Dirty Secrets

Part 65

That evening, Lyla plugged her laptop into the outlet and plopped down onto her bed, hoping that her computer would make a miraculous recovery. She pressed the power button to no avail, her worried expression reflected in the black screen of a dead laptop. She mashed the button with her thumb, holding it in place.

"C'mon, c'mon," she whispered, then leaned closer, listening for any sounds of electrical activity. "Please, please, please."

Silence.

She blew out a disgusted breath and closed the lid. She forced a false smile when her dad leaned into her room.

"How much longer is she gonna be in there?" he asked.

She shrugged.

"I wanna take a shower."

"Five more minutes," she replied.

He trudged toward the staircase, shooting a look of frustration toward the bathroom door.

She texted Packer.

Lyla: Hey.

After a short pause, he responded.

Packer: Call?

Lyla: 👍

Her phone rang.

"Glad you. Hi," he said.

"Can you have a visitor tomorrow?"

"Not sure. Got... Gotta go back in hospit.... Hospital early." His voice trailed off.

"Did something happen?"

"Check, check up... and then... tests... hope not spel-spelling.

She laughed.

"Prob'ly. Maybe vis-visit... yeah," he repeated.

"Okay. Good. Let me know."

"I miss you."

"You just saw me a couple days ago."

"How does? Does that stop... me from missing?"

"See you tomorrow, I hope."

"Hope so."

Darcy appeared in the doorway wearing a mauve sleeveless dress. She twirled and said, "So? You like?"

"Why would you wear a flesh-colored dress? You're a ginger."

"Flesh-colored? It's mauve," said Darcy, rationalizing. "It's called lace fit and flare."

"Looks like the same color as your skin. Except without freckles."

"Well, ouch. I think it's cute."

"It's cute. It's just the color." Lyla grimaced.

"Somebody's in a mood."

"What do I know about fashion anyway? I'm basic. You said it yourself."

"I'm sorry. I was all stressed out and that kinda just slipped out. And I never said you were basic."

"It was implied." Lyla unplugged her laptop.

Darcy pranced into the room and checked herself in Lyla's mirror. "Think the sleeveless thing is low-key working for me? I mean with these skeletal arms?"

"Your arms are fine," Lyla grumbled.

"I don't know. Sleeveless for Fall? Maybe that's why it was on sale."

"Maybe."

"Can you accept an apology and be just a little bit supportive? Just a teeny bit?"

"I don't know what that means."

Darcy sighed. "So, is Richie okay?" 

"Not to make this all about me but he couldn't decide on a place to go so we just drove around. And he's not the world's best driver. Even when he's not crying. So thanks for that."

"He was crying?"

"Are you serious?"

"So... about this dress."

"It's cute. Pick a different color."

........

Lyla followed Packer's mom across the glossy hardwood floors into their immense living room. She was stunned by Packer's appearance and hoped he couldn't read the dismay on her face. His skin tone was washed out and gray. The circles beneath his eyes had darkened. He looked small and frail slumped on the couch with his legs beneath the blanket.

He rubbed his dull blue eyes. "Hey, gurl." His voice was weak, barely a loud whisper.

"How are you?" She sat on the far cushion.

"Awesome. Good. A little tired,... that's... that's all."

"Oliver," his mom said. "Maybe this isn't the best time."

"I feel... okay."

"Lyla, can I speak to you for a minute?" Ms. Packer gestured for her to follow. "In the kitchen?"

Lyla stood.

"Mom, don't. I'm... fine. I want her to... to stay."

"Maybe it's not such a good idea."

"She just got here."

Her brow creased. "I'm going upstairs to get the thermometer and some Tylenol."

"Mom. I'm fine."

Lyla watched Ms. Packer climb the stairs.

His legs shifted beneath the blanket. "Too hot," he wheezed. "My legs. Way too hot." He reached for the cover with an unsteady hand. "The blanket. The blank-blank-blank-bla-bla-bla-bla-bla..." His eyelids drooped.

She grabbed the top of the cover near his waist and drew it back. A tight tangle of slithering snakes erupted.

She yelped, staggering backward, tripping over the coffee table and landing on the rug.

Packer thrashed, howling in pain. A snake had latched onto his neck, tearing through his skin. With only one hand, he couldn't pull the writhing serpent free. A striped serpent coiled around his wrist, hissing aggressively.

Lyla pushed herself off the floor onto her hands and knees. "Ms. Packer," she shouted.

Before she could get to her feet, snakes struck from beneath the couch with astonishing speed. She felt the sharp anguish of fangs.

She threw off the covers and kicked wildly, flinging her pillow onto the floor. A ray of dusky moonlight washed the window, painting the floor with murky shadows. She lunged for her desk and turned on the light. The only sound came from the window fan whirring in her dad's bedroom. She crumpled against the desk, knees wobbling, wiping the gummy residue of the nightmare from her face.