Early September

Baltimore, Maryland

Cindy's gaze was fixed on the television, seeing without seeing. A small voice whispered somewhere in the back of her mind, telling her she needed to move. To get up. Take a shower. Eat.

Do something.

She curled her knees tighter against her chest and ignored the voice. There was nothing for her to do, nowhere for her to go.

No energy or even the will to move.

She closed her eyes and tilted her head back against the sofa, waiting for the grayness to turn to black. Tired. She was so tired. And drained. She shouldn't be. She knew that because some small voice filled with reason still existed, far back in the deepest recesses of her mind. Every once in a while, the voice would try to speak up, try to make her remember how things used to be. But the voice grew fainter each day, making it easier to ignore.

Making it easier to forget.

Distant voices danced on the still air of the basement. Not her voices. No, these voices were real. Softly spoken, the words too quiet to understand, too distant to make out. Cindy shook her head, trying to make them stop.

For a minute, they did.

Then she heard footsteps on the stairs. Slow, hesitant. They stopped and Cindy held her breath, waiting. Would they go away? Please, let them go away. She didn't want to see anyone, didn't want to talk to anyone.

This was where she needed to be, down here in the basement of her parents' house, her own little hideaway. Away from the world, away from life. Away from the things she used to know. Footsteps meant someone was intruding, that someone from out there was coming to see her. To talk to her.

She didn't want to see anyone, didn't want to talk to anyone. Didn't want to deal with the questions. She didn't want to deal, period. It took too much energy to act normal, energy she no longer had.

And she didn't care. She hadn't cared for a long time now.

The steps continued—not going up, but coming down. Coming into her sanctuary. Was it her mother, maybe bringing food? No, the footsteps didn't sound right, they were too forceful, filled with purpose.

Not her father. She hadn't seen him in…she wasn't sure. When? No, she couldn't remember. Didn't want to remember. There was something there, something at the edge of the grayness that stung, sharp and painful. She shook her head and pushed it away. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered, as long as she could stay down here, tucked away out of sight.

Cindy didn't know who it was, didn't want to open her eyes to find out. But she could feel someone staring at her. Feel? If she could, she would laugh. The word was all wrong. No, she didn't feel anything. Not anymore. But she could sense it, maybe with that tiny piece of her before-self that was locked tightly away deep inside the mess she had become.

She forced her eyes open, stared at the intruder for a long minute. Long brown hair, pulled back in a careless ponytail. Brown eyes watching her from behind dark-framed glasses.

Maggie Andersen. Her best friend.

No, wait. That wasn't right. Not Andersen, not anymore. It was…Cindy frowned, trying to remember.

Frayser. That was Maggie's last name now. Because her best friend was married now.

Again, she had the insane urge to laugh. Her mind flinched, scurrying away from the word insane, even though she was very much afraid it was true. With concentrated effort, she uncurled her legs and swung them to the side, forced herself to sit up and look at Maggie.

But Maggie didn't say anything. Maybe she wasn't really there. Maybe Cindy was just imagining her. Had she finally lost her last bit of tenuous hold on reality?

She should feel something at the thought. Fear. Gratitude. Anything. But she didn't. Cindy looked away, let her eyes drift closed—

"Bullshit. You're not going to pull that when I'm here. Sit up. Open your eyes and look at me."

Cindy forced her eyes open, frowning. It looked like Maggie but it couldn't be—Maggie didn't cuss. And she didn't remember ever seeing Maggie look so…so fierce. And sad. No, she was just imagining things.

But the image-Maggie moved closer, her nose wrinkling in distaste as she arranged the collection of junk on the coffee table into a pile and pushed it to the side. Then she sat on the edge and leaned forward, grabbing one of Cindy's hands in her own. "You haven't been taking your medicine."

Cindy blinked, forcing herself to concentrate on the words the image-Maggie was saying. No, that wasn't right. Cindy didn't have hallucinations—at least, not yet. So this really was Maggie, not her imagination.

Cindy straightened, tried to pull her hand from Maggie's grip. She couldn't manage even that.

"How long?"

Cindy shook her head, not understanding the question. Maggie sighed, dropped her hand and rummaged through the pile on the table. Her hand closed over a clear brown bottle. She raised it to her face and shook it, frowning when she looked back at Cindy.

"How long since you've taken the medication?"

"I don't know."

"Why haven't you taken it?"

"It makes me sick."

Maggie watched her through narrowed eyes, not saying anything. Minutes ticked by and Cindy leaned back against the sofa, ready to close her eyes and go to sleep. Maggie grabbed her hand again, squeezing until Cindy looked up at her.

"You need to get up. Get a shower. Get dressed."

"No."

"Yeah, you do. Or I'll drag your ass to the doctor's office looking just like that."

"I'm not going."

"Bullshit. You're going even if I have to carry you."

Cindy frowned. There was something wrong with that, something she couldn't quite figure out. She repeated the words to herself, her lips moving silently as she forced her before-self to focus on the words. She repeated them again then looked back at Maggie, still frowning. "You don't cuss."

"I do when I'm upset. And scared."

"Why are you scared?"

"You're scaring me."

Cindy frowned again, not understanding the words. "Why?"

"Because this isn't you, Cindy. You need to go to the doctor again. A new one, one I found. You need to talk to her."

"Why?"

"Because you're getting worse and I don't want you to get worse. And the stupid doctor you were seeing thinks making you a zombie is the answer. It's not."

The words were nothing more than nonsense in Cindy's mind. She squeezed her eyes closed, lost track of what she was going to do and let herself fall back against the sofa. Sleep. She would just sleep—

"Cindy! Come on, stop it."

Something pulled at her, tugging. Her eyes fluttered open, drifted closed, opened again as she was pulled to her feet. "I don't want—"

"I know you don't but you don't have a choice."

Maggie led her across the room, down the short hall to the tiny bathroom. Cindy followed along even though she knew she should put up a fight. But she didn't have the energy—and she didn't care.

Maybe, if she did what Maggie wanted her to do, her friend would leave her alone. Then she could go back to the insulating gray and numbing darkness that had become her home.

"In the shower. I'll find clothes for you and straighten up down here while you clean up."

"Why?"

Maggie paused, watching her. What was the emotion Cindy saw in her eyes? Concern? Worry? But why? Why would Maggie be worried about her?

"Why? Because you need to clean up. Because you have an appointment with another doctor."

"Why?"

"So you can get better. Because that's what best friends do. And because I want my best friend back."

Cindy almost asked where her best friend went. Her mouth closed over the words before she asked them. Something—that tiny little voice of her before-self—told her that Maggie was talking about her. But that didn't make sense. Cindy hadn't gone anywhere, she was right here. Couldn't Maggie see her?

Yes, of course she saw her. She was standing there looking at her. Wasn't she?

Cindy blinked, wondering once more if maybe this was just her imagination again. Then Maggie steered her to the shower and leaned in to turn on the water. No, Cindy wasn't imagining that. And she didn't imagine the sadness in Maggie's eyes when she pulled her in for a quick hug.

"Get in the shower. Then we're going to get you better so I can get my best friend back."