Page 10 of The Lost Girls of Willowbrook

“Don’t worry, Rosemary,” the doctor said, his voice turning slow and deep, like a record on the wrong speed. “You’re safe now. Just relax. We’re not going to let anything else happen to you, I promise.”

“I’m not Rosemary,” she mumbled. “I’m . . .” Before she could finish, her eyelids grew heavy and she blinked twice, struggling against the drugs that coursed through her blood, making her limp and helpless. Then she was falling, the room growing dark. She tried to stay awake, to keep talking, but a loud roar started in her ears, blocking out all sound. It was no use. When she shut her eyes a third time, the world disappeared.

* * *

Sage knew the nightmare as well as she knew the words to her favorite song. It was the same one she’d tumbled into nearly every night since the day Rosemary died, the same one she fell into over and over, end over end, sleeping and waking, wondering what was real and what wasn’t. The difference between this nightmare and the others was that it was actually a horrible memory—the heartbreaking replay of the last time she’d seen Rosemary alive. And there was nothing she could do to stop it from coming—especially not now, tonight, while deep in a drug-induced unconsciousness.

In the nightmare she sat up in bed, roused as usual by her sister’s midnight conversations with invisible people. But this time Rosemary’s bed was empty, the mattress topped with nothing but a pile of twisted blankets and a crumpled pillow. Sage scanned the dark bedroom to see where her sister was hiding but couldn’t make out her pale face. And the harder she stared, the more everything in the room seemed to move, like shadows shifting and changing shape, making her wonder if Rosemary had been telling the truth about the furniture moving around on its own. Then she saw her sister huddled in a corner, mumbling and giggling, her hands like claws over her mouth.

“What are you doing?” Sage said.

And suddenly Rosemary started screaming, an impossibly loud wail that sounded like it was coming from a wild animal, looping over and over on itself, then going weak before booming out into the darkness again.

“What’s wrong?” Sage cried. “Stop screaming and tell me what’s wrong!”

Rosemary screamed louder.

Sage curled up into a tight ball and put her hands over her ears, but the horrible wail made its way through her trembling fingers. She had promised her sister she would always protect her, but Rosemary had to listen and do as she was asked. Rosemary wasn’t doing either. And Sage couldn’t see anything she needed to protect her from. “Please stop!” she yelled.

Then the door flew open. Her mother entered and switched on the ceiling light, her face distorted by shadows, frantic eyes scanning the bedroom. “What’s going on?”

Alan stumbled in behind her, shirtless and bleary-eyed. “What the hell—”

“Stop it!” Rosemary yelled from the corner. “Stop it! Stop it!”

When her mother saw Rosemary, she went over to her and knelt down, feeling her face and arms and legs, looking for injury. “What is it? What’s wrong?” She glanced over her shoulder at Sage. “What happened? What did you do?”

Sage shook her head, her hands still clamped over her ears.

Suddenly Rosemary went silent, scrunching her face up tight. Then her eyes and mouth popped open and she started gasping for air and clutching her throat.

“She can’t breathe!” her mother said. “Oh God. Alan, do something!”

Alan hesitated, unsure, then hurried over to the corner and knelt in front of Rosemary.

“It’s okay,” her mother said. “Everything’s okay.” She touched Rosemary’s forehead and arms with cautious hands. “Just relax and take a deep breath. We’re right here. You’re going to be all right.”

“They’re choking me,” Rosemary cried. “They won’t let me breathe.”

“What?” her mother said. “Who is choking you? What are you talking about?”

Rosemary started screaming again. Sage thought it would never stop.

Her mother looked at Alan. “Do something!”

“Jesus Christ, Rosemary,” he said. “Stop it! You’re scaring your mother half to death!”

“That’s not going to help!” her mother said.

Alan gaped at her. “Well, what the hell do you want me to do?”

“She needs a doctor!”

Alan pulled Rosemary out of the corner, picked her up, and started toward the door, struggling to contain her flailing arms and legs. She kept screaming, kicking her feet and pounding him on the back.

“Don’t!” her mother cried. “What are you . . . Alan! Be careful!”

“She needs to go to the hospital,” Alan said as he carried her out of the room.

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