“I swear, Dr. Ostroff, that’s where Hazel ran off to.”
“Well, you better come help us look or your ass will be joining those friends of yours.”
Kyle looks mildly pissed, his shoulders tight and eyebrows slashed downwards into a deep frown. A bright red spot is beginning to bloom where I punched him.
Good.
I wish I’d hit him harder.
Rain begins to pelt my neck, making the ground soggy and the air cold. My teeth begin to shiver while we’re forced to wait out here. Nothing but the sound of the pattering rain breaks through the grunts and distant pounding footsteps of the disciplinary staff as they comb the house. Flashlights cut through the darkness, bouncing erratically around us.
“They’re fucking gone. We better find them soon before they freeze out here.” One of the newer staff members declares, hands on hips as he surveys the scene before him. He’s scrawny for a staff member. I’m sure he won’t last much longer if he’s concerned about any of us being cold. He looks far too kind and is missing the hardness some of the others have. This man still has a heart.
“Kyle. You and I are going to take a little walk in these woods and find those girls, you hear me?” Dr. Ostroff declares. “Pastor Charles, make sure these… misfits are handled, would you?”
“My pleasure.” He says with a smirk. Sick fuck. I know just how much he’ll enjoy ‘handling’ us.
For all the sermons we’ve sat through about evil, I know they’ve gotten it wrong. Evil isn’t some ominous distant figure waiting to trap us and damn our souls. It’s right here in Kingston.
I wince as I’m yanked up from my arm by one of the staff members and dragged off into the dark to await my fate.
CHAPTER 12
HAZEL
27 YEARS OLD
This incessant beeping comingfrom my phone’s alarm breaks the onslaught of images. Anything I’ve just remembered is gone. A wisp of a memory buried deep within my subconscious once again. Frustration rolls through me as I snap a picture of my dyed hair. The red tumbling waves a rude reminder of the girl I once was.
I don’t bother to smile.
Pressing send, I note the deep purple splotches taking up residence beneath my eyes, and the beginnings of a breakout forming along my chin. The cameras I ordered haven’t arrived yet, so I’ve spent another night locked in a state of anxiety.
The unknown number begins to type, and I immediately brace myself, wondering what now. Will it be another game of Truth or Dare? Another taunt to my fragile psyche?
If I’m being honest, these stupid childish games have made me feel more in the last few days than I’ve let myself feel in years. It’s run a gambit on my emotions, setting me on a rollercoaster of dips and turns with no way to expect what’s coming next. And the thought no longer scares me… it thrills me.
Looking back up in the mirror, my eyes seem bright. Clear. Ready to tackle whatever this shithead sends to my phone.
Besides, I’ve survived much worse.
Good Girl
I chuck the phone onto the counter and let out a frustrated scream.
Fuck this shit.
“And how have you been adjusting to your new dose? Any side effects?”
I pick at a frayed edge of my black sweater, twisting it around the tip of my finger until it turns bright red.
“I see you’ve changed your hair, Mallory. Was that an impulsive choice or one that you’ve wanted to do for a while?”
I snort. “You could say it was impulsive.” My eyes aren’t even focused on the camera to see her reaction. Instead, they’re glued to the way my pulsating finger becomes almost purple, before I unwind the thin thread. It’s been one day since I dyed my hair, and the change has me avoiding the camera and mirrors.
“Mallory.” Oh god, with that tone she sounds like my mother. Even with the fake name. That tone slices straight to my unhealed bits, making me want to lash out like a viper being cornered.
I sit up and look at the camera.
