Page 25 of The Lost Girls of Willowbrook

Sage closed her eyes and took deep, deliberate breaths, trying to beat back the claws of panic.

“You okay?” Tina said. “You don’t look too good.”

Sage opened her eyes and studied Tina, wondering again how she’d managed to stay sane for so long. Sage hadn’t been there an entire day yet and already felt like she was losing her mind. “It’s okay,” she said, her voice trembling. “I’ll be okay.” She swallowed her rising anxiety and said it a third time to convince herself. “I’m okay.”

After the attendants were done feeding those who needed help—breakfast was done and over with in ten minutes—they finished gathering the bowls and cups, put them back on the carts, and left the dayroom. Wayne locked the door behind them, then sat down in the cubicle and lit another cigarette. The medicated orange juice seemed to be taking hold of the residents, cutting a slight edge off their hysteria, dulling their frenzied voices and chaotic actions. Instead of wailing, they moaned. Instead of shrieking, they cried. Instead of grabbing others and fighting, they fidgeted and pulled their own hair, talked to themselves, or pounded their fists on their skulls and stomachs and legs. Even Tina had quietly taken a seat in a cracked plastic chair next to Sage, still twirling her hair.

The last thing Sage wanted to do was talk to Wayne, but she didn’t have a choice. She had to find out what he knew about her sister. Maybe when he heard her speak, he’d be able to tell she wasn’t Rosemary. She stood and started toward the cubicle, zigzagging through the ever-shifting sea of residents, moving around puddles of urine and splotches of feces and oatmeal on the floor.

About halfway across the room, a girl in a stained yellow dress stepped in front of her, ruined eyes searching Sage’s face. She looked around a year or two older than Sage, maybe more, with lifeless brown hair, a pimple-marked forehead, and a gauze bandage wrapped around her arm. Sage froze, a sliver of fear piercing her heart.

It was Norma, the girl who’d cut her wrist on a chair.

“Where did you go, Rosemary?” she said. “Or are you Sage today?”

Sage tried moving around her, but Norma blocked her way. “I . . . I didn’t go anywhere,” she said.

“You said you’d never leave me here alone again,” Norma said. “So why’d you lie to me? We’re sisters, remember? Forever and ever and ever?”

“I’m sorry,” Sage said. “I didn’t mean to. I . . . I got lost.”

Norma bared a mouthful of nubby teeth. “No, you didn’t. You left me. You said you’d never do that again. Never, ever, ever.” She grabbed Sage’s wrist and squeezed, digging her nails into the skin. “But you did. You lied!”

Sage tried to pry open Norma’s clawed fingers, but her grip was like a vise. She looked over at the cubicle, hoping Wayne would help, but it was empty. Then she saw him down on one knee next to a girl on the floor who looked like she was having a seizure. “I said I was sorry,” she said to Norma. “But I’m back now, okay? Please, just let me go.”

Norma squeezed harder, then suddenly turned her head as if someone had whispered in her ear. “I know she did,” she said, talking to someone who wasn’t there. “I know.”

The hair on the nape of Sage’s neck stood on end. Rosemary used to have conversations with imaginary people too. “You’re hurting me,” she said.

Norma glared at her again. “I thought he got you,” she hissed. “I thought he got you like he got the others.”

“You thought who got me?” Sage said, still struggling to pull away. Norma refused to let go.

“You know who,” Norma spat. “Cropsey.”

Sage’s mouth went dry. “How . . . how do you know about Cropsey?”

“Everyone knows about Cropsey,” Norma said. “So stop trying to trick me.” She turned away and spoke to the imaginary person again. “It’s okay, she already knows.”

“I’m not trying to trick you,” Sage said. “I just . . . please, let go of my arm.”

“He got those girls too, Jennifer and Midge. One minute they were here, the next they were gone.” She snapped her fingers. “Just like that. And those girls who died in their beds last week? Everyone says they were drugged and tied down. But Cropsey did it. I know he did. He smothered them.”

Sage swallowed, the watery oatmeal threatening to revolt in her stomach. Norma was out of her mind. She’d proven that. But why was she talking about Cropsey killing residents in Willowbrook? What if, after all Sage’s doubts and fears, he was real? And what if he got Rosemary? “Do you . . . do you know who Cropsey is?”

Norma shook her head. “Of course not. If I did, I’d kill him.” Then, just as quickly as she’d grabbed Sage’s arm, she let go. “You know what? I don’t want to talk to you right now. Just leave me alone.” She spat on the floor, then stomped away, mumbling to the imaginary person inside her head.

Sage trembled with relief and dread, grateful that Norma was gone, at the same time wondering if she should go after her. If there was the slightest chance that Cropsey was real and he’d done something to Rosemary, she had to know. But how could she trust anything Norma said? She examined the fingernail marks on her wrist—red half-moons in a bright neat row, like the smiley faces she used to draw inside her schoolbooks. The skin wasn’t broken, but the marks looked deep and angry. She rubbed her arm, then berated herself for being so stupid. She couldn’t believe Norma. Obviously, the urban legend of Cropsey had found its way inside Willowbrook and festered like a disease, moving from the staff to the residents. Norma had no idea whom or what she was talking about. Cropsey wasn’t real. And even if he was, there was no way he could get inside this place without being seen. Every steel door was barred and bolted, every room under lock and key.

She scanned the room for Wayne again. He’d carried the girl having the seizure over to a couch and laid her on it; now he stood over her with his hands on his hips. The girl looked unconscious, her head to one side, her eyes closed. Sage moved toward him, slowing when she grew near, ready to run if he tried to grab her. Up close he seemed even taller and broader, like he belonged in a wrestling ring.

“Is she going to be okay?” she said.

“Back off,” he shot over his shoulder, his voice hard.

She retreated a couple of steps. “Sorry,” she said.

“What do you want?” he said.

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