My stomach heaves. Not this again. I lunge to throw up in the garbage next to the sink.

7. Angst and the Shower Girl

SIRI

August 28, Friday Evening

Colorado

I let the hot water dribble over my face before rinsing the blood from my elbow. I think that girl just threw up. Gross.

My lower back is throbbing. I rotate to let the water fall over it. It’s throbbing, not shooting. At least there’s that.

“Siri.”

I startle a little behind the curtain. Why the hell is she standing so close? How does she know my name?

“Please stay away from me if you’re ill,” I scold. “Give me some space.”

“Are you okay?” comes the voice.

“Yes. You can leave, I’m fine.”

“I can’t leave,” she insists. “I’m … I need to make sure you’re okay.”

My forehead crinkles up. “Yes. You can. I said I’m fine,” I assert firmly.

“I don’t … do you not … don’t you—” She fumbles her words.

“Spit it out, or get out of here! At least move away from the curtain!” I can see her shadow a foot away. There’s a shuffle as she takes a step back.

I glance down for my soap, but there’s nothing in the stall because I chucked all my toiletries when we fell. Excrement.

I blow out a shaky breath. “Miss, actually could you hand me my toiletries please? I need the soap.”

Twenty seconds later a hand shoves through the gap alongside the curtain, holding my shower caddy. I leap out of sight and smack into the wall by accident.

“Ow,” I whine involuntarily.

“Are you okay?” the girl asks again.

I snatch the shower caddy. “Yes, thank you, you can leave now!”

She’s silent for a beat. “How hard did you hit your head?”

There’s a weird protective note in her voice. I don’t like it. I barely hit my head. I swallow, gazing nervously at her shadow.

What if she never leaves me alone? What if she takes me hostage and tries to kill me? Why else is she still here? I said I was fine. What if she has a weapon? What if she’s going to assault me again? I’ll have to go find Terry. I might have to run, but I can’t run with my back like this. I’ll have to walk-run like an un-oiled robot. Dear lord, I can see it now: banished from ballet, exiled to Colorado by mother, and murdered in bathroom by girl with grown-out neon orange airplane hair.

Maybe I can kick her. I can throw the shower caddy at her as a distraction.

I quickly wash and re-towel off. I repack my shower caddy and angle it to optimal throwing position in my right palm. Braced, I yank the curtain open with my left hand.