by Tara Brown
“You can talk about it later in session. You have your first one tonight.” She patted my arm as she untied me and helped me up.
Session.
It was another word I didn't understand.
Everything about this moment was like a twilight zone. But knowing what the blue-eyed girl had done to me and what she was capable of, I didn't fight. I didn't know how. All of it was so foreign. I didn't know the right response to the word “tunneling” or “session.” My head was foggy and my emotions were distant.
I let the nurse lady help me. I didn't flinch when she touched me, wrapping my bandages in something to help make them water-resistant.
The walk to the shower was tough. My body hurt. It was exhausted in a way I didn't know how to fix. Something told me I needed more than sleep and medicine. I didn't have the energy to be scared or worried. Those emotions were being held behind a door in my brain I couldn't reach, probably waiting for me to be home so I could crash mentally in a safe place.
The minimal pain and the embarrassment of her watching me shower faded away when the hot water hit my skin. I closed my eyes and imagined I was at a five-star resort and not a strange hospital.
The cheap-smelling shampoo cleaned my hair until it squeaked to the touch. The conditioner was greasy and heavy, but the tangles needed something with that level of slime for me to finger comb each knot.
My hands ached and my arms quickly became fatigued, but I kept picking and pulling until my hair was silky again. Then I scrubbed the rest of me. The soap was like cleaning with something from a three-star resort. It stripped the natural oils from my body, making my hands skid along the surface as I dug my chipped and swollen nails and fingers over my flesh, scratching the dirt from me.
The bandages came loose and the water got through them. I slid them off, running the soap along the lumpy cuts and burns. I hated seeing my skin so badly hurt. I hated everything she had done to me. But nothing bothered me as much as the why. Why was she against us, and why was she doing any of this? I hadn’t noticed a single clue from my time spent with her—nothing beyond her hating us. I would have to remember every bit of it so Lainey could pick it apart.
There was no way the girl was Lucinda Wentworth. The girl with the dark hair was too young, maybe our age. And she wasn’t handicapped at all. When Lainey said Lucinda might regain her abilities, there was no way she meant Lucinda would be completely normal again.
The blue-eyed girl was perfectly normal.
Besides sanity and compassion, she wasn’t missing any visible abilities. Not like a lobotomy patient might.
And she wasn't Andrew or Tom who were both in jail.
She might be working with them.
But again, why?
When I finished in the shower I dried off and pulled on the hideous scrubs the nurse offered. They were pale yellow, pretty much the worst color for a ginger, and made of scratchy material. I imagined scrubs to be soft, but these told me that maybe the laundry detergent was cheap and harsh.
Feeling closer to human, I gave the nurse a soft smile, forcing myself to be more like Sage. “Can I see my parents?”
“After the first session. The doctor wants to assess you. Make sure the desire to self-harm is gone.” Her eyes flickered to my wrists again. “And we need to change those bandages.”
Self-harm?
The way she said it was so ordinary, like I knew what she was talking about.
I wanted to laugh and tell her what a pansy I was and that my self-harm was only ever emotional and I couldn't stand physical pain. Technically, I should have been a cutter, but I hated blood and pain.
I wanted to tell her that some crazy little bitch had done this to me. But I had to assume this was a trap. So I stayed quiet, scared if I started talking I would end up screaming and it wouldn’t stop pouring out of me.
“What say we get you something to eat before we do the bandages?”
“Okay.” Even that was too much to say. I wanted to demand my parents be brought to me. I wanted to demand a lawyer—my father. I wanted to demand to see the police. But I swallowed all of it and let her lead me down the hall.
She paused in front of a door, holding a hand out. “This is the staff cafeteria. You sit and one of the ladies will bring you some food. I’m going to strip your bed and burn the sheets.” She chuckled and strolled off, shaking her head.
The cafeteria wasn’t large, and it didn’t smell like bacon or coffee. It smelled like cleaner and sick people. It made me shudder as it attempted to take away the feeling of hunger. But I was desperate for food. So desperate that when an older lady brought me a tray of the saddest looking meal I’d ever seen, I didn’t even blink. I lifted the spoon and started on the oatmeal, sucking in the bites with air as I tried to cool it in my mouth.
It burst with cinnamon and sugar and apples. Contrary to how it looked, it was the best thing I’d ever eaten.
The tea was weak and yet better than any tea I’d had before, even from Harrods in London. I could taste the decaf but I didn’t care. There was no butter knife for the toast so I used my spoon to smear butter and honey onto the lukewarm bread. That too was amazing.
It might as well have been gourmet. I finished, licking my fingers of honey and picking up crumbs from the plate.
When the old lady came back I lifted my head. “Is there anything else to eat?”
“Not for you, I’m afraid.” She shook her head. “You aren’t allowed more than that. Your stomach has probably not had real food in ten days. You need to digest this and then tomorrow you can come off the bland diet if you keep this down.” She cleared the tray and left me alone. An older man watched me from the corner. I hadn’t noticed him until that moment. His eyes stayed on me, even when I got up and hobbled out of the cafeteria. He followed, not even trying to be inconspicuous.
I peeked in the doorways as I made my way back to my room. No one else was here. Each room had a bed but there were no other patients. A bad feeling roamed around inside me, picking at me. I tried to consider the possibility I was alone here, in a hospital. The odds of that were astronomical but made worse by the fact I’d just been kept hostage in a cell in this very building.
The warm oatmeal and tea had almost tricked me. The shower definitely had. But the empty rooms brought back the realization this was a game. I was just on to the next stage.
In my room the nurse had the bed made. She smiled nicely. “Did you get something to eat?”
I nodded, not wanting to answer her. She was part of this and I didn’t want to play. I was done.
“Well, why don’t you come lay down and I’ll fix those bandages for you.” She patted the bed and nodded.
“Does my dad know I’m here?”
“Of course. It was his idea to bring you here,” she said nonchalantly, but I knew it was a lie. My father would never put me here. She was a liar which meant she was part of the blue-eyed girl’s plan.
I wasn't safe, not yet.
I glanced back at the older man in the hall, scowling. “Can I just talk to my parents?”
“That’s not my call, I’m sorry. The doctor needs to see you first.” She lifted the tray of bandages from the back storage area.
Her answer made me want to scream and rage until I got my way, but there was a whisper in the back of my mind that told me not to. I didn't know why I was here or how I had gotten here or if the last ten days had happened at all.
The only thing I could listen to were the scabs on my body that hinted the game wasn't over.
Chapter Four
Scream
“Sierra?”
The familiar voice made me turn my head sharply. I was up and running before my eyes had even focused on the faces in front of me.
When we collided, Lindsey and Lainey wrapped their arms around me, hugging tightly. Tears streamed my cheeks as I heaved and sobbed and lost every bit of the hold I’d had on my emotions.
We hugged, none of us speaking. We shook as we clung to one
another, or maybe I just shook hard enough for us all.
Whatever it was about touching them or being hugged made something in me snap. I jolted out of the haze I’d been in, shouting into the embrace, “You gotta get me outta here. You gotta get me outta here. Please!” I clung and pleaded.
“We’ve been searching everywhere for you,” Lindsey whispered, ignoring my pleas as she pulled me to the couch to sit. “When they said you were here, we knew the killer had done something to put you here.”
“What did they do to you?” Lain asked softly, making my hair move with her words.
“She—she tortured me,” I stammered and gave up. The words burned my raw throat as tears flooded and tried to drown me. “Please, take me with you. Call my dad. They said he knows I’m here but he doesn’t. Please, before she comes back for me.” Fear and panic pulsated in me.
“Who’s she?”
“Some evil little bitch. Who cares? I need to leave! Now! Let me use your phone to call my dad.” I tried to stay calm but I couldn’t.
“Shhhhh,” Lainey whispered in my ear. “Just calm down and then we’ll talk. No one is going to get you here. But you need to calm down.” They hugged and squeezed but none of us spoke again until I was calmer.
“Let me see.” Lindsey pulled my hands up so she could inspect the marks as she pried the bandages back. “The doctor told your dad you tried to kill yourself.”
“Screw that!” I lifted my gaze but the fierceness died away when I saw Lain shaking her head. “They’ve been trying to feed me that bullshit for two days in their stupid sessions. They’re making me think I’m crazy and won’t tell me the story of how I got here and they won’t let me see my dad. They said he put me here, which is shit. So I play their game. I just sit and talk about my feelings and how angry I am about Rachel dying and Andrew killing everyone. I need to get out of here, today. I need to go home before she comes back.”
“The cuts go the wrong way,” Lainey blurted as she inspected the wounds. “The angle goes out, like someone was standing here beside you, not you cutting toward yourself. Any police officer would notice that instantly. It would be awkward to cut at this angle.” She lifted the bandage completely and pressed her lips together. She seemed different. I think we all did. “The doctors must know that too. They can’t be that stupid.”
“What’s the last thing you remember?” Linds ignored her.
The words didn't take a second to pop from my lips, “Rita’s party. I went to the house next door with Jensen. We got there and he realized he’d left the champagne on the counter at Rita’s so he ran back. I was standing there, just waiting, like an idiot alone in the dark.”
“You separated from the herd.” Lainey swallowed hard. She and Linds both knew that feeling. Linds had been attacked in her pool house and Lainey at Jake’s place. Both times they had separated from the rest of us.
“Yeah, it was dumb. I was there in the dark and I heard something. I called out, thinking it was Jenson, but no one answered.” The memory gave me the chills. “I knew I was in trouble when she started whispering and she sounded just like Rach. I tried to run and hide but something stabbed me in the neck and then other places.” I paused and recalled the dart I’d pulled out of my neck. My hand lifted to the place, drawing Lainey’s gaze there. Her eyes widened.
“A tranquilizer dart, maybe. Smart.” She bit her lip, processing.
“Then I woke up in a room like an old-fashioned hospital, a shitty one with gross old walls and a nasty smell. Like a moldy old shack or something. I was tied to the bed.” I closed my eyes for a moment to relive it the right way; Lainey needed details for her wall of terrible things. “A girl with dark hair and blue eyes was there. She was our age, young. But a friggin’ psycho. She lit cigarettes—clove cigarettes—and burned me with them. She cut my wrists and my stomach and tormented me. Then she drugged me again and I woke in a cell.” The words made tears leak from my eyes even if my voice never wavered. “There was a mat, a super thin mat, and a toilet. And a door at the back that opened but it didn't let light in—just food and water. The worst food and water. Stale bread and warm water and squishy apples. She had my diary.” I pressed my lips together.
“Oh my God,” Lindsey whispered. “I am so sorry, Sierra.”
My eyes popped open as the strangest thing occurred. I laughed. I knew in that moment Linds had likely read the stupid thing.
Her face burned with guilt and knowledge.
“She read the pages with the worst stuff out loud, laughing at me as I sat in the dark. No light. Just the noise of scratching feet and her taunting me.” My laugh faded to a sigh.
Lainey scowled. “The tunneling.”
The word rang a bell. “What does that mean?”
“What?”
“Tunneling. You’re the second person to say that. What the hell was tunneled and why does everyone keep saying it to me?”
Lainey took a breath before speaking, “The doctor told your dad you had somehow gotten into a wing of the hospital that's been closed up for a while. It’s an older section with bars on the windows and some of the less savory equipment from a time when mental patients were treated differently. He said you were high on drugs you’d stolen and tunneling into the wall, confused about the way out. There was a tunnel dug out with evidence that you’d been there for the ten days you were missing.”
“What?”
“The scratching you heard, it was someone tunneling. You were being set up. They had a bag of stolen bread and shitty apples and a couple jugs of water. There was filth and your old clothes and a few other things there. The knife you cut yourself with.” Lindsey winced. “It was all there. Your dad saw it. He’s freaked the fu—”
“Don't cuss, Linds,” Lainey cut her off and looked back at me. “What she’s trying to say is your dad is flipping out. He’s losing his mind. He thinks this happened because he and your mom are separating and the whole affair with Sage’s mom, along with the Rachel and Jake and Tom thing. He thinks you’ve had a nervous breakdown.”
“Great.” Her words made me sick. “So I’m being tortured by some psycho and held here against my will, and my dad actually believes the doctors? With everything else that's going on, even after Jake, my dad believes it?”
“We don't.” Linds shrugged. “Our parents are assholes, what can we say? Andrew and Rachel’s moms are still here. They’re over at the country club side of things. When you get transferred over there tomorrow, maybe you can use this as a good time to talk to them, about Lucinda.”
“I’m at Silver Hills?” I said with doubt thick in my voice. “No. No, wait. I was at a place on the ocean. That's not possible.”
“You’re at Silver Hills now. You were at a different place before.” Lain tilted her head. “There’s a facility there for mental patients, on the coast, a couple of hours north of here. It’s nothing fancy. That's where you allegedly checked yourself into fourteen days ago. You went missing hours after you checked in. You were found ten days later, confused and wandering aimlessly.”
“No! Stop saying I checked myself in! And I wasn’t wandering aimlessly—I was escaping the damned cell!” The words flew from my lips, “I never fu—”
“Stop!” Linds cut me off as she gave Lain a look.
Lainey lifted a finger to her lips. “Shhhhhhh. Sierra, you have to stay calm.”
“Why? Stop saying that to me and not explaining. I’m going to go crazy in here. I want out!” Desperation slipped beyond the door that housed my emotions. My lips trembled as more tears flooded my face. They weren’t the emotional tears I’d cried before; these were droplets of rage seeping from me. “I just wanna go home.” My eyes closed, sealing me off as I struggled with my grip on reality. “I wanna go home.”
“Think about it.” Lainey grabbed my arm. She leaned in, whispering, “Stop and think, Sierra.” I opened my tear-filled eyes to see her glancing around the small room. “Stop panicking and listen to me. Somehow someone checked you into a men
tal ward against your will, cut your wrists to make it look like you have drug-induced paranoia and possibly other side effects. If you start raging and freaking out, you’re only proving them right and showing them and your dad that you’re going crazy. You need to calm the hell down and give me a chance to prove your innocence. You need to give me a couple more days. I promise you, just a couple more days.” Her words made sense but the helplessness of being trapped in a mental institute made me twitch like I had whatever the hell she was talking about.
“Dude, you have to chill out and give us a chance,” Linds backed Lain up.
“Okay.” I struggled with the word but I forced it out, wincing and sniffling—fighting the sensation of the walls closing in on me again. It took several breaths and all the energy I had before I could whisper, “Fine. I’ll try but be fast. I don't know how much more I can take. I’m itchy from the drugs they’re giving me. I don’t lie in bed anymore; I pass out like a crackhead. It’s horrible. I sleep when they want and wake when they want. And I can’t feel afraid or angry or sad or happy, not normally. It’s like it’s trapped in me and bursting out in small doses, small bits putting pressure on the door.”
“We need details first. I need to know where to start searching. From what your dad told us, you apparently checked yourself in. You said you were a danger to yourself and needed some time away from them all. That's what he said, ‘them all.’ I don't know what that means.” Lindsey shook her head. “Lainey and I got your dad to ask for the surveillance video of the front entrance from when you checked in. They didn't record you after that, only at the admissions desk.”
“They have a video of me, checking myself in?” It was impossible. I had blacked out from drinking before and forgotten pieces of a night or party, but never had I done anything worse than sleep with some pervert who was cool with drunken girls or sleeping chicks. This made me feel dirtier somehow, knowing I’d done this to myself, like I’d been the dark-haired girl’s puppet and danced when she told me to.
