Stand Alone (7 page)

“You there! Get out of here, you’re trespassing.”

Justine slowed and looked toward the light and the yell. It was not a private security guard, but a policeman.

“Yeah, you!” he shouted.

Justine skated to the edge of the pool, then stepped off her board and headed toward him. She climbed the fence and walked up to him. He frowned, obviously confused at Justine approaching him instead of running the other way to avoid being arrested.

“Sorry,” Justine said with a shrug, “I just needed somewhere to work it out.”

He shone the flashlight at her face momentarily, and Justine squinted and shaded her eyes. The light flicked over the rest of her body.

“Are you okay?” the cop questioned.

“Yeah, sure,” Justine said with a shrug.

She wondered if her eyes were red and puffy. They certainly itched and felt strained and gritty after so much crying at the graveyard.

“You’re bleeding,” the officer told her.

Justine looked at herself, surprised. Both elbows and a forearm were skinned. Both knees too, and if her jeans hadn’t been torn before, they certainly were now. One particularly awkward fall had landed her on the corner of her forehead and her cheekbone, and she touched the throbbing mass now, wondering how bad it was.

“It’s nothing,” she said, “I’m fine.”

“You know you’re not supposed to be over here.”

“Yeah.”

“The gate’s locked. That means it’s closed. There are ‘no trespassing’ signs up all over the place.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What if you really hurt yourself over here? Knocked yourself out or broke a leg or something? What then?”

Justine shook her head in amusement.

“Officer
  
…
 
I don’t care. Really. I just
  
…
 
I really don’t care if I get hurt.”

“Well, you need to do it somewhere else. Not here. Come with me.”

Justine walked along with him without protest. She wasn’t sure if he was going to arrest her and Em would have to pick her up at the police station a second day in a row, or if he just wanted to make sure she got far away from the pool. They got up to his car, and he opened the front passenger door and motioned to the seat.

“Sit down. I’ll get an ambulance.”

“An ambulance?” Justine repeated. “For a few scrapes? I don’t need an ambulance.”

“Well then, at least let me get you cleaned up.”

She sat still while he got out a first aid kit. She hardly winced when he cleaned the various abrasions with the stinging pads. He put dressings over the places that were bleeding more freely. He frowned looking at the lump on her head. He prodded around it with gentle fingers.

“You really should have that looked at,” he said. “Are you sure you don’t want an ambulance?”

“No, it’s fine. I’ve had plenty of bumps before.”

He cleaned it carefully, trying not to hurt her.

“I’ve picked you up before,” he commented.

Justine nodded.

“Yeah. Officer Joe, right?”

“That’s right. I don’t remember your name, though.”

“Justine.”

“So what are you doing skating over here if you know it’s off limits and that you’re going to get picked up, Justine? Isn’t that sort of stupid?”

Justine grinned.

“Not when I get to see you,” she teased. She liked Officer Joe.
 

He smiled and shook his head. Justine held still while he gently applied a bandage to her head.

“Seriously. What’s going on? You don’t generally look like this after a skate. Extreme skating with no one around to help you if something happens? What’s up?”

Justine stared off into the gathering darkness.

“Just upset, I guess. I was
  
…
 
being sort of stupid.”

Officer Joe nodded his agreement.

“How am I supposed to keep you kids safe? You want to end up like that boy last year? You want to kill yourself?”

She couldn’t have been more stunned if he’d tazed her. Justine stared at Officer Joe with her mouth open, unable to find the words to respond.

“What?” he questioned, misinterpreting her look. “You know the boy I’m talking about. Used to skate around here. Killed doing stupid stunts-“

“Christian,” Justine croaked, attempting to stop his flow of words. “Christian was my best friend.”

He stopped and gazed at her, re-evaluating.

“Yeah,” he agreed, “I remember you guys hung out together.” He was silent for a few minutes, pretending to examine her wounds. Pushing her hair back from her face to look at her. “Don’t do it. Please. Do you know what it’s like for an officer, cleaning up after an accident like that? Or cutting down a kid who’s hung himself? Or telling some poor mother that her daughter’s overdosed and won’t be coming home again? Get counseling. Get prescribed an antidepressant. Don’t kill yourself. Please.”

Justine didn’t answer at first, letting his plea hang in the air between them. She touched his hand, still on her hair.

“I’m not going to kill myself,” she said finally. “I admit I was being stupid, and I wanted to get hurt. And to get attention. But I don’t want to die.”

“There’s help. There’s lots of resources out there. People that can help you feel better.” He took her hand, and held it between his two big, warm, strong hands. “Trust me,” he said earnestly, “lots of people want to help.”

“He was my only friend,” Justine said, a hot lump in her throat. She was not going to cry again. She had no more tears left to shed. “He’s the only person I ever loved.”

“Get help. See someone. There’s no shame in getting counseling. They can help you get through this. Find ways to feel better and move on. Make new friends.”

Justine sighed, shrugging.

“I’ve already got a therapist,” she said. “I’ve been seeing him for years. It doesn’t help.”

“Have you talked to him about this?” Officer Joe questioned shrewdly, meeting her eyes.

Justine dropped her gaze back down to the ground.

“Well, no,” she admitted. “No one knows.”

“It doesn’t work if you don’t tell him what’s wrong.”

“Yeah, okay,” Justine said, her face flushing warm again. “I’ll tell him.”

“Okay,” he nodded. For a few minutes, neither of them said anything. “So how else can I help you?”

Justine shifted, bending her knees and elbows tentatively. They were starting to stiffen up in the cold night air.

“You wanna give me a ride?” she suggested.

“Sure. Pull your feet in.”

Justine swung her feet into the car and pulled on her seatbelt. Officer Joe shut the passenger door and went around to his own side. He started the car, tapped some codes into the in car computer, and clicked his walkie-talkie. Reporting briefly, he pulled out onto the street.

“What’s the address?” he questioned.

Justine gave Em’s address.

“Thanks,” she said.

“No problem. Now I want you to take care of yourself, understand? Get to bed early. Talk to your therapist. Ride safe, and don’t be stupid. Call me before you do something reckless.”

He worked a business card out of his pocket and handed it to her. Justine examined it, and put it into her pocket with a smile, feeling touched that he cared.

“Thanks. I will.”

C
HAPTER
4

E
VEN
IF
IT
HADN
’
T
been the weekend, Em probably would have let Justine stay home from school. When Justine got up in the morning and looked at herself in the mirror, she shook her head in amazement at the sick bruises that covered half her face. She looked like she’d been in a particularly brutal bar fight. If she’d gone to school looking like that, she would have been sitting in the guidance counselor’s office in minutes. And probably dealing with a social worker and resource cop too. As it was, even though it was a Saturday, Em laid down the law and told Justine that she wasn’t leaving the house. She was to stay in bed with cold compresses on her face as much of the time as possible.

“Did you get in a fight?” Em demanded, staring at the bruises in disbelief.

“No. I just took a fall. Landed the wrong way.” Justine shrugged. “It happens.”

“I do not like you skateboarding. It is too dangerous. You could have been killed!”

“I just bumped my head,” Justine protested. “Got a goose egg. What about that lady at your office that slipped on her bathroom floor and ended up in a coma? You can’t prevent freak accidents. I skate safe.”

Justine knew perfectly well it wasn’t true. She’d been reckless and careless and took risks that she knew that she shouldn’t. She’d been driven to move and to act, to confront her own mortality in the face of Christian’s. But Em didn’t know that. As far as Em knew, Justine could have just been skating sedately down the street and hit a crack in the pavement, or tripped over a cat or something.

“You obviously weren’t skating safely enough,” Em maintained.

“Okay, whatever. What are you going to get me for breakfast?”

“What am I going to get you?” Em demanded. “I told you, I’m not your slave.”

“I thought you wanted me to stay in bed,” Justine pointed out. “Never mind, I’ll get my own.” She jumped up from where she was sitting at her vanity, and put her hand to her throbbing head, only half-faking a dizzy spell on rising. “Oooh. Head rush.”

“You get back in bed,” Em insisted, herding her back over, ready to catch Justine if she fell. “I’ll get your breakfast. I don’t want you passing out on me. Do you think you have a concussion?”

“No, I don’t feel like I have to puke or anything. Just a bit dizzy.”

Justine swayed, and Em pushed her down onto the bed.

“Lie down. I’ll get you something.”

“Can I have eggs?” Justine questioned. “Is that ‘clean’? I feel like I need the protein
  
…”

Em hesitated, the nodded.

“Eggs are fine,” she deliberated. “And maybe a green smoothie
  
…”

“Oh yes,” Justine agreed immediately, “that has lots of iron. Can I have cheese in the eggs? Real cheese?”

Em shook her head.

“You know you’re not supposed to have any casein
  
…”

“If you’re making me eat kale, can’t I have real cheese? It’s not going to hurt, this once. I love cheese in my scrambled eggs. You can even put some chopped veggies in it,” Justine wheedled, in her sweetest, most ingratiating voice.

“I’d better get moving,” Em said, looking at her watch. “I’m supposed to be meeting someone.”

She left without telling Justine whether she had won or not. Justine lay there with her eyes closed, feeling the room whirl like a merry-go-round around her. In a few minutes, the smell of cooking eggs wafted its way up the stairs. She could hear the blender going madly. Em hurried up the stairs when the meal was ready, all arranged on a breakfast tray for Justine.

“Thank you,” Justine said sweetly. When Em placed the tray across her lap, Justine went for the green smoothie first, tipping it up to get a frothy green mustache and swallowing nothing. She laughed and wiped her face. “Mmm, those are getting better,” she said.

Em laughed in delight. She leaned over and gave Justine a kiss on the forehead, away from the bump. Justine didn’t even pull away.

“I’m sorry I have to go out, when you’re not feeling well,” Em apologized. “Do you need anything else? Are you going to be okay here alone? Should I see if someone could look in on you?”

Justine shook her head.

“No, I’m just gonna stay in bed,” she said. “Listen to music or something. I’ll be just fine.”

“Okay. Well, you call me if you think it’s getting worse. If you throw up or anything. Okay?”

Justine nodded obediently. Em fussed for another moment, straightening her pillows and adjusting her blinds. Then with a look at her watch and a squawk, she was leaving.

“I’ll see you tonight, baby. Sorry I have to run.”

“Bye.”

Then the front door slammed, and she was finally gone. Justine got to her feet, and the first order of business was to flush the vile green concoction down the toilet. She rinsed the rest of the froth out in the sink, and took the cup and her plate of eggs down to the kitchen. Ten minutes later, she was sitting at the computer with a double espresso and a quarter of a cup of cheddar melted over her eggs.

“Now this is breakfast,” she said in satisfaction, and opened up her browser.

At first she just fiddled, checking her email and various social networks and feeds. But even online she didn’t have any real friends, so that didn’t take very long. Justine took a bite of her eggs while she waited for a missing persons website to load. They put too many people on one page. The numerous pictures made it slow to load, even with a good connection. Once the top row of pictures was loaded, she started to scroll slowly down. She didn’t know how she was ever going to find it, but she kept assuring herself she would know it when she saw it.

The website seemed to have ordered the pictures with the most recent at the front. Which meant that if Justine’s own picture was in here, it would be many pages back. She started skipping back three to five pages at a time, watching the photos getting older and degrading in quality. If her pictures was in here, it would be at least twelve years back. Justine had memories of Em from when she was three. Longer ago than that was a blank. If Justine had been kidnapped, the records would be at least twelve years back.

Justine considered the things she knew about herself for sure. She was a brunette, not a blond. No identifiable birthmarks. Her eyes were blue.

She reached the right year of disappearance, and stopped scrolling, looking carefully at each little girl three or younger. What if she’d been older when she’d been kidnapped? She’d always been at the head of her class. She was smarter than the others. What if she was older than them too? Any girl four and younger, Justine decided. Four or younger, brown hair, blue eyes. That was still a lot of pictures to consider. She studied the faces of the little girls. There were so many of them, and she couldn’t see any resemblance between herself and the pictures. There were Em’s pictures of Justine when she was a baby, but that didn’t work, because they couldn’t really be her. When had Em taken her? When did the pictures stop being the other baby, and start being her?