Page 21 of The Lost Girls of Willowbrook

“Speaking of secrets,” she said, “what do you know about that bald, tattooed attendant Wayne?”

Tina furrowed her brow. “What do you mean, what do I know about him? He’s awful and mean and everybody’s scared of him. That’s all I need to know.”

“But why would Leonard and Nurse Vic say he might know where . . .” She hesitated. “Why would they say he knew where I was?”

“’Cause everybody knows he’s got a thing for you. They probably thought he snuck you out of here.”

“Would I have gone with him?”

The frown line between Tina’s eyes deepened. “What the devil is wrong with you? Did you hit your head and forget everything you ever knew? Of course you wouldn’t have gone with him! Not willingly, anyway.” Then her eyes went wide with concern. “Did they do something to you while you were gone? Did they give you one of those lobotomies or experiment on you? Is that why you can’t remember anything?”

Sage shook her head. “No, it was nothing like that. I’m just . . . I’m a little confused right now, that’s all.”

“Well, don’t worry, it’ll all come back to you soon enough. Or maybe you don’t want it to.” For a brief moment, sorrow clouded her eyes. Then she smiled again.

Sage tried to return the smile, but it felt weak and quivery. Still, it was nice to know at least one person who was on Rosemary’s side. “I know this might sound stupid, but do you think he took me somewhere? Or do you know where I might have gone? I’m having trouble remembering.”

“Sorry,” Tina said. “I don’t. You kept saying you were going to get out of here. That’s it. I thought you were joking.”

Sage considered what she said. Maybe Rosemary had escaped after all. Maybe Wayne had helped, or maybe she’d done it on her own. The latter seemed more likely after what Tina said about Wayne; it didn’t seem possible that he could have dragged her out of there kicking and screaming without someone noticing. But where would she have gone? And how was she surviving?

Then she had another thought, one that hadn’t occurred to her until now, and her heart constricted. What if Rosemary had escaped and was lying dead out in the woods somewhere, slowly being buried beneath the snow?

“Hey,” she said. “This is probably another stupid question, but is there any way to get a cigarette around here?” Asking was probably pointless—even if she could sneak a smoke somewhere, she’d get in trouble if she got caught—but it was worth a try. She needed something, anything, to calm her nerves.

Tina crossed her arms and gave her a stern look. “Now, why would you want one of those nasty things?”

Sage shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t know, just to try something different.”

“Well, that would be really dumb. And I don’t know anything about that stuff anyway. You sure they didn’t do something to your brain while you were gone?”

Marla yelled at them from across the room. “Let’s go, ladies! Stop your lollygagging and move it!”

Tina looked over her shoulder, then grabbed Sage’s hand and pulled her toward the door. “Come on, we gotta go.”

Startled, Sage yanked her hand from her grasp. Tina turned to face her, a confused, wounded look pulling at her face.

“What’s wrong?” she said.

“I’m not . . .” Sage began, then stopped. She couldn’t tell the truth about why she had pulled away because it was senseless and cruel; letting Tina take her hand would mean she was one ofthem, one of the tormented souls who called Willowbrook home. And she would never be one of them. She wouldn’t let it happen. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve been feeling sick and I don’t want you to catch anything from me.”

“Well, that stinks,” Tina said. “I hope you feel better soon because I’m really happy you’re back.”

“Thanks,” Sage said. Then, before she could ask where they were going, Tina turned and headed toward the door. Sage rubbed her arms and followed, hoping she hadn’t upset the only person who’d been decent to her since she arrived. She needed an ally, someone who knew the ins and outs of Willowbrook and might be able to help her find Rosemary. But it was true that she wasn’t feeling well. Her stomach churned with acid and fear. Then she had an idea. Maybe if she told someone she was ill, they’d let her see a doctor; maybe even someone besides Dr. Baldwin.

Nearing the door, she approached Marla with one hand on her stomach. Marla had just finished separating two girls who’d been screeching and yanking on each other’s hair, and now she stood between them with her arms out, like a referee between two boxers.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but—” Sage started.

“What is it?” Marla said, giving her a surly look.

“I think something’s wrong with me,” Sage said. “I need to see a doctor.” She bent forward and winced, pretending to be in pain.

Marla shot the girls a threatening glare, then dropped her arms and looked Sage up and down, her lips pursed. “You need stitches?”

Sage shook her head.

“You dying?”

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