by S. M. Soto
I narrow my gaze in warning. “If you know where she is, just tell me. No need to play these bullshit guessing games.”
“I do. But chances are, you won’t like it.” He shifts on his feet, and that’s the only cue I’m given that I obviously really won’t like wherever she is.
This must not be good.
I straighten, the hairs rising on my body. “And why the fuck not?”
“Because her parents sent her to a mental institution. That’s where she’s being held.”
“Fuck!” I grip the first thing I can find and launch it at the wall, watching as it shatters. The remnants of my drink slide down the wall along with the broken crystal. My chest heaves as I work to control the rage that’s suddenly burning through every orifice in my body.
“How long?” When he doesn’t reply, I turn, glaring at him. “How long has she been there?”
He sighs. “She was sent there a few days after the accident.”
I walk to the window in my office, looking out at the resort below. There are people milling about. Vacationers. People with certainly less problems than I have at this moment. Heat rolls through my chest in waves, making me feel like I’m breathing fire. I’m feeling too much all at once, and I don’t know what to do with it or how to feel.
“I want everything you have on this place. Where is it, who’s running it, whose care she’s under.”
“You got it, boss.”
I wake sometime in the night, a sharp pang shooting through my hip at the position I’ve been sleeping in. Without the bars there for support, my body is in a whole new world of pain. I shift, letting out a groan, and allow my eyes to adjust to the darkness in the room. My heart lurches, and I startle when I see a dark shadow move by the door. I tense, my entire body filling with ice.
I blink rapidly, trying to acclimate to the darkness in the room. My heart is pounding so hard, I half expect it to tear out of my chest cavity. Sweat beads on my forehead, and the blood rushes through my ears deafeningly.
“Dr. Aster?” I whisper.
There’s a chuckle—one that sends a shiver of dread down my spine.
No.
He’s not here. This has to be a dream. A nightmare.
I must say the words out loud, without realizing it, because there’s another dark chuckle, and by the time he reaches the side of my bed and clamps a rough hand over my mouth to stifle my screams, my vision has adjusted, and I know I’m no longer dreaming. Zach truly is here. In the flesh.
He’s glaring down at me, a wicked gleam in his eyes, as he takes in my battered body. His hair hangs out of his bun, shadowing his face. “You really must have a guardian angel on your side, don’t you? You just never fucking die.”
My whimper is muffled beneath his hand. Tears leak down my face, rolling down my temples and into my hair. Fear has seized my body. It’s clawing at my chest, lodging a lump in my throat that makes it impossible to cry out. Not that anyone would hear me.
“You think you’re safe here, Mackenzie? Think again. I’m going to make your life hell. I’m going to make you wish you were you dead. That’s a promise.” He moves so quickly I can’t even stop him from what he does next. He rips one of the pillows from beneath my head and slams it over my face. I panic, trying to suck in air, but the pillow clogs my mouth and my airway. I thrash on the bed and try yelling for help, but the suffocating material muffles it. I feel a sudden pressure in my abdomen, and I gasp, spasming on the bed at the way Zach is pressing on the wound. The wound Vincent caused by stabbing me.
I choke on my pain, my tears and snot, and the pillow blocking my airway have that black tunnel racing toward me. I try to fight it, but it swallows me in a fit of panic, until I can feel nothing at all.
When I come to the next morning, my eyes spring open, but only darkness surrounds me. I try to suck in air, but I feel a soft weight on my face. Panicking, the events of last night slam into me, and I use my free hand to feel around and pull whatever it is off my face.
My heart stalls, and my stomach churns when the pillow moves off my face easily. My chest wracks with a sob, and I cry out, thinking about last night, knowing it was real. He was in here. He was in here and damn-near suffocated me with a fucking pillow!
I dart my gaze around the room, looking for help, checking to see if he’s still here. I’m alone. I glance up at the ceiling, hoping there’s a camera in here, something that can show he tried to kill me. I need proof. Something tangible I can use against him. Because if I don’t do something, he’s going to kill me.
Costas was right. I’m in more danger than I thought. The enemy wasn’t all that far. He’s here.
I must be sobbing a lot louder than I expected because the door is suddenly thrown open and in run Gary, a nurse I’ve never seen before, and Stephanie. Her eyes are wide, panic written all over her face.
“Ms. Wright, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
I pound at my chest with my free hand through my sobs, trying to get the words out, but they don’t come. They’re stuck in my throat, refusing to escape. One of the nurses says something into a walkie, and in the distance, I hear pounding footsteps while I have a panic attack. The blood is roaring in my ears, making the noises in the room fade, and all I can seem to focus on is the fact that my chest is tightening, restricting air. My vision blurs. Faces blend as they close in on me.
Dr. Aster’s face comes into view. She’s saying something, her lips moving, her eyes panicked while she looks down at me.
“H-he’s here,” I manage to get out, between my panting and sobbing. She motions for something behind her, and next thing I know, an oxygen mask is being placed over my mouth and nose to help me breathe.
I close my eyes, waiting for the pain in my chest to subside. I don’t know how long I sit like that, but after some time, the restricting sensation in my lungs dissipates, and I’m able to suck in a large breath. Slowly, I blink my eyes open, my heartbeat returning to normal and the roaring in my ears settling just enough that I’m able to hear what’s happening around me.
“Mackenzie? Can you hear me?” Dr. Aster asks, her face coming back into view. I jerk my chin, the indication that I can hear her. “Can you breathe on your own?”
I nod again, and she pulls the mask off, handing it off to one of the handful of nurses that are hovering.
“What happened just now? You said, ‘he was here.’ Who were you talking about?”
A hot tear rolls down my cheek and my chin trembles with emotion. “Zach Covington. He’s here. He was in my room last night. He tried to kill me!”
She jerks back at my words as if I slapped her. “Mackenzie, that’s impossible. Are you sure this wasn’t some kind of…dream?”
“Of course, I’m sure,” I grit. “He put a pillow over my fucking face to suffocate me!”
She presses her lips together, looking unconvinced. An unsettling inkling lingers at the base of my spine as I glare at her.
“We had a long talk yesterday. I think that messed with your dreams last night. I can assure you no one is after you. Why don’t we get some food in your system, and we’ll go over this dream later.”
I grind my back teeth together so hard, I swear I feel my back tooth crack from the force.
My throat goes dry when she whispers something in hushed tones to the nurses then slips out of the room. Gary and Stephanie stay behind, but everyone else leaves. Keeping her word, my breakfast is delivered, but I sit there, staring at it, my stomach churning. I can’t think about eating when Zach was just here. If he’s here, the rest of them aren’t far behind.
Stephanie shoots me a friendly smile, trying to put me at ease and get me to eat, but I don’t return it. I’m wary of everyone.
Were they bought off? Is that why Dr. Aster dismissed the idea so easily? Is she in on it, too? I don’t know who to trust. Zach tried to kill me last night, and something tells me he’s not going to stop until I’m six feet under with Madison. Just as I was always meant to be.
&nb
sp; I’m a nervous wreck when Steph wheels me out with everyone else after breakfast. Apparently, my episode this morning didn’t faze everyone as much as it did me. I must be doing better than the doctor anticipated because she’s allowing me out with the others. I think this is her way of fixing me. She obviously thinks I hallucinated everything last night, so if I’m out with everyone, seeing with my own two eyes that he’s not here, I’ll suddenly feel better. I’m sure speaking about Baz the other night must’ve also been a step in the right direction in her eyes.
This is literally the last place I want to be, but I’ll need to suck it up and hope that somehow this can work out in my favor. I can use this time out here with everyone else to do my research, learn who is who, find out if anyone has seen a man roaming around the facility who matches Zach’s description. Better to keep my enemies close, than not know who they are at all.
My plan goes to shit when Steph wheels me into a room with a TV and table stacked with board games. There’s a shelf in the corner filled with books. I was wrong. I’m not being let out with anyone else. The doctor is just giving me other privileges. She obviously doesn’t trust me around others, and I’m sure this morning only proved that for her.
“I’ll see you in twenty, okay? Gary is right outside if you need something.” She hesitates, like she wants to say more, maybe bring up what happened this morning, but in the end, she decides not to.
I heave a deep sigh as I watch her go. I really don’t want her to be in on this. I was starting to like her. That would be just my luck. I sit in the wheelchair, glancing around the room, trying to find something to keep myself busy with for the next twenty minutes, but I decide to go for the TV instead. It’s mindless enough, and the last thing I want to do right now is think.
I start rolling toward the remote when I spot the door open behind me in the reflection of the blacked-out TV screen. My eyes widen, and my stomach drops. The woman who made it clear she was working for Zach shuts the door behind her, a dark gleam in her gaze. I know something is wrong, just by the tension that now fills the air surrounding us. It’s thick, making it hard to breathe. Her intent is clear as she comes toward me.
Deciding to take offense, instead of defense, I grit my teeth and use all my strength to push out of the wheelchair. My legs shake with fatigue, and my body is already screaming in pain from being forced to get up on my own, without the help of anyone else. Sweat beads on my forehead, and my heart pounds as my gaze darts around us. I need to find a way to strike first before she closes in on me.
“What are they paying you?”
“I’m being given my freedom. Can’t say the same for you.” She smirks, sliding out a plastic knitting needle that’s been shaved into a weapon from the waistband of her pants. I glance behind her, toward the door, wondering where Stephanie or Gary is.
Slowly, as not to startle her, I take cautious steps back, away from her, putting as much distance between us as I can. Every bone is screaming in pain. It’s too soon to be standing on my own, but I have no other choice. And I bet they were banking on that. Both of them. On me being too weak to protect myself or fight back.
Jones smirks, closing in on me. I back away, my cast on my left leg pounding against the linoleum with each stomp back. I maneuver my body around the table, trying to keep something between us, so she can’t get her hands on me. Whether that’s the table or my wheelchair, I don’t care at this point. She jolts forward and strikes at me. I jerk back, feeling the breeze of the sharp tool near my body. Searing heat flares in my side from the quick movement, but if I don’t keep up, if I don’t fight past the pain, she’s going to sink that plastic in me, and I’ll really be hearing from Madison, sooner rather than later.
She strikes again, and my back collides into the case of books. I eye the room frantically, looking for something I can use to protect myself with. There’s nothing. She jabs again, and I dart away, this time crashing into the table with my hip. I let out a cry of agony, and I’m momentarily stunned as my body works to process the sudden jar of pain. She comes at me, striking down with the needle, and I throw out my cast, knocking her arm away.
She lets out a hiss and dives for me, but I throw up my casted arm again, this time, slamming it in her face and dazing her. Before I can think better of it, I use the chair and table to my advantage as I climb back to my feet and I push off, jumping on her while she’s down. I toss all my weight down on her back, keeping her body immobile. She swings around wildly while I hold on, using my cast around her neck as leverage. She jabs back at me with the tool, and I let out a cry of pain as I tighten my casted arm around her neck and squeeze, trying to choke her unconscious. My vision starts to blur as the pain from me overexerting my body threatens to pull me under.
One moment, I’m hanging on to her neck and squeezing for dear life, and the next, there’s shouting and the sound of banging on the door she barricaded closed. I’m just about to scream my rejoice that someone has found us when she gets the upper hand, and I’m flung off her back. My body sails through the air, and my stomach churns as the fluorescent lights blur around me. I see the edge of the table coming toward me as I sail toward the ground, but I can’t stop it. The only thing I feel is blinding, mind-numbing pain, then I’m swallowed up by the darkness.
After two weeks of waiting and days and endless nights of getting no sleep, I finally dropped two million for funding, and that was my ticket into the institution. Even though we knew where she was physically, I wasn’t her family, so I couldn’t visit her. I had no reason for the mental institution to welcome me in, so I bought my way in.
The second we pull into the front of the institution, my face sours. It’s not bad as far as facilities go, but it’s not great either, and the idea of her being here for an unassuming amount of time doesn’t sit well with me. Despite all the shitty things she’s done, she doesn’t belong here.
Napa Valley is known for many things, but good mental institutions? Hell no. I’ve done my research and found more horror stories that come out of this place rather than good ones. That’s the thing with these state-funded programs. If you don’t have the money for good care, you get stuck with what everyone else can afford, and it seems that’s what has happened with Mackenzie. It drives me fucking crazy. That her parents would allow her to stay here with no qualms for her safety.
The facility looks old and outdated on the outside, a history of architecture obviously behind the building. It’s a four-story Gothic build with an old-world infrastructure. The inside is a lot more modernized than the outside with semi up-to-date technology to support the large hospital infrastructure. Though the thought of her inside of here still doesn’t sit right with me.
The Napa State Hospital doesn’t accept voluntary admissions, which means every person inside that building with Mackenzie is either incompetent to stand trial, an offender with a mental health disorder, or they were sent here by reason of insanity.
The more I glance around, taking in my surroundings, the more I feel my temper rise. I have to pause and dutifully remind myself that she’s not my problem anymore. That’s not why I’m here. I’m here for answers. To see that she’s okay for my own peace of mind and figure out why the fuck she did what she did. What was her ultimate goal? To see us all rot behind bars? Or was it something much more sinister?
I bypass the heavy wooden front doors that lead into a foyer of sorts. With bland walls and even worse flooring, the foyer leads to sliding glass doors, which I can only assume keep the patients from escaping out of those double doors so easily. The sliding glass doors open into a sterile lobby with patrolling security and someone working the front desk. I give my name, and I’m instructed to sign and date my visit in a logbook before I can be buzzed in.
Once I’m finally inside the heart of the building, I take in the subpar space and the mental patients around me. A group of them is watching mindless TV while another group sits around a table playing cards. It’s quite literally what you’d expect to see in
side a mental institution. This is exactly how it’s portrayed in films with patients walking around, talking to themselves and others sticking together in groups, sneaking paranoid glances over their shoulders.
I take it all in stride, scouring the patients’ faces, looking for Mackenzie, but she’s nowhere to be found.
“Mr. King. You came.”
I turn toward the sound of the voice, keeping my expression impassive. There’s no mistaking the mild hostility in her tone, hidden by a false note of acceptance. The woman I’ve had the displeasure of arguing on the phone with constantly looks just as I’d expect her to. Dr. Aster looks as severe and annoying as I knew she would. With square-rimmed glasses and a head full of gray hair pulled back into a sleek bun, she’s adopted an expression of no-nonsense.
“I just donated two million to your facility. Did you really think I wouldn’t come?”
She smiles, but it comes off as more of a grimace. “Of course. Follow me back to my office.”
We pass down the fluorescent-lit hallways, and the entire way, I keep my eyes peeled for Mackenzie. I don’t know where she is or where they’re keeping her. Dr. Aster has made it clear over the phone she can’t share her patients’ details, per client-patient privilege, so I decided to come here. Other than telling me Mackenzie was indeed alive, I know nothing more about her or her condition. I have no clue what grounds they have for keeping her here. She gave her statement to the police. The only thing I can think is she’s playing the role of an insane person to stay out of trouble after the accident and the break-in at Zach’s.
Once we settle in her office, I flatten my palms against my knees and lean forward. The move is intimidating, especially with my size. She doesn’t cower like most others do, but I see the tic in her jaw all the same. She doesn’t like me asserting my dominance over her in her space. I almost grin at the thrill it gives me.
“Where is she?”
