“I…” I could make up an excuse, but he’ll only see through it. His job has made him a human lie detector; well versed in sensing changes in people’s body language and tone. “I’m sorry, okay? It won’t happen again.”
Apologizing is all I can do. Hopefully, if I sound sincere enough, he’ll let it go. What started as a fun night has turned into a nightmare. Was it worth it?
“No,” he agrees. “It won’t.”
We halt at a stoplight, and he sniffs the air.
“You’ve been drinking,” he says. A statement, not a question.
Nothing sobers you up more than your dad crashing a party.
“Only a little,” I admit, not that it’ll make any difference. He’ll likely force me to attend Alcoholics Anonymous on a weekly basis.
“I’m disappointed,” he says. The light turns green, and I’m thrown back again as he hits the gas hard. “After everything I’ve done to keep you safe, this is how you treat me. You broke my trust. A trust that I gave freely. A trust you’ll have to earn back.”
“I will,” I say. “I promise I’ll make it up to you.”
“I know you will.”
We drive past Stonybridge Academy and should take the next right, but he keeps going.
“You missed the turn,” I remark feebly.
“No,” he replies. “I didn’t.”
“But our house is that way…”
I’m tipsy, but I haven’t completely lost my sense of direction.
“We’re not going home.”
A lump forms in the back of my throat, and I blink away tears. Crying has no effect on him. Whenever I hurt myself as a child, it was Mom who kissed my grazes better. He sees crying as a sign of weakness. Tears won’t help me now.
Our town, Pasturesville, is close to a rocky mountain range, yet still within commutable distance to the nearest city, which makes it a popular neighborhood for families.
When Dad takes a left, leading away from the town, I realize where we’re heading. The dirt track crawling up the side of the mountain is always deserted. Locals have dubbed it the ‘highway to hell’, and more suspicious folks tell stories about how the devil touches everyone who travels up it. Maybe there’s some truth to that.
“Can we go home, Dad? Please?” I bargain. “I made a mistake, okay? I’m sorry, I?—”
“Your words are meaningless after your actions tonight, Erin.” He tsks and shakes his head. “How can I believe anything you say after you lied to me? You’re lucky I arrived before you caused our family further embarrassment. It’s bad enough thatyou went out dressed like a common whore, but drinking too? I expected more from you.”
I pull my dress lower, but the fabric keeps bunching, making me extra conscious about the amount of thigh I have on show. I shouldn’t have let Mia talk me into wearing this outfit, no matter how good I felt in it.
The road narrows as we continue, curving with the mountainside. Various signs along the sides of the road warn trespassers away in bold text. They needn’t have bothered putting them up. No one comes here willingly. Beyond the trees, I glimpse the double chain-link electric fences that are there to prevent people from going in, and more importantly, to stop patients from getting out.
“Why are we here?” I ask.
Terror roots me to my seat as we approach Sunnycrest Asylum.
“I told you, Erin,” Dad says ominously. “I’ve been too lenient with you, and look where it’s got me.”
He lowers the window and swipes his work card to gain access, jolting the gates into life. A security guard looks up from his post for a brief second as we drive by. He recognizes Dad instantly and waves a donut in our direction, not noticing me in the back of the car. It’s not unusual for my father to work late, and he’s often called in during the twilight hours.
I consider slamming my fists on the window, but it’ll only make Dad angrier. Besides, the guard will never question his boss if he wants to keep his job.
Sunnycrest Asylum is a C-shaped building made from concrete slabs. Although we’re at a higher altitude, that doesn’t explain the change to the air here. The building is a vortex of misery, radiating a sinister aura that makes the hairs on my neck stand on end. Dad created it to treat, and contain, the criminally insane and most troubled youths in the country.
Sunnycrest has a top-of-the-range security system. I can’t remember the exact details, but I’ve eavesdropped on enough of my parents’ dinner parties to know that it cost multiple millions. No one gets in or out without special clearance, and technological advances have made it virtually impossible to leave the facility from the inside, meaning they’ve been able to cut the costs of the security detail outside.
