Page 94 of Their Little Ghost

Her face pales and she stammers. “I’m only following orders.”

“Relay my message,” I say coldly. “And I’m going to eat in my room.”

“We don’t let?—”

I shoot her a sharp ‘don’t mess with me’ look. “I’m Doctor Acacia’s daughter,” I say. If everyone already knows who I am, there’s no point in hiding it. “I’m sure you can make an exception this once. I expect a fresh tray waiting in my room after I shower.”

The nurse’s jaw drops, and I don’t wait for her permission before stomping out.

“Bitch,” Charlie mutters under her breath.

I rise above it… this time.

The same moody woman from this morning is monitoring the bathroom.

“Back again?” She looks down her nose at me. “You can only shower in the mornings.”

I narrow my eyes. “I’m showering now, unless you want to look for another job.”

She blinks hard, surprised by my transformation.

I hold out my hand. “Towel.”

She mumbles something I can’t make out, but hands me a towel, anyway.

“I want shampoo this time,” I say. “And clean clothes.”

She looks like she wants to tell me to stick the shampoo where the sun doesn’t shine.

“I told you this morning?—”

“I know you were lying,” I snarl, not backing down again.

She scowls and reluctantly hands me a clean uniform and a bottle from under the desk. The shampoo isn’t a luxury brand, but anything beats the smell of three-day stewed kidney beans. When I get home, I’ll never take Mom’s fancy toiletries from the spa for granted again.

As before, the water pressure is terrible, but I successfully wash the funk out of my hair and don’t make the mistake of hanging anything over the side of the door.

Suddenly, a deafening siren blares through the facility. I put my hands to my ears, cringing as the sound vibrates my bones. A flurry of activity in the hall follows the noise. I peer around the door and watch two doctors race past, shouting over the alarm. I hear the words ‘understaffed’ and ‘suicide’. A security guard stops by the bathroom, requesting help from the towel bitch, who points in my direction, torn about leaving her post.

“I’m about to head to my room,” I say, rolling my eyes. “I’m sure I can make it a few steps without you watching me.”

She can’t hear me properly from her position, but seems to get the gist of what I’m saying. She hesitates for a second before following the guard.

A few minutes later, after drying and redressing, I hum as I step out of the cubicle, feeling victorious. As I do, the stall door on my left opens. Suddenly, freckled arms wrap around my neck and yank me inside it.

The redheaded asshole who threatened me earlier slams the door behind us, shutting us in the shower cubicle. A maniacal grin spreads over his sharp features as he brandishes a shiv. His blade is made from a jagged red plastic, likely from a broken lunch tray, and has been attached to a pencil with sticky tape.

“Your father has taken everything from me,” he spits. “It’s time I take something back. If you move, I’ll make sure you’ll bleed out.”

I try to push him away, but he’s deceptively strong. He swipes the plastic across the side of my throat. A warm trickle drips down my neck.

“Help!” I shout. “Someone help!”

No one will hear me over the noise, but it’s better than doing nothing.

“Don’t struggle,” he hisses. His rancid breath fanning my face makes me want to hurl. “It’ll only hurt more.”

“Please,” I beg. “You don’t have to do this.”