Page 91 of Their Little Ghost

Sarah wails, and fat tears roll down her cheeks. “You’re hurting my arm, Daddy!” she yells.

“Behave yourself,” he hisses, dragging her away. “Why can’t you be more like your sister?”

Mom smiles sadly, stroking my hair, then winks. She quickly wraps two slices of cake in a napkin and stashes them in her purse. “We’ll save these two for tomorrow.” She puts a finger to her lips. “It’ll be our little secret.”

I nod seriously. “Our secret.”

The memory surprises me, and I feel a pang of sadness. I can’t remember the last time my mother disobeyed my father’s orders. Over the years, he must have stamped out her rebellious streak.

“Very good,” Doctor Warner says as I recount the story. “Why don’t we fast-forward to, say, high school? Tell me about that…”

Unlike recalling childhood, my memories are murkier the older I get, like they’re shrouded in a dark smoke. I can recall vague events, but they’re not vivid. The more I search for details, the blurrier they become.

“I don’t want to do this,” I blurt out. “Don’t make me.”

I can’t explain my reaction. Aside from Sarah’s disappearance, I’ve not been through anything especially traumatic, and my mind shuts off, stopping Doctor Warner from poking around in my head like a defense mechanism.

“Keep going, Erin,” Doctor Warner insists. “Tell me what you remember.”

“Piano,” I say, settling on a safe memory. Yes, the sweet piano. The constant among the chaos. My salvation in sadness. Remembering music calms me instantly. “I remember playing piano.”

“What else do you remember?” he presses.

“I spent a lot of time in the school library, reading books.”

“What else?” he pushes.

“Swimming,” I say. “I competed in a swim meet.”

“What about outside of school?”

“I…” I struggle to remember, wading through the misty blur. I see snatches of family life, but can’t pinpoint anything.

“Keep trying, Erin,” he says. “Think.”

Suddenly, I’m in the asylum again.

I’m in one of the rooms that the guys showed me during a previous visit, only it’s not Lex tied down. It’s me. Binds hold my legs and arms in place.

“Let me go!” I scream.

Dad doesn’t listen.

He lowers a metal helmet-like object onto my head while someone else straps electrodes to the side of my face.

I thrash around to make their job as difficult as possible, but it’s no use. I’m exhausted, and fighting is draining what’s left of my strength.

“This is for your own good,” Dad says.

“Don’t do this,” I whimper. “Please.”

It’s too late.

Zap!

Electricity courses through me. My body convulses. Someone shoves a rag into my mouth to stop me from biting off my tongue.

Zap!