Deadly Little Games by Laurie Faria Stolarz Read Free Book Online

me.
    DOCTOR: So, where does that leave you?
    PATIENT: Pretty messed up, I guess. (Patient laughs.)
    DOCTOR: You’re laughing again.
    PATIENT: Sorry, I just think this whole scenario is pretty funny.
    DOCTOR: How so?
    PATIENT: I mean, if anyone actually knew what I’ve got going on inside my brain…
    DOCTOR: Care to enlighten me?
    PATIENT: Not really. You’ll just have to wait and see, like everybody else.

Across
    18. I am alone. There’s only ________.
    20. Sometimes I truly hate ________.
    23. When he ________, I cut out his tongue.
    Down
    3. A couple minus ________ = no one.

O NCE WE LAND IN Detroit, instead of checking in at our bed-and-breakfast first, we get a rental car and drive straight to the facility where Aunt Alexia is staying. It’s after nine, so I’m thinking visiting hours are over for the day, but Mom insists that because we’re family we have every right to see her right away.
    The facility is nothing like what I imagined—ironically, it’s more like a funeral home, a place to bring the dead, than a place to keep the suicidal from dying. We pull up in front of a long brick walkway that leads to a giant white house. Spotlights and a lamppost illuminate the area, but there’s no sign out front, and all the window shades are drawn. Mom puts the car in park, and we head to the main entrance.
    An older woman greets us, introducing herself as Ms.
    Connolly, the head nurse. She invites us inside, and the funeral-home vibe persists—mahogany woodwork, shelves full of old and dusty books, and antique-looking furniture.
    “It’s uncanny,” Ms. Connolly says, giving me the once-over. “You look just like your aunt. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you could almost be sisters.”
    “Can we see Alexia?” Mom asks, wanting to avoid the small talk. Her hands are shaking, and she can’t stop fussing with her scarf. And suddenly I’m nervous, too.
    “I’m sorry,” Ms. Connolly says. “But Alexia had a tough day today and she was put to bed after dinner.”
    “What does that mean?” Mom asks.
    “She was given a little something to help her sleep,” Ms. Connolly explains.
    “But I don’t understand. She knew we were coming.”
    The woman nods. Her beady black eyes narrow, and she sucks in her lips, making the truth pretty apparent—that it’s because of our visit that Aunt Alexia’s day was rough.
    “I see,” Mom says, clenching her teeth.
    Ms. Connolly musters an encouraging smile. “I’m sure she’ll be more prepared to see you tomorrow morning.”
    Mom spends another good fifteen minutes or so continuing to try to get us in, but Ms. Connolly doesn’t cave. She doesn’t even flinch.
    Meanwhile, a female voice screeches from down the hallway: “I want my pillow! Just give me my goddamned pillow!” At the same moment, something smacks against the hallway door with a loud, hard crash that makes me jump.
    Definitely our cue to leave.
    Mom drives us to our B and B for the night. I try to get her to talk about stuff—about how frustrating the situation is and how stressed Aunt Alexia must be. But Mom doesn’t want to hear any of it. Instead she takes what would have to be the longest shower in the history of water, and then heads straight to bed with barely a good night, never mind her nightly sun salutations.
    Before I go to bed myself, I check my phone for messages. I have one missed call from Ben. It seems he phoned just before I boarded the plane, but he didn’t leave a message.
    Part of me wonders if it was to wish me well once again. Another part secretly hopes that it was to ask me not to go. I’m tempted to call him back to find out the answer. But I follow my mother’s lead instead, and drift off to sleep.
    After breakfast the following morning, Mom and I head straight to the hospital to see Aunt Alexia. This time we’re allowed to stay. There’s actually a meeting set up for Mom, Aunt Alexia, and her doctor. Mom asks me if I want to wait in the lobby, but the thought