Page 61 of The Lost Girls of Willowbrook

“I’m sorry,” Evie said. “But you know I can’t allow that.”

“Will you at least tell me why Dr. Baldwin sent for me? Please?”

Evie said nothing.

Desperate, Sage released the intercom, picked up the phone again, and dialed Heather’s number, knowing it was a waste of time but hoping for a miracle. Nothing happened. No ringtone on the other end of the line. No dial tone. No clicks or other sounds. She hung up the receiver, then stood and went over to the window, where a shaft of sunlight filtered in below a yellowed shade. If she could open the window or break the glass, she could climb down or jump out and go to the police. Then she pulled up the shade and realized the office was at least five stories up if not more. The blanket of snow and shoveled brick sidewalk below looked a hundred miles away. If she fell, she’d fracture her skull or break a leg, which would make running impossible.

She tried opening the window anyway to let in some fresh air, but it wouldn’t budge. Cursing under her breath, she turned and paced the floor, a hundred scenarios running wild in her mind. Was she in Dr. Baldwin’s office because they’d found Rosemary’s body? Was Alan coming to get her? Were they sending her to the state security hospital as punishment for trying to escape?

She surveyed the doctor’s desk. No files sat on the blotter. No papers or other clues that might help her figure out why she was there. She hurried behind the desk again, sat in the chair, and tried the middle drawer. It was locked. She tried the other drawers. Also locked. She stood and looked at the stacks of black filing cabinets. The answer to why she was in the office wouldn’t be in there, but maybe some helpful information about Rosemary would—ifthe filing cabinets were unlocked. Peering at the tattered labels, she found the drawer labeled “W” and pulled. To her surprise, it slid open.

What looked like a thousand crumpled files filled the long drawer, packed together so tightly it seemed impossible to take one out, let alone put it back again. Quickly scanning the faded names on the tabs, she looked for the one labeled “Winters.” With every sound on the other side of the office door, every scrape of a chair and thump of a drawer in the waiting room, she shut the drawer, scrambled around to the front of the desk, certain Dr. Baldwin would catch her.

Finally, she found two files with the name “Winters” and tugged on the first one, trying to get it out. The tab started to rip. She stopped and pulled out the next one, which was sticking up just enough to get a good grip. She opened the file. Affixed to the first page was a black and white photo of a young boy, a toddler with crossed eyes and a cleft lip. On the wall behind his head were five digits on a white sign. Below the photo was a date: November 3rd, 1955; the name “Gregory Winters”; and words in bold type: “SEVERELY RETARDED.” Gregory looked like he was laughing in the photo, his first teeth showing in a gummy grin, his nose crumpled in delight. Sage swallowed, wondering if Gregory was still alive. She closed the file and took out the other one labeled “Winters.” When she opened the cover, she nearly dropped it.

Rosemary looked back at her with frightened eyes, her lips pressed together as if she were trying hard not to cry. Written beneath her name in bold type was: “MANIC-DEPRESSIVE SCHIZOPHRENIC WITH SPLIT PERSONALITY DISORDER.” Even with the terrified expression, Rosemary looked exactly like Sage remembered her, with translucent skin and light wisps of hair framing her dainty features. It was like looking at a photo of herself. Blinking back tears, she turned the page and started reading.

December 10, 1965: Resident seems in good physical health. Did not settle into the ward easily. Responded well to Thorazine. No longer hostile after three days of treatment, although hallucinations and delusions continue to occur. Continued daily treatment recommended.

May 12, 1966: Resident is fairly cooperative and eats and sleeps well. No complaints from nursing staff. Continued daily treatment recommended.

Sage drew in a sharp breath. No one had reevaluated Rosemary forsix monthsafter she had been admitted? Unbelievable. Out in the waiting room, Evie’s phone rang, making Sage jump. She skimmed over the next few pages, reading as fast as possible.

June 2, 1967: Resident is definitely paranoid in her thinking and continues to have delusions. Has developed a fixation on another patient, claiming she is her sibling. Continued daily treatment recommended.

July 10, 1968: Resident continues to be paranoid and delusional. Also seems to have developed split personality disorder, with three separate personalities detected so far: Trixie, Belinda, and Sage. Staff advised not to contradict. Continued daily treatment recommended, along with dose of Prolixin as needed.

September 1, 1969: Along with continued paranoia, schizophrenia, and split personality disorder, resident has developed violent tendencies. After causing a disturbance in the dayroom, during which she assaulted an attendant and several other residents were injured, she was confined to seclusion for four days in an attempt to adjust paranoia. Continued daily treatment recommended, along with dose of Prolixin as needed.

September 6, 1969: Seclusion failed to curb violent tendencies. Temporarily transferred to state security hospital.

October 12, 1970: Resident attempted escape. Confined to seclusion for eight days. Continued daily treatment recommended, added dose of Prolixin as needed.

January 6, 1971: Resident went missing. After two days found in House Fourteen, dazed and highly paranoid. Continued daily treatment recommended, additional dose of Prolixin until readjusted.

Despite having been told that the residents rarely saw doctors, seeing it in black and white made Sage even more furious. How could the doctors let an entire year pass between evaluations? It was outrageous and cruel. Willowbrook would never help anyone with that method. She flipped through the last pages, looking for anything that might tell her more. Other entries in a dozen different scripts included medication logs; physical characteristics like height and weight; and medical situations that needed attention: compound fracture, dysentery, eye injury, hepatitis test, suicidal ideation.

A thick lump formed in Sage’s throat. Rosemary had wanted to kill herself? That didn’t sound like her. Rosemary had always loved life. Then she remembered the complete and utter misery she’d felt when she thought she was damned to spend the rest of her life in Willowbrook. In some ways, she could understand why her sister would want to end her suffering.

She closed Rosemary’s file and shoved it, along with poor little Gregory’s, back in the cabinet, not caring if they got crumpled or torn. After shutting the cabinet, she went around the desk and sat down to wait for Dr. Baldwin. Unfortunately, finding Rosemary’s file had only deepened her grief over the loss of her sister and added to her despair over her short, tragic life. And now, sometime in the next few minutes, she was about to find out if she was being released or sent to the state security hospital, which meant her life would be as disastrous as Rosemary’s.

No, that wasn’t true. Unlike her sister, she’d had the chance to go to school and make friends, to go dances and ballgames and museums, to learn about the world and the people in it. She’d gone to the movies and to all-night parties; she’d laughed and gossiped with her best girlfriends. She’d walked under the stars at midnight while drinking wine and felt that bottomless hope of a world full of possibilities. She’d fallen in love and made love to a handsome boy. It was more life than most of the Willowbrook residents had ever experienced. And she’d taken it all for granted.

She squeezed her eyes shut to stanch her tears and wiped her cheeks, determined to stop thinking that this was the end. If someone was coming to take her to the state security hospital, they would have just taken her from the ward. Leonard must have brought her here because Dr. Baldwin wanted to talk to her again. And more than anything, she needed to know why.

Ten more minutes went by. Fifteen. Thirty. She couldn’t take it anymore. She got up and pounded on the door.

“Hello?” she shouted. “Evie? Where is Dr. Baldwin?”

No answer. Just the muted clicking of typewriter keys.

She rattled the handle and pounded on the door again. “I know you’re out there. When is he coming back?”

Still nothing.

She went to back to the desk and pressed the intercom button. “Please talk to me, Evie.”

When Evie answered, she said, “He’ll be back soon. You need to be patient.”

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