Page 86 of Their Little Ghost

His comments only make Aiden fuck my throat more violently. My body convulses. Fuzzy dots swim before me. I’m a complete mess under his attack. He’s obliterating me.

Darkness descends. A vision appears in my mind’s eye. It’s like a dream, yet it feels so real…

I’m in the woods again. This time, it’s a warm summer night. Stars twinkle above, and moonlight slips through the lush green leaves. Aiden interlocks his fingers through mine, and I laugh at something he says. He smiles and tells me that this is somewhere we can call home. Lex is up ahead at the cabin, arranging logs into a neat pile to start a fire. I feel safe, like this is where I’m supposed to be, and then my vision fades…

“Stop, Aiden!” Eli’s panicked cries pierce my eardrums, bringing me back to reality. “She’s not breathing!”

Someone wrenches me into a seated position.

I cough up and retch, my shoulders shaking.

I can’t think straight, let alone try to speak.

“See? She’s fine,” Aiden says coldly. “Carry her. We don’t have long.”

I look up to see Aiden storming away. Lex follows, lighter in hand, setting the tips of branches on fire as he walks. Lex’s flames flicker for a few seconds, helping to guide their way, before they’re extinguished by the wind.

Eli unzips his jacket and wraps it around me like a blanket, enveloping me in his scent, before scooping me up into his arms.

“You’ll be fine, Little Ghost,” Eli says. “You’ll see.”

Yet his words don’t bring me comfort, only lingering dread as my eyelids flutter closed…

CHAPTER

TWENTY-FIVE

ERIN

When I wake,I’m back at Sunnycrest in the same room Dad left me in. I startle and struggle to free myself from the tightly tucket sheets. I look around wildly, and my shoulders sag in relief.

They’re gone.

Instead of my nightdress, I’m wearing a pair of gray slacks and a matching sweater. The same uniform all Sunnycrest patients are required to wear. Although it’s not an orange jumpsuit, it symbolizes the same thing. We’re prisoners.

While I don’t remember how I ended up back here, I’m certain last night wasn’t a dream. I recall the chase through the woods and flinch, putting a hand to my sore throat. Swallowing is hard, and I crave a warm drink to dull the pain. There are no mirrors, so I can’t see what state I’m in, but my entire body aches. I gently massage the stinging base of my spine, which will be bruised. Underneath my clothes, scratches cover my arms, and I roll up a pant leg to see a Band-Aid placed carefully on my kneecap. They must have cleaned me up. Although I’m no longer dirty, I don’t feel clean. The smell of soil lingers in my nostrils, reminding me of how Aiden pressed my face down.

A loud Klaxon-like siren blares through the building, and a light bulb above my door flashes red. Moments later, the dooropens and a doctor steps into my room. He’s clean-cut, in his late thirties, and wears horn-rimmed glasses.

“Good morning, Erin,” he says. “I’m Doctor Warner. Your father has asked me to look after you during your stay.”

“Where is he?” I ask, peering over his shoulder and expecting to see Dad waiting in the wings. “How long will I be here? When can I go home?”

“Your father has explained to me the problems you’ve been experiencing,” he says. “You will have a short, but intense, period of treatment while you’re with us.”

“But I’m not a criminal,” I insist. “Or insane, like the other patients. Why can’t I complete my therapy from home? That’s what I’ve done before.”

“Doctor Acacia feels a new environment will benefit your treatment,” he explains. “I assure you, it’s very safe here.”

“I want to leave,” I say. “You can’t hold me against my will. I’m eighteen now. I have rights!”

“Involuntary admissions are acceptable if an individual is deemed at risk of harming themselves or others,” Doctor Warner says, keeping his monotonous tone light. “As long as we deem you a risk, you will remain here.”

I can’t believe Dad did this to me. I understand him paying thousands of dollars for me to spend hours on a therapist’s couch, but this? He’s gone too far.

“What about school?” I ask, hoping to find a reason to make Dad change his mind. The Ivies don’t look for applicants who’ve spent time in an asylum. “I can’t fall behind. If you tell my father that, I’m sure he’ll understand.”

“You will continue your studies while you’re here,” Doctor Warner says. “Stonybridge Academy will send assignments to complete. We have incredible facilitators and resources on-site. However, it’s more important that we focus on getting you well again. You’ve experienced a lot of trauma in recent years.”

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