Page 14 of The Lost Girls of Willowbrook

Hazel shifted her weight and dropped her gaze.

Sage hung her head, terror rising inside her. If she had a breakdown or got hysterical, they’d never listen to her. She yanked at the loose threads on the hem of her corduroy skirt, pulling them out one by one. She’d never been in a fistfight before, but she wanted to punch the doctor in the face. Then she thought of something and looked up at him again.

“What about my clothes?” she said. “Do you let your patients wear miniskirts?”

“I’d like to say no, but unfortunately we don’t have the luxury of being strict about what the residents wear since most of the clothes here at Willowbrook come from donations. The residents wear whatever they’re lucky enough to find. Of course, some of the garments are not ideal, but it’s better than letting them walk around naked, which as you know, happens more than we’d like.”

“What about my hair? Next you’re going to tell me Rosemary wore it in the same style.”

He nodded. “Long and parted down the middle, yes. But I see you’ve combed the snarls out of it. Or did someone do that for you? One of the friends you made while you were away, perhaps?”

This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t be real. It just couldn’t be. Maybe she was having a horrible dream. Maybe she was safe in her bed at home, having nightmares fueled by stress and alcohol. For the first time ever, she wished she’d been brave enough to pierce her ears or get a tattoo, anything that would prove she wasn’t Rosemary. She pinched the skin on her arm, hard, to wake herself up. It didn’t work.

“Now that I’ve answered your questions,” Dr. Baldwin said, “I think it’s time for you to finally answer mine. Where did you go? Were you looking for your mother again?”

“My mother is dead. She died two years ago.”

“That’s right. I’m glad to know you retained that important information. It took a while for you to accept that she was gone when we first told you. And the last time you went missing was because you’d gone looking for her. Remember, when you ended up in House Fourteen with the five- and six-year-olds?”

Sage shook her head, the fire of panic making it hard to breathe. “I don’t know anything about House Fourteen. I don’t know anything about Willowbrook or Rosemary, or what’s she done, or how she is, or what’s wrong with her, or how long she’s been here. I told you, I just found out she’s still alive. Now, please, you have to let me go. This isn’t right.” Despite her best efforts to sound calm and reasonable, her voice rattled.

Dr. Baldwin shot the nurse a worried glance. The nurse picked up the glass vial, stuck the needle in the silver-edged neck, and started filling the syringe.

“Are you still having suicidal thoughts?” Dr. Baldwin said.

“I’ve never had suicidal thoughts,” Sage said. “I just want to find my sister and go home, that’s all. Please don’t drug me again.”

Hazel and the nurse moved toward her, Hazel getting ready to grab her, the nurse holding the glistening syringe.

“There’s no need to be frightened, sugar,” Hazel said. “We only want to help you.”

“Please,” Sage said. “I won’t kick or scream or anything like that. I promise. Just let me call Alan, then I’ll do whatever you say.”

“As I told you,” Dr. Baldwin said, “I already called him.”

“But you told him you found Rosemary and you haven’t. Please. I just need to talk to him for a minute!”

Dr. Baldwin shook his head. “I’m sorry, but right now you need to go back to your ward and get some rest.”

She couldn’t take it anymore. She jumped off the gurney, grabbed the doctor’s sport coat with both hands, and yanked him toward her, pushing her face into his. “Let me fucking call him!” she cried. “He’ll tell you I’m not Rosemary!”

“Let go of me, Miss Winters,” Dr. Baldwin said, recoiling as if she had the plague. Despite his composed, firm voice, fear flashed in his eyes. “You don’t want to do this. You know what happens to residents who assault the staff. It’s an automatic ticket to our state security hospital with no chance of returning to Willowbrook for at least a year. We’ve talked about this. You don’t want to go there again.”

Realizing that she was only making things worse, Sage let go and opened her mouth to apologize. The sting in her arm was sharp and immediate. She turned toward the nurse, who was pushing the needle farther into her arm. Her legs went weak and her hands fell to her sides. Hazel rushed over and grabbed her under the arms to hold her up, then dragged her back to the gurney. Sage toppled onto the mattress, and the room started spinning round and round, like a carousel inside her head. Dr. Baldwin yanked a paper towel from a dispenser, frantically wiping off his coat while Hazel lifted Sage’s limp legs over the edge of the mattress. Gagging and panicked, Sage turned to look at Dr. Baldwin and the nurse, to beg them to listen, but no sound came from her throat. Everything went blurry and the room started closing in, like curtains drawing at the edge of her vision. Dr. Baldwin and Hazel and the nurse melted together, spiraling in a whirlpool of gray and white, white and gray, gray and white. Then everything went black again.

CHAPTER 4

A searing pain tore at the top of Sage’s feet, dragging along her flesh like hot knives and slowly bringing her out of her drug-induced stupor. After several tries, she opened her heavy eyelids, looked around, and tried to understand what was happening. Two people, one on each side, were lugging her by the arms through a narrow passageway, and her bare feet were scraping along the rough, icy floor. She tried to walk, but the aftereffects of the shot still swirled through her, and her legs wouldn’t cooperate. She kept stumbling and tripping, and was constantly being yanked upright. She had no idea where she was or how long she’d been unconscious.

When she finally found her footing and her vision began to clear, she realized that two male attendants were holding her up, and they were inside what looked like a stone tunnel. Greenish-gray mildew striped the walls, and rusty pipes ran along the ceiling, dripping a brownish fluid onto the floor. Dusty lightbulbs in metal cages emitted a weak, jittery glow, and the cave-like odor of mold and wet rock filled the air. Except for the lights and the lack of graffiti, the tunnel looked like the crumbling passageways beneath the old tuberculosis hospital.

“No,” she cried, struggling to get away. “What are you doing? Where are you taking me?”

The attendants tightened their grip. “Take it easy,” one of them said. “We’re just taking you back to your ward.”

“Please,” she said. “You have to listen to me. There’s been a terrible mistake. I’m not Rosemary. I’m her twin sister, Sage. You have to believe me.” She tried to make eye contact with them, tried to let them see that she was perfectly normal and rational, but they kept their gaze straight ahead, intent on doing their job. The attendant on her left was taller and older, with a gray ponytail and a diamond stud in his ear. The one on the right had a youthful, innocent face, with pimple-pitted skin and a strong jawline. He looked like he belonged in high school.

Neither of them responded.

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