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SADIE

Night Nine

(Truth Serum)

T he truth serum part of the experiment is finally here.

Even though Dr. Weiss has walked me through it daily—explained each stage, each reaction, each possible side effect—it still feels too soon.

There are too many people in the room, too…

I’ve counted six so far—including my new lawyer, who seems marginally better than the last, but still smells like doubt and desperation. A full row of cameras blink from the ceiling. No one’s even pretending to be discreet.

Just say the right things, Sadie. Say the right things.

The examination room is drenched in stark, sterile white. Like a morgue lit by surgical cruelty. I’m its unwilling centerpiece—strapped to a surgical bed, arms and legs pinned tight. My fingers are already numb, and something thick and synthetic presses over my mouth.

“Miss Pretty,” a soft voice to my left murmurs. “We’ll be injecting you with one of four serums over the next five minutes. The first one is the only one you’ll feel.”

I try to nod, but the restraints won’t let me move. Whatever they gave me minutes before is fogging up my thoughts already, blurring the edges of my vision into a soft white bleed.

“Administering serum one…”

The needle pierces deep—too deep—into my right arm. My gasp is muffled beneath the mask, and tears slip free before I can stop them.

“It’s alright, Miss Pretty.” The voice is calm. “The worst of it is over now.”

But it isn’t. Not even close.

“Administering serum two… three… four…”

The bed tilts forward. Then back. Flashing lights slice through my vision like a knife, and suddenly the entire room floods with brightness.

I can see masked faces above me. Three. Maybe four. But I’d know those eyes anywhere. One pair isn’t masked at all.

Dr. Weiss.

His stare holds mine through the chaos, steady and unreadable. But there’s tension in his jaw. That familiar tick.

“Miss Pretty,” says a voice to the right—Robin. “You’re currently under an elevated level of sedation, far beyond what’s typically allowed, but it’s necessary. We mean no harm.”

“...I can still feel pain in my arm.” My voice is thick, sluggish. “It’s not getting better.”

“It will,” she says. Stern this time. “Give it time. As the serums circulate, we’ll monitor your responses. All you have to do is tell the truth. We’ll handle the next phase of your behavioral study from there.”

“I can’t concentrate.” I try to look at Dr. Weiss, beg him to make this stop. “Please…”

Be patient, Sadie. He answers with his eyes, but it isn’t enough.

“Let’s start with some simple, off-the-record questions,” Robin says, shining a penlight into my pupils. “When’s the last time you had sex?”

“What…” My brain trips over the question. A full answer teeters on the edge of my tongue— depends on the type of sex…

“Robin, that’s not appropriate,” Dr. Weiss says tightly.

“It’s off the record,” she snaps. “Fine. Ignore that. When’s the last time you touched a man?”

“Twenty minutes ago,” I murmur. “When Mr. Sheldon strapped me down.”

“Intimately, Sadie.”

“Sex isn’t allowed in prison, Robin. Try before that.”

“We’ll circle back,” she says, amused. “Eventually.”

“Stop fucking around, Robin,” Dr. Weiss growls. “Be professional.”

The lights above me dim without warning. Lower. Lower.

Then—darkness.

I can only see the soft reflection of curved glass cameras glinting overhead.

“I’m going to ask you some questions, Miss Pretty.” Dr. Weiss’s voice slips through the dark like silk. “Answer clearly. Truthfully.”

I fight the serum, but it’s too strong.

“Have you ever killed someone?”

Say no, just say no.

“Yes.”

Silence. No gasps. Just weighted, unnatural stillness.

“Did you kill Jonathan Baylor?”

“No.”

“Heath Baylor?”

“No.”

“Gregory Sorenson?”

“No.”

The pause this time is longer. Unsettling.

“So… you’ve killed someone else?” Robin’s voice slithers into my ear. Too close.

“I think we gave her too much of the third serum,” Dr. Weiss says. “Let’s wait.”

I can’t tell how long the silence lasts. The drugs turn seconds into syrup, and I’m slipping under—fast.

“Okay, Sadie,” Robin whispers. “Let’s try it differently. Why did you murder Jonathan Baylor?”

“I didn’t.”

“But you’ve murdered someone?”

“Not him,” I say. “Not his dad. Not that awful friend, either.”

Another pause.

“Jonathan deserved to die anyway,” I say. The words aren’t mine, and yet they are. “He was a bad person.”

“Sadie…” Robin’s voice softens, coaxing. “You never really knew Jonathan outside the classroom. You don’t know that.”

“Jonathan Baylor raped me,” I say. “He got away with it. He deserved to die, but I didn’t kill him.”

The collective gasp this time is audible, and it’s followed by quick murmurs and rustling.

“That’s enough,” Dr. Weiss cuts in, his voice slicing clean through the tension. “Hit the lights.”