A/N: I don't own Alvin and the Chipmunks.
Chapter Three: Digging for Juliet
Jeanette's parents went into the building with her again. She really wished they wouldn't; it made her feel as though she should be in a straight jacket, or being led by the arm, or have people staring and backing away from her, yelling, "Unclean! Unclean!" as though she was some kind of demon. This time, she was called into the office almost immediately.
"Good morning. Take a seat on the couch, Miss Miller," the doctor said. She did.
"How are you?" she asked politely.
"Perfectly fine, thank you. And yourself?"
"I've been… alright…"
"That's good. Miss Miller, last night I spoke with your college professor, who voiced a concern for your well-being in the time leading up to the attack on you."
Jeanette frowned. "Really?"
"Yes," the doctor said, nodding. "He said you had a boyfriend who he suspected as a risk to yourself."
Jeanette nodded quietly. The handsome doctor raised a thin eyebrow.
"You're confirming this?"
She nodded again. The doctor leaned forward. "Is there something you need to tell me?" he asked. She nodded again. "What is it?"
Jeanette bit her lip. She didn't want to tell him. He was a psychologist. He wouldn't believe her; he'd think she was crazy. She shook her head.
"You can tell me," he said, and he looked directly into her eyes. "What is it?"
Jeanette looked away and mumbled it.
"What was that?"
"I need to do something. To tell you something. Only you won't believe me."
"We'll see," the doctor said. "What is it?"
"It's this little girl," Jeanette whispered. "This little ghost girl in my room."
The doctor sat back in his chair and made a note.
"You think I'm crazy," Jeanette said. "You don't believe me."
"I'm not going to make any judgement on that until I've heard what you have to say. Because then I'd start looking for things to suit that decision. This is what I do, Miss Miller. I don't want to be stupid and jump to any conclusions. Please, carry on."
Jeanette took a deep breath. "She was killed by her dad. I have to find her body. But I'm scared."
"Scared?"
"I don't want to do it alone. I know where she is, but I'm scared of what I find, and I'm scared of what people will think, and I…"
The doctor patted Jeanette's hand comfortingly. "You think people will think you're a deranged lunatic?"
Jeanette nodded.
"Okay. What was her name?"
"Juliet Greene."
Simon stood up and pressed a button on his desk. His assistant, who was older than he was, picked up the phone at the reception area. "Yes, Dr Seville?"
"David, would you run a search for me on a girl called Juliet Greene, and bring me whatever you can find, please?"
"Yes, sir," was the reply. Simon returned to the armchair, studying his patient.
She looked very calm, perhaps a bit nervous, as though worried people would think she was mad, and unsure of something. She did not reflect the personality or appearance of patients who had hallucinations or a poor grasp on reality. In fact, she seemed to be more concerned that she might have hallucinations or a poor grasp on reality.
The door opened and Simon's assistant came in with a printed out webpage about Juliet Greene.
It said that Juliet Greene was born in the year 1887 and had gone missing one night when she was eight years of age. There was a painting of a little girl and the patients address. He showed her the picture. "Is this Juliet?"
She nodded.
"Where is she?"
"In the garden, buried deep."
"Okay. I don't really have time to help you tonight."
"Please help me. If I keep putting it off, it'll never happen."
Simon sighed again. "Perhaps I can find the time soon."
"Please?" Jeanette Miller begged. "Please, I don't want to do this alone."
"Alright. I'll meet you at your house at five o'clock, but I'll only have until six."
The girl nodded. "Thank you."
"You can go now," Simon told her.
It was the middle of winter, so it was already dark by five. Jeanette was sitting in her room in a pair of faded jeans and an old sweater. Juliet was sitting on the end of the bed.
"When are you digging me up?" she asked politely.
"When the doctor gets here," Jeanette replied, moving around to lock the windows and draw the curtains. "He shouldn't be too long."
"I think you like him," Juliet said. "You've been doing your hair for the last twenty minutes."
"Have I?" Jeanette asked, running a brush through her hair again, and tying it in her usual loose bun. Her purple ribbon hung loosely down her back and was tied in a bow at the end. The loud, echoing doorbell rang and Jeanette ran downstairs, Juliet following her.
"How are you?" the doctor asked.
"Perfectly fine," Jeanette answered. "C'mon, we have to get into the yard."
"Do you have torches and shovels?"
"Only one," Jeanette replied. "Of each. Sorry."
"Don't be," the doctor shrugged.
Jeanette grabbed the shovel and the torch and led the doctor to the garden. She pointed to a spot beneath the oak tree. "She's down there."
Simon took the shovel from his patient and started digging. It was hard work, and bound to be a very deep grave, if it was real at all.
"Where did you meet your boyfriend?" he asked.
"Campus cafe. He doesn't go to college but some of his friends could get him in. Do you want me to dig?"
There was already a three-foot-deep hole in the ground. Simon gave the shovel to the girl and held the torch for her.
"Did he start beating on you immediately?"
"No. It's like most stories, isn't it? Sweet at first, you get the idea."
"Yes, I do. What happened when you were attacked?"
She shook her head, probably not wanting to speak. Simon checked his watch. It was five to six, but perhaps he could let it run over a few minutes. The light was shining on the face of the digging girl. She looked very pretty in the torch light. Then he noticed that she was looking fixedly at a spot in mid-air, about where an eight-year-olds face might be. She seemed to be listening. Then she nodded and turned back to him.
"It's only a couple more inches now," she said. She threw the shovel aside and got down on her hands and knees, and began scraping away at the dirt. Soon, a bit of clothing appeared, and then a skeleton.
"Jesus Christ," Simon muttered. He whipped out his phone and called the police.