Page 98 of She’s a Doll

“You’re not going to believe me.”

“Try me.”

Nicola’s face twisted into a dry, pained smile. “Lucy,” she said after a while. “I’m here for Lucy.”

“Lucy’s gone,” Ginger said, her hands in front of her, palms forward, like she was facing down a velociraptor, not one of her oldest friends. “She’s been gone for ye⁠—”

“No. She’s dead, but she’s not gone. She’s . . . fuck. Fuck. I know you think I’m crazy. I thought I was crazy when this started. But I’m not. She’s here. She really is. Ghosts are real. Or, well, one of them is. I looked for others, back when I was still trying to wrap my head around it all. I went around the graveyard and dropped a ‘knock knock’ at every plot, just to see if someone spooky would pop up with a ‘who’s there?’ but they were as silent as the . . . well. You know. Which, like, is statistically improbable, right? If there’s one ghost, there’s got to be more. But if there are, I haven’t found them. I’ve only ever found Lucy. Or, really, she found me. She⁠—”

You went ghost hunting without me?

I didn’t know why⁠—perhaps I was regaining strength now that I wasn’t leaning against the time stream, or perhaps it was just the emphasis I put on those words⁠—but the end of that sentence echoed, not out of Nicola’s hearing aid but out of the phone still clutched in my claw, my voice thready and thin.

“. . . without me?”

I rolled my eye around to see the screen, glowing green. Nicola had never hung up.

“Nicola,” Ginger said, inching back a step. “What is this?”

“A ghost,” Nicola answered. “Either that or one very long, very elaborate prank by my audiologist. And, before you say it, I’m not hallucinating. I thought that at first too, but she knows things, things only the real Lucy would know, and⁠—”

“Nic talks a lot when she’s scared,” I explained.

Ginger jerked back. “Nicola, what is this?”

“It’s Lucy. I swear. She’s here. She’s in this doll.” Nicola held me up.

I waved one exhausted claw.

Ginger stumbled back another step. “No. No. That’s not Lucy.”

“It is. She is. It’s . . . fuck. This isn’t how I imagined this going. Actually, this is exactly how I imagined it going. You don’t believe me. You’ve never believed me.”

“Nicola. This isn’t . . . this isn’t OK. I know everything has been awful tonight, but you can’t . . . you can’t believe this. You know that isn’t Lucy, right? Lucy’s been gone since⁠—”

“Listen or leave,” Nicola snapped. “I checked Kyle’s car. The key’s in the ignition. Either you listen or you get out of here, but don’t patronize me.”

Ginger stared at her for a long moment, face white, shoulders shaking, even though it wasn’t cold. It felt like minutes, it felt like years, but then she crossed her arms and planted her feet. I figured that meant she wasn’t leaving. She was staying, for now at least. Which meant it was my turn.

I wasn’t sure what I should say. I wasn’t sure there was anything I could say that would make her believe. With Nicola, it had been easy. A phone number, a password. This time, I didn’t have any get-out-of-jail-free cards. Only words.

My grandma used to say I had a way with words. My English teachers had never agreed.

“We sat at the same table in year six,” I began, too tired to think of anything better. “You let me borrow your glue stick because mine never worked. Also, yours was blue glue, which was just cooler. Actually, my glue stick worked just fine. I just liked yours. I liked talking to you, even though I was kinda scared of you too.”

Ginger was shaking. “That’s . . . that’s not . . .”

“And then we went to high school, and you were popular, and I wasn’t, which wasn’t anything new, but still stung I guess. It all feels kinda pointless now, doesn’t it? High school drama. We graduated, and then you started to message me. I’ve never had many friends. Mostly just Krissy.”

“This isn’t . . .”

“Do you remember year ten formal?” I continued, rambling, unsure if any of this was what I was meant to be saying, what she’d want to hear. “You wore a pink dress and bedazzled Vans, which I said were cringey as fuck, but actually I was jealous as fuck, ’cause your feet looked like disco balls. Also, I’d colored my shoes in black with marker, thinking they’d look cool, but they didn’t. They looked like . . . well . . . shoes colored in with a marker. Really, the more I think about it, the more I think I probably have an issue where I lash out at those I’m jealous of, but, like . . . I’m dead, and I don’t think they do therapy for dead people, so . . .”

“None of this . . . ,” Ginger whispered. “None of this means anything. None of this is⁠—”

“You always were bright, brighter than anyone else. I guess that’s what I want to say. You don’t need to believe I’m real, but I hope you know that. You’re so much better than a loser like Kyle. That’s why I brought the strawberry Cruisers to your tea party. They were glittery and pink, and they made me think of you. You were always such a Barbie. But, like, a hot Barbie, which was so⁠—”

“I never told anyone about those drinks. I . . .” Ginger’s hand fluttered up to cover her mouth. She wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.