Page 233 of Secrets Along the Shore

I didn’t know how long I had sat there. The journals blurred together. Some were hand-typed. Others were annotated copies of medical articles, all with Scanlon’s frantic scrawl in the margins. Pages and pages about experimental herbs, oils, ear canal regeneration, neural re-patterning.

At some point, the sun set. I barely noticed the light dimming. The room’s only window now provided only shadows. Only when my eyes strained to make out the next sentence did I realize how dark the room had become.

“Becca!” I called out, standing quickly, the journal falling from my lap. “I’m coming downstairs! I found something on Livvie.”

I gathered a few papers I wanted to show her and moved to the bookcase. I’d opened it earlier without any trouble. But now…

It wouldn’t budge.

I pushed harder, bracing my shoulder against the hidden latch. It didn’t move.

“Becca?” I shouted again. I hoped louder this time. I pounded once on the back of the bookcase. Nothing.

The light finally gave out, plunging the room into utter blackness. I backed up slowly, my arms outstretched, careful not to knock into the desk or the sharp-edged chair I’d moved out of the way earlier. My breaths came short and fast.

Locked in. Trapped. Blinded. Completely cut off from the world. From safety.

I pressed my back to the wall and slid down until I sat on the wooden floor. My heart pounded in my ears, thudding so hard I could almost hear it.

Not again. Not like before.

A memory flashed in my mind as though a light in my brain turned on. Back in this lodge, I’d been locked in my bedroom for an entire weekend while Scanlon observed me in isolation. He called it his control environment. I called it a cell.

I remembered banging on the door, begging to be let out. He wouldn’t come. Not until he believed the environment had produced what he needed. I’d counted the hours. Days. I remembered curling up under the desk, feeling so alone.

Now I was here. In another locked room. Alone.

But this time, I knew the truth. This time, I wouldn’t forget what he did.

I crawled across the floor in the dark, reaching for his desk. I felt around for anything that could produce light. Was there a lighter? A match? A flashlight?

My hand brushed a metal object on the desk. A pen. No help.

Then something else—a box. A small box tucked under a stack of papers. I opened it blindly, feeling inside.

Batteries. Maybe for a recorder. I dug deeper—yes! A small flashlight.

I fumbled with it, praying it worked. When the soft glow flicked on, I nearly cried.

The weak light illuminated the desk and the other objects in the box. I looked closer to see an old VHS cassette, labeled Patient #11. I withdrew it, a sinking feeling of what could be on the tape.

Evidence, perhaps. Had Scanlon videoed an experiment?

I scanned the room until the light fell on a television and an old VHS player. If only I had electricity to play it.

I grabbed another box and filled it with all I had found. I banged on the back of the bookcase door again, but it still didn’t move. Was it locked from the outside? Had Becca done this?

No. She wouldn’t. Would she? The woman was so broken, anything was possible.

I needed to get out. I needed someone to believe what I’d found.

I aimed the flashlight around the room, searching for another exit.Nothing. Just shelves and more shelves of dusty medical tomes and bound notebooks.

I grabbed the box, then I sat back against the wall, the flashlight flickering in my hand, and waited for Becca to come looking for me.

I didn’t know how long I sat there before the bookcase’s movement vibrated along the floorboards. A dim light spilled into the room. Becca ran in with a flashlight.

“Scarlett! Are you okay? It was jammed! I swear, I didn’t?—”