Page 11 of The Lost Girls of Willowbrook

Her mother followed, leaving Sage alone on the bed.

The next morning, her mother called from the hospital and said that Rosemary was screaming because she was in pain and had a horribly high fever, and that she was scared because she couldn’t breathe. The doctors suspected pneumonia, so she had to stay at the hospital for a few days. In the meantime, Sage had permission to stay home from school. Her mother would call the principal to let him know what was going on.

Then something happened. Sage had no idea what, but the next day her mother came home crying. The doctors had done all they could, but Rosemary hadn’t been strong enough to survive.

* * *

Sage wanted to curl up and go back to sleep more than anything, to turn on her side and fold her hands beneath her cheek, to slip back into the peace of oblivion. The nightmare had haunted her all night and she was still exhausted, more than she’d ever been in her life. She tried to change positions on the bed, but her arms and legs felt weighed down, as if someone was holding her wrists and ankles, and she couldn’t move. Her head felt heavy as a boulder and her body like she’d been in a fight, every muscle aching and sore. The sheet beneath her was cold and wet, the air filled with the stench of urine and bleach. Had she downed too many 7 and 7s again? Done too many shots? No, she’d never had a hangover like this. This one felt different. And horribly wrong.

She tried to sit up, but something lay across her chest, holding her down. She opened her eyes, blinking several times to clear her vision. A domed ceiling light filled the room with a hazy yellow glow. No windows lined the gray walls, only white cabinets and strange metal devices that looked like medical equipment. This wasn’t her bedroom. And it wasn’t one of her friend’s bedrooms either—where was she?

She glanced down at her feet and hands. No wonder they wouldn’t cooperate. Leather straps bound her wrists and ankles to a bed railing, and a wide strap lay across her chest. Had she been in some kind of accident? Was she in a hospital?

Then it all came back to her. She was locked up in Willowbrook State School. And the doctors and nurses thought she was Rosemary.

She kicked and fought against the restraints, pulling on them with all her might. “Help!” she shouted. “Please! Someone help me! Get me out of here!”

No sound came from the hall on the other side of the door. No voices answered back. No key rattled in a lock.

“Please! Anyone! I need help!” Panic clawed at her mind, threatening to overtake all thought. She couldn’t get enough air. The room spun around like a top, making her nauseated. She closed her eyes for a moment to regain her balance, then lifted her head and yelled again and again, until her voice cracked and gave out.

Finally, out in the hall, hurried footsteps clipped along the hard floor. A key rattled in the lock, the door opened, and a colored woman in a white uniform rushed into the room. Not a nurse’s uniform—the shirt and pants of an attendant. Her black hair was slicked back into a tight ponytail, with gray roots circling her forehead. She bent over Sage and grinned, revealing empty spaces on each side of her mouth where molars should have been.

“You’re awake!” she said, yelling as if Sage were deaf. Her breath smelled like peppermint. She straightened and brushed Sage’s hair away from her forehead.

Sage lifted her head. “How long have I been here?”

“You just relax now, honey,” the attendant said, still speaking loudly. “I’m Hazel and I’m gonna take good care of you. You’ll be okay, I promise.”

“But I don’t belong here,” Sage said. “Please, you have to untie me.”

Hazel’s eyes filled with pity. “I’m sorry, but you know I can’t do that,” she said. “Just hang on if you can, sugar. I’ll get the doctor and be right back.”

Before Sage could respond, Hazel left, locking the door behind her.

Sage groaned and dropped her head back on the mattress. If they didn’t let her up soon, she wasn’t sure what she would do. She tried to think, to push away the haze in her mind. How long would it take for someone to realize she was missing? Would Heather and Dawn realize she had gone to Willowbrook when she didn’t answer the phone? Would they even call after what she’d done? And what about Alan—would he have any idea where she’d gone? Would he even care? If only she hadn’t argued with her friends. If only she’d shared her plan to search for Rosemary instead of getting mad at them for teasing her about Cropsey. They’d probably think she was still pissed if they called and she didn’t answer. They probably thought she’d overreacted that night. And they would be right.

Maybe Noah called the apartment looking for her after he found her note, despite her telling him not to. Unless he was happy to be free. Unless he’d been waiting for a chance to be with Yvette. The problem was, even if her friends called, Alan would probably just say the same thing he always said when he answered the phone—that she wasn’t there and he didn’t know where she was; no explanation, no excuse. And school wasn’t starting back up for another week—not that Alan would care if the principal called. He’d probably lie to him too, and tell him she moved. Fear crawled up her spine. How long would it be before someone figured out where she was?

Somehow, she had to convince a doctor or attendant or nurse to call Alan. And when Alan told them who she was and that she hadn’t come home, they’d let her go. Except Alan paid little attention to her coming and goings. He never knew when she stayed out all night, partly because he often slept in his truck outside a bar or went home with strange women, but mostly because he didn’t care. He never went looking for her or called Heather or Dawn to see if she was with them. So why would he care now? He’d probably be happy to let everyone at Willowbrook think she was Rosemary just to get rid of her.

After what seemed like forever, a man in thick glasses and a gray sports coat entered the room, followed by the attendant, Hazel. He stood near the wall, one hand in his jacket pocket, his mousey brown hair uncombed. Maybe it was the lighting, but his skin looked colorless; his fleshy face as white as the belly of a dead fish. “Hello, Rosemary,” he said. “Do you remember me?”

“I’m not Rosemary,” she said. “And I don’t remember you because I’ve never seen you before.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t sure who you were today. Do you forgive me, Sage?”

Her stomach clenched. He was humoring her; she could hear it in the way his voice lifted, like he was talking to a child, pretending to play along with her game.

“It’s perfectly normal if you don’t remember me right now,” he continued. “It’s not unusual for someone with your condition to have slight memory loss after experiencing trauma or unusual circumstances. Soon you’ll remember that I’m Dr. Baldwin and we’ve some spent time together before today. How are you feeling?”

The question annoyed her—or maybe it was his condescending tone—and she couldn’t control her rage. “How am I feeling?” she said. “How do youthinkI’m feeling? I’m strapped to a gurney and no one believes me when I tell them who I am.”

He smiled at her, a smile that was both phony and cold. “I believe you,” he said. “You know you can tell me anything and I’ll always believe you.”

“Then untie me.”

“We can do that,” he said. “But first you have to promise to behave. Dr. Whitehall said you gave him a hard time when you returned. No more kicking and screaming, all right?”

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