“That night when I was in a room with you and a nurse. You took blood tests on me.”
He straightens himself, and a subtle shimmer appears in his eyes before dissipating. “We have never met during the night. You must have had a nightmare.”
But that quick look he gave me just a second ago was so intense I could almost smell the deceit in the air, warning me that he is lying. It wasn’t a nightmare; it happened, just like I suspected.
“Go back to your room, Li–Naya.” He catches himself mid-sentence before dismissing me.
As soon as he dismisses me, I hastily return to my room, my thoughts jumbled with the mention of the name ‘Lily’ and Rebecca’s words of escape, leaving me with a sense of dread. I quickly lock the door behind me, mindful of the staff and guards that could enter at any moment with their ID badges, and I reach for the paper and crayon I had stowed away, setting them on the table. I quickly jot down some keywords, my fingers barely keeping up with my thoughts.
Rebecca - no escape, murder me? Need to keep looking.
Chapter 16
Naya
The ground beneath meis soggy and wets my bare feet, the grass surrounding me in a heartwarming cocoon is a gentle tickle as the breeze takes over. My eyes are closed, and only blackness is visible behind my eyelids as I take in all the other impressions that force their way into my senses. It smells like I imagine it does in vast meadows where flowers grow freely in a chaotic wonder.
There’s an annoying voice in my head prompting me to pick the skin on my foot, which I do. The skin gradually reddens with each day, making it difficult to walk, yet I cannot stop. I usually have a lot of self-control but have none when it comes to this, and it’s annoying.
A formidable fence encircles Dankworth Institute, its metal posts jutting out of the ground, just like the fence at Grimhill Manor. But this fence is much sturdier, with its tall posts, sharp barbs, and a heavy but well-locked gate, preventing anyone from escaping or climbing over it. The fence is three times my height, and the guards are strategically placed along the perimeter closest to the main area, making escape even more impossible.
I remember the children who sneaked through the broken part of the fence at Grimhill Manor, eager to pick raspberries from the bush outside, but here the fence is whole and unbroken as far as I can tell. Dankworth is encircled by an infinite number of trees just as dense as the ones surrounding Grimhill Manor, making it feel like a barrier that cannot be breached.
During that awful day when I was taken to Grimhill Manor by the master after being caught, I was blindfolded the whole time I was driven there, and the trip lasted about four hours in total. I had been on the run from him for one month after my mother left me strapped to a hospital bed, twenty-four days after I committed the unforgivable sin. The recollection of it is so heavy that I can feel it pressing on my chest, and I take a deep breath in an attempt to push the memory away.
Frederick Grimhill is not here, he cannot reach me.
I take in the open, spacious area, surrounded by a sturdy fence, providing the perfect playground for running, jumping, and playing. The enclosed outdoor area is divided into two parts: the larger and smaller sections. The larger section has access to all the trees and nature’s wildlife, although still sterile, while the smaller section is closest to the entrance that leads into Dankworth. The smaller section is in the shape of a rectangle that is surrounded by a narrow brick wall but is beige in color, not nearly as scary as the high fence. Amidst the sea of bricks, a pathway leads out to the larger section and the vaulted arches above cast intricate shadows on the walls.
When I first walked through the opening, I was struck by the beautiful architecture of a simple wall; the sun glinting off the stones with a soundless hum. Currently, I’m seated on a bench leaning against the wall on the other side, where the larger section is. I know for a fact that this enclosure is at least several square kilometers long, and I can just make out the smell of rust coming from the intimidating fence around it. The walls of Dankworth Institute loom above me, oppressive and foreboding like something out of a prison.
Even though the rain sound is barely audible, I still feel a few droplets on my skin as I pull my hoodie up to protect myself from the cold. As we are already in the second week of September, I have been here for six weeks now, yet haven’t been able to find any way of escaping. The month’s temperature is uncharacteristically low, and the air carries a dreary feeling. The downpour has kept most people inside today, leaving me to wallow in misery–a blessing in disguise.
My head has to be clear if I’m going to be able to figure out what this place is, why I’m here, and how I can get out of here as soon as possible. I am alone, and the gentle sway of the trees, the feel of the breeze on my skin, and the stillness of the air fill me with peace. I cannot remember the last time I sat outside, enjoying the rain on my body and feeling the breeze of the wind.
How pathetic my life has turned out.
The grass and trees are vivid emeralds, so different from Grimhill Manor’s dull landscape. The façade of the building is surprisingly unscathed, with not a single crack in sight, unlike Grimhill Manor, where you could hear the walls creaking and groaning with age.
A certain freedom comes with being outside alone, enjoying the rain that is becoming heavier. Maybe a piece of my sanity is slowly slipping into its place again.
Six fucking weeks in this place. I have been here for six weeks, and yet it feels like I’m slowly but surely losing everything that makes me who I am. Every other day, I meet with Alicia–the psychologist–about different things, but with each passing time, I realize there is something weird about her, although I cannot explain what it is. It’s as if she is trying to discover everything she can about me, delving into my brain to expose all my innermost secrets, and I know it’s not out of sincere interest or for me to heal. No, I swear it’s because of something far more insidious, as if she’s trying to uncover each memory I have and use them in some kind of experiment.
I’ve had several sessions with her and haven’t gotten any closer to understanding what happened to me. I am still in the dark, and every session leaves me frustrated and helpless.Is the master looking for me?Every single session, Alicia makes me dredge up the memory of him, filling me with a deep sense of unease that I wish I could erase. Up to this point, I have given her a lot of information about my life–where I grew up, where I lived, and who raised me–but when the topic of my parents came up, I shut down completely. I told her whatever she needed to hear, nothing more and nothing less, but I still cannot remember what happened in the days before arriving here. What happened to Everlee? Is she safe?
God, I hope she is.
I’ve been here for six weeks already and have met a few times with Emilio Ricci, who is the warden of this institute but doesn’t feel like one at all. Whenever I have sessions with him, I feel a sense of distrust emanating from him, which is more intense than with Alicia. I have never really understood the point of our sessions, because sometimes we can sit there in silence for an hour while he stares at me with an intense gaze, much like Alicia does. When he’s analyzing my behavior, he’ll sometimes have me do some nonsensical puzzles, all the while writing notes down in his notepad. Those sessions feel like a complete waste of time, but I have to attend them to keep the freedom I desire.
After that incident at night, when the nurse took blood tests, nothing has happened since. An eerie hush has taken over, and an unsettling feeling tells me that this is only a moment of calm before the inevitable storm. A very lethal storm that will drown everything in its wake.
I have spent the last few days and weeks shutting out the world around me. I have made a habit of going to the wing where I will find Rebecca in her usual spot on the sofa, the plush cushions inviting me to cozy up. We’ve built a bond over sitting in silent contemplation and talking about the things that weigh on our minds. Yesterday, I told her about that one memory of my past when the judge called for Lily Blight and sentenced her to prison. Despite my wishes to the contrary, I have come to understand that this memory is solely my own and not anyone else’s. A crushing sensation strikes my heart upon recalling the memory, like my ribs enclosing my heart.
My past is a distant fog, but I have found solace in it. Maybe someday, if I ever manage to escape from here, I will take on the task of piecing together my past and finding a psychologist who actually cares and wants to help. But for now, I will focus on my time here and survive the hell I know is about to break loose any day.
I’m so preoccupied with my thoughts that I don’t notice the sound of footsteps until the shoes are mere inches away. As I raise my eyes, my heart rate increases significantly as a familiar figure appears in my line of vision. I’ve been trying to clear my head for days now, desperately seeking a break from the person who invades my thoughts despite my wishes. My once lifeless organ suddenly revives whenever he’s near, making my heart flutter. And I hate it.
I hate how vulnerable it makes me feel.
