t bear to let him down.
    “I’m sorry, Dad,” I said. “I’ve tried to make sense of it all, to think of something that would help the police find her, but . . . I can’t.”
    He didn’t seem disappointed. If anything, he looked relieved. “That’s all right,” he said.
    We talked about safer things then, like the hideous pink-and-green bungalow my mother was trying to sell for one of her clients, and my brother Chris’s plans to go to hockey camp that summer. My father had never been good with small talk, and he kept forgetting details and having to correct himself. But the fuzzy blue shape of his voice was such a comfort that I could have listened to him ramble on forever.
    Not that I got the chance. It wasn’t long before he ran out of words, and when he stood to leave, the room seemed to shrink around me. It was all I could do not to grab his arm and beg him not to go. “When are you coming again?” I asked, as we walked to the exit.
    “Next Tuesday, I think. Would you like me to bring you anything from home?”
    I wanted to say
my keyboard
, and hope that when it showed up Dr. Minta would let me keep it. But that was too much like open rebellion, and I couldn’t risk that kind of black mark on my record. Not before I’d had my appeal, at any rate.
    “Nothing right now, thanks,” I said.

    . . .

    My first night in Yellow Ward was peaceful enough—Cherie snored, but at least she slept soundly, and so far she hadn’t done anything to make me anxious about sharing a room with her. But my bed was next to the window, and even through the cordless blinds I could hear the stars crooning, sense those nameless, alien colors that refused to go away. I tossed and turned all night, and by morning I felt as though I hadn’t slept at all.
    The next morning when I lined up for my pills, a nurse handed me an activity chart that looked like my high school schedule. I couldn’t take in all that information right away, so I took the chart with me to breakfast. Cherie was already there, prodding unenthusiastically at her scrambled eggs, and I glimpsed Kirk talking to a silent Roberto in the corner. I didn’t see Micheline, but then I hadn’t expected to—last night at dinner she’d started yelling at one of the voices in her head, and they’d sent her back to Red Ward