We could get far, I told them, in a car like this one.

The paramedics said they wanted to take me to the hospital. Just to be sure. Mom and Dad argued over it. I barely heard them. It was just words, suddenly, these two, an argument that would mean nothing soon. What were these words compared to the ones I’d believed that night?

Finally they agreed. We went. I spent a few hours talking to a doctor who was worried something was up with my nerves. They checked my heart rate, my pulse, my breathing. And the whole time I was sitting on that hospital room bed, I was thinking:

Whatever this was that’s come tonight…it’ll come again. Something this powerful doesn’t only put on one show, doesn’t only play one game.

Yet horrifying as that sounded? I also accepted it. This new me, right? Now this girl who believed she could do anything with her life. Well, she also knew that, while she could take any path she chose, she wouldn’t be alone out there. Nope. Check it, Jolly: wherever I went, this thing that happened to me that night…

…it would follow me.

So, while I could smile about doors opening, I could howl with gratitude for being shown the way (Patricia might’ve put it that way), I was also now tied forever to this monster, this demon, this witch.

And her name?

ANYTHING

It’s a big word, Jolly. And it comes with big pressure. No, I wouldn’t be alone out there, but I WOULD be out there. Because this wasn’t the kind of thing you could turn your back on.

I told the doctor this and he laughed and he said,

I don’t think I’ve ever had someone call 911 on themselves for this exact reason.

Mom and Dad laughed then, too, and we all shared a smile, but it was in the room with us.

ANYTHING

The woman who answered the 911 knew about it too.

Does Detective McGowan know about it?

I hope she does. I hope she knows she can solve anything she wants to.

Yep, it was there with us in the hospital.

Call it whatever you want.

Panic.

Attack.

Free-floating anxiety.

Truth.

That day I called it: anything.

But I don’t know, Jolly. I think it may have had a name, after all. One the whole city has been too afraid to say out loud. Too afraid to even think.

Like I said, it’s horror. And sometimes a whole group of people can agree to ignore a truth without even opening their mouths.

A whole city can suppress the story of one of its own.

In those days

I called it

anything

but

these days

I know it as

Daphne.

Jan Holt drives worse than she normally does. Emily, in the passenger seat, grips the dashboard with every sharp turn through the streets of Samhattan, even as she’s gripped in return by visions of the police questioning her mother next. Mom’s always been a bad driver. But right now, Emily’s grateful they haven’t killed someone. And here, trying to avoid murder themselves.