Page 69 of She’s a Doll

On Wednesday:

Why aren’t you answering your texts? Are you mad at me? Did something go down at Ginger’s party? You can totally spill with me, you know that, right?

On Thursday:

OK, I’m fully freaked out now. Answer your phone.

On Friday:

The police came by this afternoon. They said you’re missing. They think I know something, which is crazy. They asked me for DNA. Seriously, Lucy, you need to come home.

On Saturday:

Please come home. I’m sorry if I was a bitch. I was just funked out that you got invited to Ginger’s and I didn’t, and that you didn’t tell me. It’s shit. This whole situation is shit. I overheard someone today say you’d been kidnapped. It’s fucked. Please just come home.

The messages kept going like that for weeks.

They talked about you on the radio today. I don’t even listen to the radio, but I listened to it. Honestly, it was spooky. They said stuff like “life of the party” and “she lit up the room.” Dead girl stuff. It scared the shit out of me. It also made me mad because you’re not dead. I know you’re not.

I’ve got your 21st birthday present in my room. It’s wrapped and everything. When you come home, it’s yours.

They’re offering a reward for you now. Did you know that? You’re in the paper, and not just the local paper either. Your photo is on the news in Sydney.

If this is some weird, fucked up joke I’m literally going to kill you, just FYI.

Then months.

Less people came to your vigil thing this month. Dad said I shouldn’t get so upset about it, but it’s not fair. We still don’t know anything. The police are doing nothing. They accused your nan which is such bullshit.

People are posting RIP on your photos. I’m so fucking angry. I wish I could log onto your account and delete all those comments. It’s fucked up. Like, if you’ve been kidnapped and you see those, that’d be the worst.

I’m really sorry, Lucy. I’m sorry we didn’t hang out that weekend. I’m sorry everything went to shit. I hope you’re OK. Seriously, I know I wasn’t always the best friend or whatever, but I hope you’re OK.

Then years.

I bought you a 22nd birthday present.

I’m dropping out of university. I don’t know why I thought I wanted to be a teacher. I hate school. I’ve always hated school. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I’ll figure it out. If you were here, I know you’d just tell me to stop crying and get on with it. You were always a bitch like that. I miss you.

I wish you were here.

Fuck, if you’re not dead . . .

I bought you a 23rd birthday present.

I made a video about you. Is that weird? Yeah. It’s totally weird. It did really well on YouTube. Because, you know, unsolved case and all that. I just wanted to vent, because the police have done nothing for years. I didn’t think I’d get paid for it.

You would never believe who Kyle started dating. Actually, you might believe it. I don’t believe it. I didn’t think he even knew anyone from our year at school. It’s Ginger btw, in case you ever read this. Not that you will.

I bought you a 24th birthday present. My therapist said I shouldn’t. She said I should accept that you’re gone. I know she’s right. But, just in case, I bought it. Spoiler: It’s a big box of classic books. I don’t remember which ones were your favorite, so I got them all. Brontë, Austen, the gang’s all here. I’m putting it with the others just in case. But, and please don’t hate me for this if you are alive, it’s the last present I’m going to get. I need this to be the last.

And then the most recent one.

I miss you.

She was still Krissy, still my friend. I had to believe that as I leaned forward and shook my head until Nicola’s spare hearing aid fell into my lap. I picked it up and, unsure of exactly what I was doing, pulled it close. There were no buttons, switches, or flashing lights. Just a closed battery compartment, a serial number, and a tiny red spot of paint.

Hello, I whispered.