Page 63 of The Locked Ward

The constant shuffle of the bald man’s footsteps is a countdown now, a reminder that time is running out.

You watch him come into view, round the corner and disappear, then reappear a couple of minutes later. Again and again and again. Your thoughts spin in constant loops, too.

Twenty years in jail—if you survive, which you won’t—or medication that will render you insane. Which choice is less horrifying?

“Somebody’s popular,” Opal barks, her lips inches away from your ear. “Guess who’s coming to see you now?”

She’s taken to sneaking up on you ever since yesterday, when you hung up on Mandy and went to your room to lie on your bed, despairing. You were curled in the fetal position when Opal leaned in close and shouted into your ear, “Are you awake?”

You flinched, which was all she needed. Ever since, she’s used every chance to blast her voice at you.

Did the senator’s people kill Tony Wagner? Maybe they made it look like a heart attack or suicide. No one will question the coroner’s findings too closely. Tony was a heavy smoker, and his nose and cheeks were lined with tiny purple veins from his years of alcoholism.

You’d asked Mandy to come see you today. Even if she’s angry you threw her into Colby’s path, she has to understand both of your lives are now at risk.

You need a Hail Mary play. Mandy is smart and tough. She can help you create one.

You drag yourself out of bed. You’re too listless to comb your hair or change the clothes you slept in. Your eyes are having trouble focusing; it’s as if your body is shutting down, preparing for the inevitable.

“Move it,” Opal hisses as she leads you to the familiar room with two heavy chairs. Opal lingers a few feet behind your chair, her warm, heavy breaths landing on the top of your head.

Footsteps approach. They’re lighter than yesterday’s. It’s a woman coming to see you; it must be Mandy.

Then your visitor steps through the doorway, her kind face creased with worry.

“Georgia? I was so worried about you… I had to come back.”

It’s Patty. She’s wearing a dark pantsuit and low heels, and there’s color in her cheeks. It’s like she was two-dimensional before, and she’s bloomed now that she’s living back in the real world.

She takes the seat across from you. You can tell from her expression she recognizes your despair.

She glances at Opal. “Can we have a bit of privacy?”

Opal smiles smugly. “She’s my one-to-one. I need to be here.”

Patty assesses her. She’s a businesswoman now, not an emotionally broken being. You’re viewing her in a completely different light. You can envision her running a bank or holding court in a boardroom. She’s not used to answering to people, you suddenly realize. She’s used to giving the orders.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name?”

“Opal.”

“Well, Opal, I understand that you need to observe Georgia, but you do not need to overhear our conversation, nor will you. So please step into the doorway. Unless you’d rather I get your supervisor?”

Opal’s mouth puckers like she’s bitten into a lemon. But she moves away.

Patty smiles at you, warmth flooding back into her expression. It thaws the ice around you a bit.

“I can’t stay long, sweetie. I just wanted to tell you not to give up.

Once you’re out of here and feeling better, you won’t believe how beautiful life can be.

The things I took for granted—the sound of rain at night, or the feel of my cat purring against me—are so precious to me now.

It will get better, Georgia. I promise.”

She’s trying to lift your spirits, but she doesn’t understand.

“Is there anything you need?” she asks. “A change of clothes, or some food you’re craving?”

A prickle of bright energy runs through your body as you consider the opportunity she just offered you. It’s a risk, but one you have to take. What’s the alternative?

You lean closer to her. “I need you to get the silver bookend tested for my fingerprints,” you whisper. “Find a way to do it independently, without the police or my lawyer involved.”

Patty’s face is like a caricature of surprise. It’s the first time she’s heard you speak.

Your fingerprints aren’t on the bookend. The shopkeeper put it in a box and wrapped it for you. Will it be enough to create reasonable doubt?

Patty’s eyes flick up to Opal. Then she leans closer to you.

“I don’t understand. What’s going on, Georgia?”

You plunge in, your stomach dropping like you’re leaping off a cliff. “Annabelle and Senator Dawson were having an affair. It was going on for a while, I think.”

Patty’s voice is incredulous: “What are you saying? Do you think he killed Annabelle?”

“Yes. Or maybe someone close to him.”

She leans back and exhales. “My God.”

“Do you believe me?” you ask desperately.

She looks you square in the eye. “I do,” she says simply.

And the world blooms for you, too. You are acutely aware of everything around you: the gentle puff of cool air blowing from the vent above your head and the sweet smell of Patty’s shampoo.

Your favorite old sweatshirt, the one Mandy brought you, so soft and light against your skin.

Hope expands in your chest. The world will be so beautiful to you now, if you just get another chance to live in it.

“I’ve known about their affair for a while,” Patty whispers.

Your body jerks back as your eyes pop wide open. Her words make no sense.

“He saw Annabelle as often as he could. She was the only person he would ever rearrange his schedule for.”

A shrieking noise erupts in your head. It’s as if Patty has pulled off a mask, letting you see the cold marble surface beneath.

This can’t be happening. Is it? Or have you already gone insane?

“If Annabelle went on a date, he made me find out all about the guy before the guy even rang the bell to pick Annabelle up. I think the good senator was a bit obsessed with your little sister. Maybe that’s where Colby gets it from.” Patty gives a little laugh.

Your mouth is bone-dry. Your fingers grip the edge of your chair. “You work for him,” you whisper.

“Bingo.” She smiles. “But you won’t find me on any official payroll.”

You grow faint and dark spots cloud your vision. You’ve read about people like Patty. They fly beneath the radar, doing the sort of dirty work that can’t be traced to the politician it benefits.

She stretches her arms over her head, like she’s luxuriating from waking up from a long nap.

“Do you know what it’s like to have power over the most powerful person in the world?

I will soon. It was worth cutting my wrists.

I made sure to call 9–1–1 before I did it, and I didn’t cut too deeply.

These scars? They’re my battle wounds. They’ll remind the president every single day of what I did for him. ”

Bile rises in your throat. You have to get out. But Patty is between you and the door.

“I had to know what you knew, Georgia. And you caved so very easily.” She’s smiling.

“One last thing. You say your fingerprints aren’t on the murder weapon.

I can assure you they are, Georgia. Do you actually think I’d miss a detail like that?

So plead guilty or get the death penalty.

The choice is yours. But that’s the only choice you get to have for a long, long time. ”