Page 101 of Their Little Ghost

“What happened?” he asks, his forehead wrinkling in concern.

“I…” I steady my breathing, knowing I can’t tell him. How can I? “I saw Sarah and Dad arguing. She came home from a party, and he wasn’t happy that she was late.”

“Are you sure that’s all you saw?” Doctor Warner probes. “You can trust me.”

I put my hand to my head. “I think I’ve got a migraine coming on.”

He opens his mouth to argue, then decides against it, and nods.

“Very well,” he says. “I’ll see you at the same time again tomorrow.”

I hurry out of the room, unable to shake the vision. Has hypnosis unlocked a hidden memory? Can I really have known what happened to Sarah all this time? Or am I really going crazy? How do I know if what I saw was real?

I pace across the cafeteria, which I have to cut through to return to my room. I don’t pay attention to where I’m going, flying out the door and colliding with a figure, who is rushing in the opposite direction.

“S-sorry,” the guy stammers, then freezes as soon as he realizes who he’s walked into.

It’s him. The guy who called me Sarah and has been trying to avoid me since.

Before he has the chance to get away, I grab his arm.

“Wait!” I say. I’m taking a risk, but I can’t let him slip away again. “Don’t go.”

His eyes dart around in fear. “I can’t speak to you.”

“It’ll only take a second,” I say. “Please.”

“Do you know what they’ll do to me?” he hisses, tugging himself free. “If they find out we’ve been talking?”

“Aiden and the others won’t hurt you,” I insist. “I’ll explain that you were helping me. All I want is to find out what really happened to my sister.”

“You already know,” he whispers. “You don’t need me to tell you.”

“I can’t remember—not properly, anyway,” I confess. “You called me Sarah. That means you knew her, right? Was she here? Did you spend time with her?”

A slamming door ends my interrogation.

“Erin.” My father’s voice makes my blood run cold. “I hope you’re not upsetting my patients.” His stare lands coldly on my, now cowering, companion. “Return to your room, Alfred.”

Alfred bows his head, half trembling, taking any hope of getting more answers with him as he hurries away.

Two orderlies brandishing clipboards flank Dad, who marches toward me like a sergeant heading into battle. The temperature seems to drop a few degrees with each step he takes. It’s the first time we’ve seen each other since I arrived, and his expression is filled with blatant disapproval.

“Doctor Warner informed me that you left your therapy session early,” he says. So much for our sessions being confidential. “I was on my way to check on you. However, you must be feeling better, if you’re fraternizing with male patients.”

“I have a headache,” I say. “I was going back to my room when I stopped Alfred to ask when lunch was served. He did nothing wrong.”

“You should have checked your schedule,” Dad says, unconvinced by my story.

“I forgot,” I say lamely.

Dad glowers at me, his mouth settling into a frown that draws his eyebrows together.

“Can we talk?” I ask. “Alone?”

The orderlies gape, like I’ve requested something inconceivable. God forbid they be parted from their master for a single second.

Dad sighs, then reluctantly nods at the others to disperse. They remain close, hovering just out of earshot.