Page 64 of Atone

One of the first lessons my father taught me was that there’s always someone watching. It’s a fact that can be used as a weapon as easily as it can bring someone down, andI’ve been careful to use it to my advantage up until this point.

With my hands in my pockets, I weave through the halls, down a staircase that is rarely used. No one stops me or asks questions because they’ve seen me make this trek a hundred times these past couple of years, even if then it was for a different reason.

Two nurses are talking at one of the landings of the staircase. Only one I recognize, which means the other must be new. Her bright smile is as blinding as her golden hair. Montgomery has yet to drain that light from her soul. But it will.

This place will eat her alive.

The blonde nurse doesn’t avoid my gaze like her friend. Doesn’t take note of how her coworker stays as close to the wall as possible to avoid me. She’s too distracted by my attention to recoil.

Dad said I was blessed with the Lancaster glow that leaves women defenseless. It’s one of many things he expected me to use to my advantage at some point.

I never did.

Another disappointment on a long list of them, I suppose.

When I reach the bottom of the staircase, I don’t veer toward the records room on the left like I usually would. I turn right to the restricted ward instead.

There are no nurses. No doctors. Just cells. And since it’s past dinner time, no one will be back until the morning to drop off meals or medication.

This hallway brings back memories. It’s where I was put when I first came to Montgomery. Where the doctors cut, sliced, and grafted like I was a patchwork monstrosity being brought back to life. They tried to make sense of what fleshremained—what sanity had yet to slip away. And they had to sedate me into a near-paralyzed state just to keep me from attacking them.

Only once I got better at hiding just how far I’d snapped did they send me upstairs.

But down here…

I take a deep breath and almost appreciate the depravity. The illness. Concrete and blurred lines. Unsanctioned procedures and no cameras.

Home.

This is where true sickness lives.

It was only a matter of time until Ricci ended up locked behind one of these doors. His trying to put his hands on Mila in the courtyard wasn’t the first time he’d set his sights on a pretty girl who was visiting. As much as I hate that he got that close—nearly brushed Mila’s hair with his fingertips as he went for her throat—I’m thankful it landed him here, where no one can hear him scream.

I reach the cell at the end, pausing to peer through the window. Ricci is curled on his cot. The blanket kicked to the side, and his sheet twisted off the bed. It’s pathetic how easy this is. All it takes is one swipe of the duplicate key card in my hand for me to let myself in. There isn’t a corner of Montgomery I can’t get into with this.

Ricci stirs, barely. Patients in the basement are medicated to their breaking point. So high they can’t tell what time or day it is.

He probably thinks the door opening is a nurse dropping off food or medication. Which is why he barely flinches until I rip the sheet off his body. Ricci pushes to his elbows at the sudden movement. His hazy eyes squint into focus as I grab the sheet and spin it in my hands until it’s a tight rope.

It takes him a moment to process me standing in front of him before he finally jolts to sitting. Survival instincts are taking over, but it’s too late.

With a flick of both wrists, I fling the rope of sheet around Ricci’s neck.

Nails claw at me. Teeth snapping like a feral beast. I take an elbow to my side, and I have to give him credit for at least trying, even if it won’t slow me down or do him any good.

Ricci is used to preying on defenseless women who don’t see him coming. In this fight, he’s the one caught off guard and unmatched.

In a final attempt to break free, Ricci shoves hard off the bed, sending my back into the wall behind me. Air shoots out of my lungs, but I don’t loosen my grip on the sheet while Ricci starts to choke. His knees buckle with the lack of oxygen, and his body slumps face down onto his mattress. With better leverage, I plant a knee in the center of his back and pull the sheet tighter around his neck.

He claws at the mattress, clinging to the last remnants of his pathetic life.

I probably shouldn’t enjoy making him squirm—watching him fight.

But after visiting my parents’ house earlier, there’s been this itch crawling under my skin. This irritation begging to get out. It was that final straw that sent me circling back to Ricci. He may not have thought twice about the girl with the dark hair in the courtyard, but I did.

He looked at what’s mine. Tried to touch what’smine.

At some point, Ricci must give up his fight because his body is limp when the image of blood drains from my vision. The reek of piss fills the room as his body empties what is left of his miserable existence.