Page 99 of Their Little Ghost

“You seem distracted.” He frowns. “You’ll only prolong your stay if you’re not being honest with me.”

“I slept badly,” I say, feigning a yawn. “That’s all.”

He scratches his chin. “I heard about an unfortunate incident last night. I assure you that accidents are rare here, and your father is dealing with it.”

“That’s good to hear,” I say, having to bite my tongue to stop myself from sarcastically questioning how many other patients have had their penises turn into fireworks.

Despite the sickening display of violence, knowing Lex hurt my attacker to protect me makes me feel… wanted? I clench my aching thighs. On one hand, Lex’s ruthless, but he hides a more vulnerable side that I caught a brief glimpse of. I’m intriguedto learn more about him. I didn’t know it was possible to be terrified and turned on by someone at the same time.

“Why don’t we try another regression?” Doctor Warner suggests, retrieving his tape recorder. “Looking back often helps us look forward.”

“It’s not like I have anything better to do,” I grumble.

“This is for your own good,” he says. “You’ll see.”

I recline on the sofa and shut my eyes. Relaxing music with twinkling chimes and gentle waves fills the room. It has a familiar, comforting tune, and I follow it, finding it easy to be lulled into a trance by Doctor Warner’s dulcet drone.

My mind drifts away.

“Take me to a time when you were happiest,” Doctor Warner says, cutting through the noise.

“The piano,” I murmur, thinking of my safe place. “Before we moved to Pasturesville, we had a grand piano in the middle of the house. I used to play it for hours, looking out of the window across the garden.”

“Very good,” Doctor Warner says. “What was your life like then?”

“Every day was the same,” I reply. “Home, study, piano, then swimming.”

“What about school?” he presses.

“I spent most of my time in the library,” I say. “That’s where I ate my lunch.”

“What was the library like?” he pushes. “Describe it to me.”

“Nothing special. Lots of shelves… books…” I recall. “The air conditioning always broke, so it had a funny smell, kinda musty. No one else liked to hang out there.”

I sought sanctuary between the shelves, hiding away from other people and nibbling on whatever salad Mom packed for lunch. Long gone were the days of her sneaking sweet treats into our brown bags without my father’s knowledge.

“Did you have many friends?”

I shake my head, scrunching my eyes in concentration. Everything before we moved to Pasturesville seems foggy. My memories are within touching distance, yet they’re fuzzy. My life is split into two parts: life before Sarah went missing and after. It must be my brain’s way of protecting itself. Imagining her around is too painful to linger on.

Before Sarah disappeared and we moved to Pasturesville, Dad commuted to and from Sunnycrest. However, when the time he spent at the asylum kept getting longer, it made sense for us all to move closer. Sometimes I wonder whether we’d have all been better off if he left on his own and we stayed behind.

“What about Sarah?” Doctor Warner probes. “Did she have friends?”

“Yes,” I say. “Loads of them. She went to every party.”

A pounding bass suddenly pulses through my brain.

Strobe lights fill my vision, snapshots of people dancing, flitting from one scene to the next, too quickly to make out any details.

I laugh, throwing my head back.

Shots.

Liquid sloshes down my throat to the delight of a cheering crowd.

Clapping.