“In a moment,” she says, pausing outside the teachers’ lounge door. “I’m sorry to pull you aside, but the sheriff would like to speak with you.”
“With me?” My jaw drops. “Why?”
“Take a seat inside,” she says, opening the door to reveal an officer with crossed arms lurking at the back of the room. “An officer will bring you back to class when they’re done.”
The officer doesn’t speak as I sit on the squeaky leather sofa. I adjust my position, crossing one leg over the other and back again. Did they find out my father locked me in the asylum? Do they think I know something?
I’m not kept waiting long before the sheriff arrives.
“It’s good to see you again, Erin,” he says, although his expression implies the opposite. He sits opposite me, his shirt buttons straining around his belly and threatening to burst. “How have you been after…”
“Sarah?” I prompt as his sentence trails off.
“One year,” he says, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “How time flies…”
“Ms. Chi said you wanted to see me?” I ask.
“Ah, yes,” he says. “I’m sure the news about the escape must have come as a shock considering your fathers position at the asylum. None of his staff were hurt.”
Is that supposed to be reassuring? Dad doesn’t hire locally anyway. Orderlies and doctors come from out of state and can’t afford to live in Pasturesville, so they tend to commute in. If something bad happened at the asylum, it’d be easy for no one in town to find out.
“That’s good,” I say feebly.
“Now, I don’t want to alarm you,” he says. “But I have to tell you this as a precautionary measure…”
He really needs to work on his uplifting speeches because I’m fully prepared for whatever’s coming next to be awful.
“Because your father runs Sunnycrest Asylum, there is a small—tiny, really—chance that your family is at an increased risk of being targeted by the patients who got out,” he says. “Only minimal, though.”
“Targeted?” I repeat.
If I escaped from a facility with nothing to lose and no one to return to, I know who’d be first on my list to visit. The patients aren’t only mentally unstable, they’re convicted felons.
“We have officers stationed at your home, and one of my men will escort you to and from school.”
“What about my mom?” I ask.
“We’ll take care of her,” the sheriff says. “You’re in good hands.”
Numbness spreads through me. He said the same thing when he promised to bring Sarah home. His words mean nothing.
“We’ll have them herded up and back where they belong in no time,” he says unconvincingly. “Officer Blackwell will escort you to class now.”
The young officer loitering in the background scowls, clearly unhappy to be a teenager’s bodyguard when a manhunt is underway.
“Okay,” I say.
Officer Blackwell follows me down the empty corridor.
“I need to stop at my locker,” I say.
It’s been a long time since I’ve taken a Xanax, but I always keep a backup stash in case of emergencies. This is as good a time as any. I need something to take the edge off and calm me down.
Officer Blackwell merely grunts in response.
When I open my locker, a folded piece of paper with singed edges catches my attention. Someone has laid it neatly on top of my books. How did they get inside?
My heart thunders as I open it and read the words.