The Follower Kate Doughty (general ebook reader .txt) 📖

Clozaril

A study in medication from the 1990s pops up. Rudy scans it, breathless, and reads: An antipsychotic, most commonly used in patients with schizophrenia and schizoaffective disorders who do not respond well to other medications. Has been shown to reduce the risk of suicide.

Rudy sucks in a breath. He hadn’t heard anything about Alex Grable being schizophrenic, but what if she’d been on the medications because she was suicidal? He scans the label again to see what else he can look up.

He pulls up a fresh search page.

Glenarm

Nothing.

Glenarm, Norton New York

An article pops up. It’s a newspaper article from the late nineties—an obituary.

Bonnie Grable-Glenarm: 1951–1995

Loving wife and mother Bonnie Grable-Glenarm passed away on May 23rd, 1995. She was an artist, a friend to those in need, and a gift to all who knew her. She is survived by her husband, Frank Glenarm, her extended family in Norton, and her young daughter. In lieu of flowers, the family requests that donations be made to support the in-home care of her husband Frank Glenarm, who was injured in the car accident that took Bonnie’s life.

Our greatest treasure is the hearts we keep.

Rudy freezes. He doesn’t know what this means, but it just feels so . . . important. Bonnie Grable-Glenarm. Why does that name make him feel like he’s forgetting something?

Joseph appears over his shoulder. “Ready to get back to it?” Rudy jumps up and snaps his computer shut. He shoves the bottle of pills into his pocket, but Joseph has already seen. “Are those the pills you found before?”

There’s no point in lying. Rudy takes the pills out of his pocket and nods.

“Why are you researching them?”

Rudy looks at the pills, then back at Joseph. What if he knows something? “I want to find our internet follower,” he admits. “I think they have something to do with the house. I think they have something to do with what happened to Cecily.”

Joseph doesn’t answer for a second. “Your parents told me about their suspicions when they released the rest of the crew.”

Rudy looks at him, trying to gauge his reaction. “What do you think?”

“That you shouldn’t be doing this on your own,” Joseph says. “And that I don’t understand how some medical waste is going to point you in the direction of your internet follower. Do your parents know that you’re . . . looking these things up?” Rudy can tell that Joseph already knows the answer to that question.

“They have enough to worry about, with Cecily,” Rudy says. “I don’t want to, you know, make things worse.”

“Do the police know this?” Rudy gives Joseph a sullen nod. “Then maybe you should leave this to the police,” Joseph says, a look of genuine concern on his face. “They’re good at their jobs. You don’t need to take this on yourself.”

Rudy gives him a tight smile. “I know.” And he knows that Joseph is only trying to look out for him—but he can’t let it go.

And then it hits him, out of nowhere: Bonnie Grable, artist. BG. He’d found the person who’d painted the mural.

He coughs, trying to hide his excitement. “You’re right,” he says. He hates lying to Joseph, but he knows that if they keep up this conversation, Joseph will convince him to throw out the pill bottle and tell his parents—or worse, tell them himself. “I’ll throw them out. What’s next?”

Joseph sets his hands on his hips and glances around the hallway. “Well, we’ve got to measure new baseboards. . .”

Rudy follows him. “Great,” he says, throwing the pill bottle into a white trash bag reserved for demolition debris. Joseph watches him and offers an approving nod. “Ready to get back to work?” Joseph asks.

Rudy nods, measuring tape in hand. They work for another hour or so, until Joseph has seemingly long forgotten the pills. But Rudy hasn’t. The minute he hears one of his parents call Joseph downstairs, he runs back to the garbage bag and retrieves the bottle, stowing it in his pocket.

They move on to the next project, and the rest of the afternoon flies by in a haze of hammering and sanding. Then, finally, they are done for the day. Rudy says a hasty goodbye to Joseph and rushes up to his room. He can’t wait to tell Amber about the pills.

Amber is in her room, crouched over her laptop when Rudy enters. He tells her about his discovery and hands her the pills. She gives the bottle a thorough examination.

“What about this text here?” she asks, holding the bottle directly under the bright light of her lamp. “Here, check this out.”

Rudy hovers over Amber’s shoulder as she gestures to faint wording on the bottle that Rudy had been unable to read in the low light of the bathroom. Doctor Lauren Lenhoff; Upstate Medical Assisted Care Facility.

And just like that, Rudy has another lead.

CHAPTER 19

Cecily

It takes Cecily several days to surface from the endless blur of stale fluorescent lighting and strong medication. She remembers the last few days in scraps: her mother rubbing her back and saying that things are going to be all right, concerned nurses placing IVs, Rudy and Amber looking distraught.

The nurse that changes her bandages today is delighted to see her so alert. Her name is Monica, and even though Cecily barely manages any answers, she keeps up a distracting stream of chatter as she unravels the gauze from Cecily’s face.

But it’s not distracting enough. Cecily catches the sight of her marred face in the mirror and freezes. No, not marred. Destroyed. Red, waxy, craterlike melting skin cascades down her brow, a permanent Halloween mask. Monica sees her and pauses halfway through a retelling of her fifth grader’s role in the school play. “You’re healing up nicely,” she says. Cecily almost believes her . . . but she can see the pity in Monica’s eyes. “You have one last visitor before bedtime,” Monica says as she begins to rewrap Cecily’s face. Her voice is a strained kind