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Claire's mocha was making her nauseated. She tossed the half-full cup and went to the bathroom. Half out of habit, she picked up her backpack and brought it along; the other half was an entirely reasonable expectation that Monica and/or Jennifer would do something mean if she left it at their mercy.
She was standing at the mirror staring at her sallow face with its raccoon-bruise eyes and pale lips when the second of clarity hit again, a flicker of unforgiving beauty in a world that just seemed drowning in gray.
Just a little. Just to get through the day. There wasn't that much left anyway.
She didn't let herself think. Her head was pounding, her mouth dry, her muscles aching, and she needed to feel better. Just ... better. Because right now, she didn't know if she could make it through the day.
She shook about ten measly crystals out into her palm. The strawberry scent teased her, and she shifted them around, watching the light glint on the sharp edges. It looked like candy.
It's a drug. She was finally admitting it to herself. It's not even for you. It's for Myrnin. What are you doing? It's making you sick.
But it would also make her well.
She was in the process of dumping the crystals in her mouth when Monica shoved open the bathroom door.
Claire swallowed and choked and quickly wiped her hand on her pants. She knew she looked guilty. Monica, who'd been heading for the stall, stopped and looked at her.
"What was that?" Monica asked.
"What was what?" Wrong answer, Claire knew it as soon as she said it. Why not, aspirin for my hangover? Or, breath mints? She was a terrible liar.
She couldn't help but drag in a shocked breath as the crystals raced their chemical message through her nerve endings, ice in every vein, and the whole world turned sharp and bright and -- for the moment --painless.
And Monica was way too savvy. She looked at the hand Claire was convulsively rubbing against her blue jeans, then gave her the x-ray stare again, and slowly smiled. "Man, that must be good stuff. Your pupils just dilated like crazy." Monica edged up next to her and checked her makeup. "Where'd you get it?"
Claire said nothing. She reached for the shaker, which was sitting on the edge of the sink, but Monica got there first. She looked it over and shook a crystal out in her hand. "Cool. What is it?"
"Nothing. It's not for you."
Monica pulled the shaker back when she reached for it. "Oh, I think it is. Especially if you want it so bad."
Claire didn't think, she just acted. Her brain worked so fast that she moved in a blur, slamming Monica back against the wall, then twisted the silver can out of her hand. Monica didn't even have time to yell.
Monica straightened her clothes, tossed back her hair. There was a crazy light in her eyes, and a glow in her cheeks. She liked this.
"Oh, you stupid bitch," Monica breathed. "That was such a bad idea. So, it makes you faster. And I'm betting it's something from the vamps. That makes it mine."
"No," Claire said. She'd screwed up, she knew that, but talking was only going to make it worse. She put the shaker in her backpack and zipped it up, shouldered the load, and turned to go.
Her hand was on the doorknob when Monica said, "Shane's still in ICU." There was something about the way she said it ... Claire turned slowly to face her. "That means he's not out of the woods yet. Funny thing, people can have all kinds of setbacks. Maybe he gets the wrong meds or something. That can kill you. They did a story about it on the news." Monica's smile was vicious. "I'd hate to see that happen."
Claire felt the wildest, coldest impulse that had ever come over her -- she wanted to lunge for Monica, knock her head into the wall, rip her apart. She could visualize it. That was terrifying, and she pulled herself back with a snap into sanity.
"What do you want?" she said. Her voice wasn't quite steady.
Monica just held out her finely manicured hand, raised an eyebrow, and waited.
Claire put down her backpack, pulled out the shaker, and handed it over. "When that's gone, I don't have any more," she said. "I hope you choke on it."
Monica poured some of the red crystals into her palm. "How much? And don't be stupid. You O.D. me, and it's your neck, not mine."
"Don't do more than half of that," Claire said. Monica scraped half of the crystals off her palm, back into the container. It looked about right. Claire nodded.
Monica dumped it into her mouth, licked the residue from her palm, and Claire could tell the exact second that the chemicals hit her -- her eyes went wide, and her pupils began to grow. And grow. It was eerie, and Claire felt her skin crawl as Monica began to shake. This is what it looks like. It looked awful.
"You're pretty." Monica sounded surprised. "It's all so -- "
And then her eyes rolled back in her head, and she fell down and started to convulse.
Claire screamed for help, jammed her backpack under Monica's head to keep her from knocking it against the tile floor, and tried to hold her down. Jennifer ran in and screamed too, then came at Claire swinging. Claire moved out of the way of the punch -- it seemed slow to her -- and shoved Jennifer out of the way. "I didn't do it!" she yelled. "She took something!"
Jennifer called 911.
This wasn't how Claire had intended to end up at the hospital. Worse, by the time they'd gotten there, Monica had stopped breathing, and the paramedics had to put a tube down her throat. They were hooking her up to machines now, and the Mayor was coming, and half the cops in town were converging on it.
"I need to know what she took," the doctor was saying. Claire tried to look over his shoulder; she saw Richard Morrell coming through the parking lot doors. The doctor snapped his fingers in front of her face to get her attention. "Your pupils are dilated. You took something too. What is it?"
Claire silently handed over the shaker. The doctor looked at the red crystals, frowned, and said, "Where did you get these?" He was wearing a bracelet, silver, with a symbol she didn't recognize. "Look, I'm not kidding. That girl is dying, and I need to know -- "
"I can't tell you," she said. "Ask Amelie." She held up the bracelet. She felt numb. Even though she'd wanted to kill Monica she hadn't really meant to kill her. Why had this happened? It was the same dose Claire had taken, and she knew the crystals weren't contaminated ...
The doctor gave her a look of cold contempt, and handed it to an orderly. "Lab," he said. "I need to know what this stuff is, right now. Tell them it's priority one."
The orderly left at a run.
