Page 62 of Starve
But there is a scattering of pens on the clean desk, and a phone charger strewn across it. Surelysomeonehas to work here, at least sometimes. A part of me wants to open the drawers to see what files are there just so I can figure out what this floor is used for, but I don’t want to go to jail for a felony.
Or back to an asylum, which is arguably the worse option after the last time.
Exhausting my curiosity and my spare time, I turn and head up the stairs, wincing at the loud creaking that sounds like it’s trying to give away my actions. Like there’s someone here to tattle on me to, even though I’ve never seen anyone here other than Dr. Radley. But since there are multiple names on thedirectory, I know there are other medical professionals in the building.
So the sign says, anyway.
Her door looms once I’m on the second floor, and I stand in front of it, holding the styrofoam, half-full cup in my hand. Instead of a milkshake, I opted for a very retro Coke float, and now I swirl the thick liquid around the cup, feeling it tilt against my fingers unevenly. I don’t know if she’ll even let me have it in there, but if not, I’ll toss it in the trash like an elementary school kid who brought her milk carton back from lunch like a squirrel hoarding acorns in her desk.
I knock as usual, waiting politely, but today I don’t immediately hear her answer. I swear she’s in there, since I can both see and hear her walking on the other side of the frosted glass. The sound of her voice is soft, and it occurs to me she’s talking to someone other than me. Papers ruffle, a drawer closes, and when Dr. Radley pulls the door open, the look on her face is a little less friendly than usual.
Her eyes dart to the cup in my hand, but she doesn’t say anything. Her expression only changes when she looks at the light bruises on my throat, and then her lips press flat into a disapproving line. It feels very judgmental and puts me on edge. My sex life is certainly none ofherbusiness.
“You’re late,” she tells me, and steps back into the room. I glance at the clock, noting that it’s barely two after four. Not only that, if she had answered the door when I first knocked, I probably would’ve been on time. But I don’t bring that up. Still, I lock my teeth together to prevent an apology that she doesn’t deserve, and I follow her into the room while she closes the door behind me.
She’s clearly not in a great mood today. Her movements are less graceful and more fidgety than usual as she sifts through files on her desk that could be a sister to the one downstairs.While I take my normal seat and watch her, I continue swirling the cup in my hand without the urge to actually take a drink, though it’s still about half full. “I hope everything is okay?” I venture at last, which finally draws her attention.
Dr. Radley studies my face from her space behind her desk. Today, she doesn’t come to sit on the overstuffed armchair that she usually sits in like a throne. Instead, she sits on the desk chair, worn and dark, behind the large wooden desk and keeps her distance from me. Tense, quiet, she studies my face like there’s something new about me she hasn’t seen before.
I don’t like it whatsoever. I feel itchy under her gaze, and restless enough that I almost can’t sit still. “Umm…” I don’t know what to say, and belatedly remember I’m the one who last asked a question. Not her. She can’t be waiting for me to say anything, when she hasn’t asked me anything.
Right?
“I’m really trying here, Fern.” She leans back and turns the chair slightly to gaze out the window behind her, toward the darkening sky outside. The words put me on edge, and I set the styrofoam cup down on the table beside me. “I’ve been trying to let you go at your own pace. I don’t want to push you, but you’re not giving me anything to work with.”
“Um, I don’t know what you mean,” I say, when she just stares out the window instead of continuing. “I’ve been doing what you say. I talk about what you want me to talk about, I?—”
Here, Dr. Radley lets out an unfriendly laugh as the wind picks up outside. “We both know that’s not true. You lie to me. Regularly avoid my questions. You evade telling me the truth ateveryturn.” All at once, she turns to me, her eyes on mine. “Where’s Cairo Moore?” she demands sharply. “And Hattie Kenner? Tyler Wilson? Any of those names ring a bell?”
It dawns on me that all this time, I’ve underestimated her and her intentions. She doesn’t want to help me, and it makes me wary of her every word.
It makes me wonder how much she knows.
“Cairo?” I blink, keeping a look of careful confusion on my face. “I met him at Bluebone Ridge. Did he make it out? Tyler was his friend, right? And I thought the official report on Hattie is that?—”
“Stop it.” Her lips twist into an unfriendly smile, and she stares sourly at me. “If you’re going to lie, then I’d rather you said nothing at all.” I watch as she forces herself to relax; Dr. Radley closes her eyes to sit back with some effort instead of looking like she’s going to come over the desk and get in my face. “I know what happened that night, Fern,” she says slowly. “I’ve always known what lives in the mountains. Starving, waiting, and trying to find anyone just as desperate as they are to join them.”
A shiver travels up my spine, but I force myself not to look away, or to seem guilty. So I set both feet on the floor, leaning forward on my knees. “You’ll have to explain what you mean to me,” I reply just as slowly, articulating my words. “I don’t know what you’re trying to say, Dr. Radley. What lives in the mountains? Who’s starving? What’s?—”
“Has he told you how it happens?” She cuts me off smoothly as if I hadn’t said anything at all. “Have any of them? By now I’m sure you know there’s more than one. I was never sure about Tyler, though with Cairo it was obvious. How could it not be?” Dr. Radley opens a small notebook, flipping through the pages as she studies the words on each. “Cairo Moore was actually born Cairo Merritt. He lived here in the fifties.” She runs her finger down the page, reading from it. “Tyler Wilson. Born 1978. Went missing in the late 90’s.” When she closes it, I notice morenames. Other details. Though I’m too far away to actually read any of her scrawled writing.
“So I’ll ask again. Have any of them told you how they do it?”
I refuse to admit knowing anything. There’s no way I’ll let her draw me into telling her something she doesn’t know, and I force myself to stay on my guard as I shrug my shoulders cluelessly. “I don’t know what you mean. How they do what?”
Her glare is withering, and I remind myself that she can’t stop me if I get up and just leave. She can’t call the cops and tell them I know about monsters and simply won’t admit it to her. Even I know that.
“It would be better to just stop playing this game,” Dr. Radley tells me coolly. “But I can’t force you.” Suddenly she’s on her feet, and I jerk to mine as she strides past, though she doesn’t stop. She just goes to the wall, pulling off one of the framed photos I noticed before. Coming back to me, she shows the photo to me, all but thrusting it under my nose.
It’s the same one I looked at before, and it only confuses me more as I wonder why she’s showing me a happy photo of her, her sister, and their parents outside of a cabin in the woods. “This was the last summer I ever got to spend with my sister Mikaela,” Dr. Radley tells me in a soft, serious voice. “She’s eighteen here. I’m twenty. We stayed at this cabin with our parents every year; this was the last one.” Pulling the photo back, she drags her fingers over it affectionately, eyes dulling as she’s lost in the memory.
“She developed a crush on some boy she met on the trails. He was so charming, she said. Mysterious, too, she never found out where he lived.” For a few moments she’s silent, and it scares me to think of all the directions this could go. Somehow, I doubt I’ll be surprised.
“And then he wanted her to stay. They always want you to stay once they get attached, Fern.” She sets down the photo, andher eyes pin mine before I can look away. “Do you know what it means to stay? Mikaela didn’t. Not until it was too late. They don’t take no for an answer.” Her voice turns grim, and my heart sinks. When Dr. Radley steps forward, I step back and my knees hit the chair, causing me to sit unsteadily.
“The last thing she ever told me was how he wanted her to eat someone with him. Justonce. How if she were hungry, really hungry, she’d understand. Does that ring a bell?” Dr. Radley’s voice is tight, and I have to fight back any kind of comprehension on my face, considering what Cairo told me last week.
She’s too close to his story to be wrong, but he certainly hasn’t done that with me. I take a breath and clutch the arms of the chair. “You’re scaring me, Dr. Radley,” I murmur quietly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but?—”
