Page 5 of Revenant

Like I would tell a doctor anything.

From my experience, the type of doctors my father hires have long ago lost any scruples they might have once possessed, each willing to take money to forge documents to show my deteriorating sanity. While their diagnosis might be true, most of them barely even glanced in my direction, much less spoke to me before they signed off on the incriminating papers that legally pronounced me certifiably insane.

If my father is good at anything, it’s navigating the seedy underbelly of the world.

It takes a crook to find a crook.

As the metal door clanks shut behind us, all sounds instantly quiet until I swear I can hear a mouse fart from across the room. Whispers about my abilities had spread like wildfire throughout the hospital. Patients duck their heads and focus on their food, hoping to escape my notice, while the orderlies and nurses either glare at me or scurry away in fear.

I do my best not to roll my eyes at their dramatics. I’m not the big baddie they all fear. Sure, ghosts are scary as fuck, but I’ve been dealing with them since I was a child. If a toddler can survive being attacked by poltergeists, then they sure as fuck can deal with it as well.

Not that I tell them shit.

I’ll take the protection of the ghosts for as long as it lasts.

Dallas leaves me as I saunter forward to collect my food. A tray clatters to the counter, the questionable food—paste, really—splatters, but the server disappears before I can level a glare at them. I grimace when the watery substance immediately begins to separate from the pureed food and mixes together in a delightful mess that looks like diarrhea on a plate.

Yum.

With a sigh, I take what’s offered, knowing better than to argue or protest.

Crappy food is better than no food.

I take a seat on the metal bench bolted to the ground, and the other occupant at the table jumps to his feet like he was electrocuted, sprinting across the room in his attempt to flee. The cold metal seat sears my ass through the drab gray patient outfit we are forced to wear. I suspect it was once white but became dingy after too many washes, and I barely resist a shudder at the thought of how many people have worn the clothes before me. The outfit could almost pass for scrubs, if the material wasn’t so paper thin.

While I’m allowed underwear and a sports bra, none of it is comfortable. The waistband of the panties is stretched out and barely stays up, while the bra is a size too small and digs into my flesh with each breath. I suspect a pervy male assigned me my clothing so they could gawk at my cleavage, because who doesn’t love a massive uniboob?

Unfortunately, I don’t dare go without.

That’s just asking for trouble.

It’s only pure luck that I haven’t been raped at any of the four different asylums I visited.

Small mercies.

Chapter Two

RUE

Using a plastic spork, I focus on consuming the food and not throwing up. Because, yeah, while it might look like shit, it tastes even worse.Ugh.I’m unsure if they force the sporks on us to frustrate us or if they enjoy tormenting us more.

I suspect both.

Honestly, I don’t mind.

Though it might be mind-numbingly boring to scoop up a minuscule amount of food at a time, it’s better than staring at blank walls. Without something to occupy my mind, I’m slowly being driven fucking insane. Since cameras cover nearly every inch of this new hospital, I’ve kept my training and communication with the spirits to a minimum.

While they’re not happy, they’re not tormenting me.

Yet.

I think they’re afraid of scaring me off.

The spirits are stuck at the sanatorium, most of them tied to the grounds. With me here, I can give them a voice. Give them peace. Or vengeance.

I totally vote for retribution.

A bell rings, and I dutifully stand with my tray and drop it off in the plastic bin on the counter. Everyone keeps their distance from me like they’re afraid I might curse them or something.

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