Page 19 of Heidi Lucy Loses Her Mind

“Murdered…” Carmina says now, pulling my attention back to her. I have to lean closer to hear. “Murdered…” But her voice fades away as her head drops to the table with an awful, sickening finality. I reach over and grab her wrist, knocking her purse off the table. I ignore the shower of contents that fall, searching desperately for a pulse instead.

Nothing.

There’s nothing beneath that thin, papery skin.

She’s dead.

The shop erupts into chaos.

5

IN WHICH SOREN REGRETS THE DEATH OF HIS NEMESIS

There is a dead woman at that table.

That table, right there—right in front of me, where Heidi is kneeling.

That woman is dead.

Carmina Hildegarde is dead.

Stop saying ‘dead,’my brain snaps at itself. But I can’t help it; the word is reverberating through my skull, bouncing off of one wall and then the other.

There’s one other word zooming around in there, too:murder.

That’s what Carmina said, right? Did I hear correctly? She said she was murdered. I’m almost positive. It made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

I scratch my scalp, feeling suddenly itchy—the kind of sticky grossness that you get after you’ve been on a long run in the humidity. But scratching does nothing; the sensation persists, and I have a feeling it’s psychological.

Dead.

I exhale shakily, looking at the scene around us. Everyone who was in the bookshop is now gathered around Heidi and Carmina—eight, nine, maybe ten people. Some of them have their phones out; others are gawking. All of them are buzzing, talking to each other and to themselves and who knows what else; I only register one person leaving, the faint glint of glasses and a flash of brown. I wish the rest of them would follow.

We need to get them out of here. And when will help arrive?

Some distant part of my brain—the writer bit, if I had to guess—notes how strange it is, how odd, that your mind seems to stop working in situations like this. You accept people dying in books and movies and games. But seeing it happen right in front of you? The human brain isn’t so quick to believe that.

My thoughts are somehow racing and moving sluggishly at the same time; going so quickly, perhaps, that I can’t catch any of them and I’m left with empty hands. I know I called the ambulance, but to be completely honest, I don’t remember what I told them. I think I just stammered something about Carmina and the bookshop and then hung up automatically. Should I have stayed on the line? Should I call them back and make sure I gave them the address? I’m not sure I did. I’m not even sure I explained the situation properly.

Murder.

“Carmina,” Heidi says. She’s still kneeling next to Carmina’s chair. “Come on. Carmina.” She shakes the woman by the shoulder, but it’s no use. I can tell that even from here. I think Heidi can too, because she finally sits back on her heels and sighs. She rubs her temples before her chin comes up. She scans the group gathered around her until she finds Mel, the woman who works in the kitchen.

“Get everyone out,” she says, her voice faint. “We’re shutting down for the day. Get everyone out of here.”

Mel nods, a sharp, decisive motion, before spreading her arms wide. “Everyone out, please,” she says, shepherding people to the door. “We’re closing shop.”

I ignore the bustling throng, stepping closer to Heidi instead, until I’m near enough that I can rest my hands on her shoulders. I give them a squeeze—hope that’s not creepy—and lean down so she can hear me. “Come on,” I say to her in a low voice. “Let’s get up, okay?”

Heidi doesn’t answer; she doesn’t move. She doesn’t even look at me. So I stand there, waiting for her, trying to wrap my brain around what’s happening.

Dead.

Murder.

It’s only a few seconds later that Heidi gets to her feet. I resist the urge to help her, because I’m not sure she’d appreciate that. I hover obnoxiously instead, trying to look casual while also being ready to catch her if she stumbles. She might not think she needs help, and maybe she doesn’t,but she has a nasty head wound. Better safe than sorry.

She makes it to her feet fine, but when she turns toward me, her eyes are blank. I can see what’s going on in her mind plain as day; there may as well be a big sign on her forehead that readsDOES NOT COMPUTE.She’s still staring sightlessly, her eyes wide, confusion and disbelief etched in every line of her face.

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