It’s barely taken me any length of time to get Wyatt to fall in lust with me.
If there’s anything I can be grateful to that bastard for, it’s my ability to entrap men. I know how to work a room like a pro, smiling, flirting, making seemingly subtle touches, and laughing at feeble jokes and even more feeble men. But it was required whenever I attended official functions, and it’s a life skill that has served me well.
Wyatt hands me a plastic cup and my daily pill. “You look especially beautiful today.”
Barf.
“You say that every day.” I grin as I dutifully open my mouth, pop the pill inside, and swallow some water.
The first time he handed it to me, I asked what it was, but he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, say. I guessed it was a sedative, and now that I’ve witnessed the zombie-like status of most of the residents firsthand, I know I was right.
Flinging my arms around his neck, I say, “And it’s the sweetest thing!” I want to gag, but he laps up the cheesy shit like you wouldn’t believe. I giggle, and he drops his head on my shoulder as I maneuver the pill out of my mouth with my tongue. Pretending to brush my hair back, I slide the pill from my mouth and stash it in the loose top of the bedpost, along with all the others I’ve hidden.
“It’s the truth.” A frown puckers his pale brow as he eases back, and I drop my arms to my sides. “Although I shouldn’t be saying stuff like this.”
I force my lower lip to wobble. “Don’t say that. You like me and I like you. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
Double barf.
“That’s not the way my boss would see it.”
“Your boss won’t know.” I take a step toward him, making a production out of kissing his cheek. “I won’t tell.”
Conflict flashes in his eyes.
Don’t lose your balls now, Wyatt.
He’s pivotal to my escape plan, and I don’t have the time, or the opportunity, to seduce any other male nurse. I smile sweetly at him, batting my eyelashes again, and the conflict melts off his face.
Sucker.
“C’mon.” He takes my elbow. “You can’t be late to breakfast.”
I memorize the hallways as I walk silently by Wyatt’s side, as I’ve done every morning we take this journey. It’s unfortunate they have cameras in the hallway, but it’s not surprising given the facility. I’m hoping the staff stairwells are camera-free, because if Wyatt fails to implement that part of the plan, I’ll have to take an even bigger risk. I guess I’ll find out Friday night.
The heavy doors to the high-level psych ward swing open as we pass by, and a man dressed in a nurse’s uniform comes dashing out with a woman huddled into his side. Blood gushes from a deep cut in her cheek, and strands of her hair are plastered to her sweaty brow. The sleeve of her shirt is ripped at the shoulder, exposing a pale, slim arm. Her name badge confirms she’s a doctor. “What happened?” Wyatt asks, gripping my arm to halt me.
I keep my eyes trained on the ground, holding my body rigidly still, so they don’t suspect I’m lucid. I don’t know what’s in that pill I’m given each morning, but it’s strong enough to have most of the residents walking around like wide-eyed zombies. They can’t know I’m not taking mine, so I work hard to copy the other residents’ behaviors so they don’t suspect. Having sharp observational skills has come in handy around here.
“That bitch in C9 again.” Tense silence erupts, and I’d give anything to read their facial expressions, but I keep my head down. “This wasn’t a good idea.”
“Neither is discussing it in the hallway,” the injured woman says. “Let’s just go.”
I lift my head up at the sound of their retreating footsteps, and Wyatt urges me forward with a hand on my lower back. We move past the security guard’s office, and the employee on duty has his feet propped up on the desk while leaning back in his chair as he absently watches the cameras with a cup of juice resting on top of his bulging belly.
While they have all the expected security measures in place, the attitude seems fairly lax. I suspect that’s because no one knows about this place, and everyone’s too fucked up to escape.
Wyatt opens the door to the cafeteria, guiding me to my usual table, alongside the younger residents. I sit down as a waitress slides a bowl of oatmeal with dried fruit in front of me. Wyatt fetches a glass of orange juice for me before walking to the staff table to join his colleagues.
I take a quick glance at the redheaded girl on my left and the dark-haired boy sitting across from me, but they’re as comatose as ever.
Seriously, it’s like I’ve walked onto the set of a horror movie where everyone is pale with these wide eyes and drooping jawlines and the only sounds out of their mouths are these ghostly, ghoulish sounds that give me a mad case of the heebie-jeebies.
I wonder how long I’d have to be here before I’d turn into that.
Or maybe their supposed crimes are worse, and that’s why my punishment isn’t as severe.
Although, if this is an elite facility, I doubt anyone in here has done anything worth punishing.
They probably just outlasted their usefulness.
Most likely, I’m being treated differently because my incarceration has an end date. I wouldn’t be much good to that bastard all fucked up in the head, so I’m pretty sure whatever I’m being given isn’t as severe as most of these people. Otherwise, there’s no way I would’ve been capable of continuing my studies.
“Eat.” The matron chastises me as she passes by, patrolling the aisles as usual.
Without hesitation, I lift my spoon and shovel a mouthful of gloopy oatmeal, ignoring how it clings to the roof of my mouth and makes me want to throw up.
When I’ve finished eating, Wyatt escorts me to the room where my tutor is waiting. Although there are at least a dozen teenagers here, I appear to be the only one who attends classes, which is another odd anomaly.
Miss Dunbar is an excellent teacher but a lousy subject for manipulation. I tried working on her the first few days, but she didn’t bite, and I gave up before she became suspicious. She did, however, let it slip last week that she wouldn’t be available for two days as she was traveling home for Thanksgiving.
Which answered the question of how long I’ve been here.
My fake engagement party to Charlie occurred six days before Halloween, and I know Thanksgiving is late this year, on the twenty-eighth, so that means I’ve been here five weeks.
That’s five weeks of my life I’ll never get back.
And five weeks where no one has come for me.
Confirming what I’ve always known—I’m in this alone.
I’m wearing the standard issue uniform when Wyatt slips into my room, locking the door behind him, on Friday night after his shift is over. I have no clothes or personal possessions, which is unfortunate, because trying to flee in my resident’s uniform isn’t ideal.
“Did you turn the cameras off?” I ask, sitting down on the bed and patting the space beside me.
He takes off his jacket, flinging it on the back of the chair. “Yes. You were right. John was snoring at the desk, and he didn’t even notice me slipping the virus into the system. How did you even know how to do that?” he asks, sitting beside me and sliding his arm around my waist.