Page 58 of The Lost Girls of Willowbrook

“What is it?” Dr. Baldwin said.

Evie shushed him, turned up the volume, and backed away from the television so he could see.

“Is that goddamn reporter coming on?” Dr. Baldwin said. “The one who took the news crew into House Six?”

Evie nodded, chewing her manicured thumbnail and staring at the screen.

Dr. Baldwin’s face went pale, like a man about to lose his last dollar in a bet. He got up, went around the desk, and stood beside Evie, who put a hand on his back, concern lining her brow. Standing next to each other, they looked more like a couple than a secretary and her boss.

On the television screen, a reporter behind a desk said, “And now we have a special report from Eyewitness News correspondent Geraldo Rivera.”

Then Willowbrook’s six-story headquarters appeared on the screen behind the headline:WILLOWBROOK:THE LAST GREAT DISGRACE,the ominous-looking building growing larger and larger as the camera got closer. A second later, a reporter with dark hair and a mustache came on and said into the microphone in his hand: “It’s been more than six years since Robert Kennedy walked out of one of the wards here at Willowbrook and told newsmen of the horror he’d seen inside. He pleaded then for an overhaul of the system that allowed retarded children to live in a ‘snake pit.’ But that was way back in 1965 and somehow we’d all forgotten. I first heard of this big place with the pretty-sounding name because of a call I received from a member of the Willowbrook staff. The doctor told me he’d just been fired because he had been urging parents with children in one of the buildings to organize so they could more effectively demand improved conditions for their children. He invited me to see the conditions he was talking about, so, unannounced and unexpected by the school administration, we toured building number six.”

On the screen, he and another man made their way through a thicket of trees, then stepped over a concrete barrier, their coats flying as they jumped down. After crossing a road and a lawn, they walked toward a U-shaped brick building: House Six.

The reporter went on. “The doctor had warned me that it would be bad, it was horrible. There was one attendant for perhaps fifty severely and profoundly retarded children. And the children, lying on the floor naked and smeared with their own feces . . . they were making a pitiful sound, a kind of mournful wail that is impossible for me to forget.”

Suddenly the shadowy interior of House Six appeared and a horrendous wailing vibrated out of the television speaker, like a million tortured shrieks echoing from outer space or inside a colossal underground cave. The camera lights revealed pale figures, like hunted creatures in the crosshairs of a night rifle—half-dressed girls slumped in chairs and on the floor, a naked young woman jumping up and down, another crouched against the wall, her fingers tapping her face. A skeletal girl sat on the floor with her arms tied in what looked like a bed sheet while a nurse tried to calm her down. Then a line of sinks against one wall, children lying and squatting below them with their pants around their ankles, their buttocks and legs covered in filth.

“This is what it looked like,” the reporter said. “This is what it sounded like, but how can I tell you about the way it smelled? It smelled of filth, it smelled of disease, and it smelled of death.”

Sage leaned back and closed her eyes, wishing she could sink into the chair and disappear. The bizarre combination of being inside Willowbrook and seeing it on the television screen at the same time made her feel faint. And that horrific sound, like a giant, dying animal going on and on and on, vibrating through the speaker as if the television were about to explode was more than she could stand. Even if she survived and got out of there, she knew she would hear that haunting, anguished wail for the rest of her life, twisting and spinning throughout her thoughts and nightmares. Fighting the urge to plug her ears—she wanted to hear what else the reporter said—she sat still as a stone, her heart banging hard in her chest.

“We’ve just seen something that’s probably the most horrible thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” the reporter said. “Is that typical of ward life?”

A man off-screen said, “Yes, there are five thousand three hundred patients at Willowbrook, which is the largest institution for the mentally retarded in the world. The ones that we saw were the most severely and profoundly retarded. There are thousands there like that, not going to school, sitting on the ward all day, not being talked to by anyone. Only one or two or three people to take care of seventy people on a ward. They’re sharing the same toilet, contracting the same diseases. One hundred percent of patients at Willowbrook contract hepatitis within six months of being in the institution. Most patients, at some time in their lives, have parasites. The incidence of pneumonia is greater than any other group of people that I think exists in this country. Trauma is severe because these patients are left together on a ward unattended, fighting for a small scrap of paper on the floor to play with, fighting for the attention of the attendants who are overworked trying to clean them, feed them, clothe them, and if possible pay a little attention to them and work with them to develop their intelligence. But what in fact happens is that they go downhill.”

Sage didn’t know if she could listen to any more. The horrible knowledge that Rosemary had spent so many years struggling to survive such an unspeakable existence was bad enough, but nowshewas locked inside Willowbrook too, with little hope of escape. She counted backward in her head, trying to ignore the voices coming out of the television, but every once in a while she still heard snippets of what was being said: “Willowbrook has lost eight hundred employees in two years.... The attendants are trying their best, but the staff is just too small.... I’ve visited penal institutions all over the country. I visited hospitals all over the country. I’ve visited the worst brigs in the military. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

When the report was over, Sage brushed the moisture from her cheeks, unable to move. Shock and terror anchored her in place, and the dreadful knowledge that she might not escape unless Rosemary’s body was found made her feel like throwing up.

Unleashing a stream of profanities, Dr. Baldwin clicked off the television, trudged back to his desk, and put his head in his hands.

“Is there anything I can do for you, Doctor?” Evie said.

He gazed up at her and shook his head. Then he addressed Leonard, who still stood like a soldier in the same spot. “Take Miss Winters back to House Six,” he said. “I can’t deal with her right now.”

CHAPTER 15

Between the lack of water and crying for what felt like a thousand days, Sage had no tears left to shed. Either she was severely dehydrated or had used them all up. She lay under the grimy blanket on her sister’s bed in Ward D, shell-shocked and desperate, unable to think or feel. Numb.

The thought of spending the rest of her life in Willowbrook was too much to bear. She’d rather die. She’d rather let Cropsey—or Wayne, or whoever had killed Rosemary—slit her throat. It was only a matter of time before he came after her anyway, so why not get it over with? Maybe she should just stop eating.

Except...

Except she couldn’t give up yet. She just couldn’t. Eddie was still out there somewhere. And he knew the truth. He could still tell Alan what happened. He could still tell the police. He could still save her and help figure out who killed Rosemary. She just had to hang on a while longer.

Suddenly she sensed a presence near the bed and yanked the blanket off her head. A shadowy form moved nearby, edging closer and closer. She scrambled off the other side of the mattress, certain Wayne had come to shut her up for good.

“Relax,” a voice whispered. “It’s just me.”

She squinted into the darkness, desperate to see. A pale shaft of moonlight filtering in through the Plexiglas fell on one side of Eddie’s face, revealing his familiar features. She sat back down, breathless with relief. It was all she could do not to hug him. “You scared the shit out of me,” she said. “I thought Dr. Baldwin fired you.”

“He wanted to, but he moved me to another building instead.”

“Jesus, that was close. He kept lying to me, telling me there was no body.”

He put his hand on shoulder. “I hate to tell you this,” he said, his voice grave. “But he was telling the truth.”

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