Have you missed us, Little Ghost?
Remember, we’re always watching…
The cursive is surprisingly delicate. Swirling black ink letters with gentle curves that resemble calligraphy. Something fluffy brushes against my palm. With a shaking hand, I turn the paper to find a lock of my hair taped down. A cruel taunt at how they took it from me so easily.
“What’s the holdup?” Officer Blackwell grumbles in bored disinterest. “Have you got everything you need?”
I should tell him. Instead, I stash the message quickly into my pocket. “Sorry, I’m coming now.”
I slam the locker shut. Telling him would mean getting my father in trouble and admitting what happened. Besides, they somehow managed to invade my personal space and sneak into the academy undetected. The cops can’t protect me.
“Move.” Officer Blackwell makes a shoo motion. “Back to class.”
They might be watching us right now, and we won’t even know it…
CHAPTER
SEVEN
ERIN
One week has passedsince the Sunnycrest breakout. The entire town is crawling with journalists from across the country. Many are camped outside our house, desperate to get an exclusive quote from Magnus Acacia, the brains behind the asylum. Amidst all the drama, Dad has hardly been at home. When he isn’t working, he’s busy assisting the police with their inquiries.
After the initial public outcry, my father’s reputation has remained intact after the sheriff discovered a security guard was to blame. Apparently, the guard confessed to letting them out in a note before taking an overdose. It’s easy to blame one rotten apple and deem it a freak event. Whatever the circumstances, there have been calls for Dad and his board of directors to review their protocols, which they’ve promised to do.
MIA: Are you watching this?
I roll over in bed and click the link in Mia’s text, which takes me to a breaking news bulletin. In light of the current situation, Dad begrudgingly gave my cell phone back.
I turn the volume up to listen to a news reporter, who stands outside Pasturesville’s sheriff’s station, where a crowd has assembled.
Over the last few days, the press has released more information about the seven asylum escapees. So far, four have been caught. Two were found on the first day. They plummeted to their deaths in a ravine along the treacherous mountain path. My father claimed they suffered from severe hallucinations that would have easily led them astray. Another patient was discovered a day later, eating out of a Burger King dumpster and barking like a dog. The fourth, who they found yesterday, hitched a ride and made it three hundred miles. The cops finally picked him up from a gas station after he snatched a pacifier from a baby and rolled around crying until they arrived.
The men’s faces are splashed over every newspaper, screen, and billboard for miles. I’ve committed them all to memory, wondering which faces belong to the voices I heard in the darkness. None of them seem to fit what I imagined. After studying their profiles, I discovered all the escapees were under six feet tall. Although, my earlier judgment of their height was probably impaired by the darkness and my drinking.
Since receiving their note, they haven’t communicated with me again. I should have burned it, but it’s hidden in my underwear drawer along with the vibrator from Mia. With the police going through our trash daily, it seems like the best place to keep it.
“There is a new development in the case of the escapees from Sunnycrest Asylum,” Sheriff Brady announces. I sit up in bed, paying full attention. “We’re delighted to announce that we have secured the final three patients. We picked them up on the Canadian border.”
Mia’s texts come thick and fast.
MIA: It’s over?!
MIA: Thank fuck… I was losing my mind at home!
Like many of our peers, she’s struggled with the imposed lockdown. Everyone’s been complaining about it at school. The entire town has been living in a constant state of fear, including me. Stores have closed early, people have upgraded their home security systems, and countless neighbors have given interviews about how their lives have been turned upside down. And now it’s over, reduced to a shady time in the town’s history… just like that.
Still, a weight lifts from my shoulders. Maybe I’ll actually be able to sleep tonight. Lately, the slightest floorboard creak has broken me out in a cold sweat, and I almost fell out of bed when a moth fluttered in front of my face. Despite not hearing from the guys, I haven’t been able to shake the feeling of being watched…
“All of the apprehended patients are being transferred immediately to another facility out of state,” Sheriff Brady says. “We appreciate it’s been a difficult time for our community. We’ve come together and united in the face of adversity. I want to thank the public and the staff at Sunnycrest Asylum for their continued support. From now, the Pasturesville curfew is officially lifted.”
A round of applause and cheers burst from the watching crowd in response.
I fall back onto my pillow and laugh in relief at the thought of my tormentors leaving town for good.
MIA: Do you think this means the ball is back on?
Normality has officially resumed again.
