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Present day.
Screaming again.
Tessa sprang upright in her bed, tucking her knees against her chest and clamping her hands over her ears. But she couldn’t block out the sound or shut off her mind. Whose room is it coming from this time? It sounded like a boy, a young one, maybe Mitchell or Grady. What do they want with him?
Perhaps if she knew who they were, maybe then she could begin to answer her thousands of other questions. They were the monsters that scooped children out of their beds at night and the boogeymen who haunted her dreams. And beyond any doubt, one night, they would come for her.
Tugging at her hair, her lips trembling, she realized she’d been a fool to think herself safe, even after killing that horrible man, her stepfather. All the years of abuse, of being constantly afraid, over with the stroke of a knife, or rather, many strokes. She didn’t resist her freedom being taken from her, had done all the doctors had asked of her. But in a place where she was supposed to be healing and kept safe, she was always afraid.
She rolled her shoulders, trying to loosen up the tall, slender yet curvier frame she’d only recently become comfortable in despite having stopped growing at least a year ago. She wished the self-confidence and self-awareness exhibited by some of her teachers or all those doctor-and-lawyer-types on TV had flowered in her with acne’s decline and increasing cup sizes, but she had yet to learn the art of being a woman, if there was such a thing.
Her teeth gnawed and tugged at a hangnail. Maybe she was overreacting. Patients screaming was a fairly regular occurrence at Brentworth Hospital’s psych ward, something to be expected, not feared. And sometimes, those taken away would come back, acting as if nothing had ever happened. Other times, they didn’t come back at all. Tessa wasn’t sure which was worse.
A thump came from down the hall, and the screaming stopped. Heavy footsteps clomped then dragged down the threadbare carpet outside like a dull, dry razor blade sliding against the grain.
She slipped one leg off the bed then thought better of it. The sounds grew nearer, louder. She held her breath as a shadow blotted out the light under her door.
Without thinking, she dropped onto her feet, but fear kept her soles glued to the hardwood. Whatever had driven her out of bed in the first place had been forgotten. She couldn’t possibly want to see what was happening outside her room in those dimly lit halls. She’d always been too scared to look before; it was so much easier to turn a deaf ear when they were taking someone else.
Coward. So be it. She’d faced more than her fair share of adversity and had a lifetime’s worth of trauma packed into one decade with her abusive stepfather—her murderous, psychotic stepfather. She was nobody’s sister or mother or caretaker. She wasn’t the police. Let the rest of the world fend for itself just like it had left her to do.
And yet, Tessa took a step toward the door.
The sounds were fainter then, moving farther down the hall. Soon, they would be out of earshot. One step, then another. Closer and closer she crept, all the while telling herself she shouldn’t be doing it. Stay out of it. It’s not your concern. Her body paid no heed to her mind’s pleas. She pressed on, remembering the line from an old poem. Until they come for you.
She had to know who they were, so she could know who not to turn her back on. The doorknob twisted in her hand. It clicked as the catch retracted. The floor creaked beneath her weight as she leaned against the doorframe.
The hall fell silent.
After a few seconds, which Tessa spent like a fossil in amber, the stomp stomp rustle continued. She pulled open the door a sliver, just enough for one eye to peek out. Gasping, she stumbled backward then fell onto her butt. Another’s eye had been peering back.
She scrambled away, heels catching in her worn pajamas until she’d placed several feet between herself and the door. It swung open.
A curvy woman in her mid-to-late twenties with heavy eye shadow entered. The thick black bob hairstyle and white hat pinned to her head were reminiscent of days well before Tessa had been born. The hat matched her all-white lab coat and white slacks. Francine, if Tessa remembered correctly. One of the nice ones. But at that moment, Francine had a vacant look in her wide-open eyes. They locked onto Tessa’s.
“What are you doing up, dear?” The nurse’s smile went no farther than her lips. Her black lipstick stained her teeth. She walked the few steps over to Tessa, crouched, then threw an arm around her shoulders. “Come on. Let’s get you back in bed.”
Tessa shrank from the contact and resisted being pulled to her feet. “What’s going on? Where are they taking him?”
“Who, dear?” Francine’s smile was unwavering, her eyes unblinking.
“The boy—” Tessa pointed at the door. “The boy I heard screaming.”
“Screaming?” Francine cocked her head as if she were a dog hearing a far-off whistle. But the hallway had gone silent. “I don’t hear any screaming. Perhaps you were having a nightmare.” She again tried to pull Tessa to her feet.
“It wasn’t a nightmare. Mitchell or-or-or maybe Grady... he was screaming, and then he just stopped. Like he was suddenly cut off.”
“Oh, yes, yes,” the nurse said, standing up straight. “Mitchell suffers from night terrors. That’s probably what you heard, dear. The poor child.” She chuckled. “Anyway, don’t you worry a smidge. They’ve given him a sedative. We won’t be hearing a peep out of him for the rest of the night.”
Tessa flinched. “And Laura from last week? What happened to her?”
Francine put her hands on her hips. “Well, you are an observant child, aren’t you?”
Tessa huffed. “I’m not a child.”
“Laura was discharged last week. All healed and happily back with her family.” Francine cast her a sidelong glance. “Your turn will come. You’ll be out soon enough.” She extended her hand. “Now, come. Let’s get you back in bed.”
Hesitantly, Tessa took the offered assistance. The nurse pulled her to her feet and ushered her back to her bed. Tessa climbed in and allowed Francine to tuck her in as if she were seven, not seventeen.
She lay back, the knots in her muscles slow to unwind. The nurse’s explanation made sense. A poor child screaming from night terrors—any screaming, really—yes, that was all normal.
Francine tugged on the comforter and ironed out its wrinkles with her hands. The wrinkles in Tessa’s forehead, though fewer, persisted. She couldn’t shake the hollow pang in her stomach and the nagging at the back of her mind. Something weird was going on.
Laura had been a cutter who couldn’t be next to anything sharp. She was way more screwed up than Tessa. She stared blankly at her comforter. No way they let her out already. She squinted at Francine, trying to parse the truth from lies in her face. Her eyes fell on the necklace dangling from the nurse’s neck—a shimmering sun pendant, appearing sometimes gold, sometimes silver, depending on the angle of the light.
The nurse smiled her plastic, manufactured grin. “That’s it, child. Close your eyes.”
“I’m not a—” Tessa yawned, stretching her arms over her pillow where they pressed against the headboard. As if under a spell, her mind began to cloud with fatigue. Her body sank into her mattress, her head into her pillow. Her eyes closed then opened again. Francine stood over her, grinning, the medallion at the end of her necklace still swinging slowly. It twisted in half turns, clockwise then counterclockwise, bouncing soft light into Tessa’s eyes at the midpoint of each rotation.
Children weren’t discharged from Brentworth in the middle of the night. That’s what logic told her. Her eyelids closed again. Her breath whistled through her nose. She struggled to maintain that thought. Something about kids... yes, kids... disappearing in the dead of night.