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CHAPTER

SEVEN

ERIN

One week has passed since the Sunnycrest breakout.

The entire town is crawling with journalists from across the country.

Many are camped outside our house, desperate to get an exclusive quote from Magnus Acacia, the brains behind the asylum.

Amidst all the drama, Dad has hardly been at home.

When he isn’t working, he’s busy assisting the police with their inquiries.

After the initial public outcry, my father’s reputation has remained intact after the sheriff discovered a security guard was to blame.

Apparently, the guard confessed to letting them out in a note before taking an overdose.

It’s easy to blame one rotten apple and deem it a freak event.

Whatever the circumstances, there have been calls for Dad and his board of directors to review their protocols, which they’ve promised to do.

MIA: Are you watching this?

I roll over in bed and click the link in Mia’s text, which takes me to a breaking news bulletin. In light of the current situation, Dad begrudgingly gave my cell phone back.

I turn the volume up to listen to a news reporter, who stands outside Pasturesville’s sheriff’s station, where a crowd has assembled.

Over the last few days, the press has released more information about the seven asylum escapees.

So far, four have been caught. Two were found on the first day.

They plummeted to their deaths in a ravine along the treacherous mountain path.

My father claimed they suffered from severe hallucinations that would have easily led them astray.

Another patient was discovered a day later, eating out of a Burger King dumpster and barking like a dog.

The fourth, who they found yesterday, hitched a ride and made it three hundred miles.

The cops finally picked him up from a gas station after he snatched a pacifier from a baby and rolled around crying until they arrived.

The men’s faces are splashed over every newspaper, screen, and billboard for miles.

I’ve committed them all to memory, wondering which faces belong to the voices I heard in the darkness.

None of them seem to fit what I imagined.

After studying their profiles, I discovered all the escapees were under six feet tall.

Although, my earlier judgment of their height was probably impaired by the darkness and my drinking.

Since receiving their note, they haven’t communicated with me again. I should have burned it, but it’s hidden in my underwear drawer along with the vibrator from Mia. With the police going through our trash daily, it seems like the best place to keep it.

“There is a new development in the case of the escapees from Sunnycrest Asylum,” Sheriff Brady announces. I sit up in bed, paying full attention. “We’re delighted to announce that we have secured the final three patients. We picked them up on the Canadian border.”

Mia’s texts come thick and fast.

MIA: It’s over?!

MIA: Thank fuck… I was losing my mind at home!

Like many of our peers, she’s struggled with the imposed lockdown.

Everyone’s been complaining about it at school.

The entire town has been living in a constant state of fear, including me.

Stores have closed early, people have upgraded their home security systems, and countless neighbors have given interviews about how their lives have been turned upside down.

And now it’s over, reduced to a shady time in the town’s history… just like that.

Still, a weight lifts from my shoulders.

Maybe I’ll actually be able to sleep tonight.

Lately, the slightest floorboard creak has broken me out in a cold sweat, and I almost fell out of bed when a moth fluttered in front of my face.

Despite not hearing from the guys, I haven’t been able to shake the feeling of being watched…

“All of the apprehended patients are being transferred immediately to another facility out of state,” Sheriff Brady says.

“We appreciate it’s been a difficult time for our community.

We’ve come together and united in the face of adversity.

I want to thank the public and the staff at Sunnycrest Asylum for their continued support.

From now, the Pasturesville curfew is officially lifted. ”

A round of applause and cheers burst from the watching crowd in response.

I fall back onto my pillow and laugh in relief at the thought of my tormentors leaving town for good.

MIA: Do you think this means the ball is back on?

Normality has officially resumed again.

Probably. It’ll give people something to celebrate.

The Harvest Ball is a Stonybridge tradition to welcome fall. The administration is big on formal gatherings. Essentially, it’s an excuse to get dressed up. In the past, Dad only let me attend because he was a chaperone. After my recent escapades, I doubt he’ll let me go this year.

Mia sends a flurry of outfit ideas, drawing me back into a world where deciding what to wear to a dance is the most pressing issue. I text back with my opinions, knowing she’ll look beautiful in whatever she chooses. She always does.

A smash from downstairs interrupts our messaging. I tiptoe and poke my head around my bedroom door, right on time to hear a heavy object bouncing off the wall.

I wince at my father’s angry shout. “You stupid woman! What have I told you about going into my office?”

His office, in the basement, is out of bounds. I’ve only glimpsed inside twice, knowing it’s forbidden. It’s his territory. A land no one can cross into.

“I…” I strain to hear Mom’s timid reply. “I was dusting. I thought you’d appreciate the?—”

“Appreciate?” he fumes. “How many times have I told you not to go through my things?”

“I promise I didn’t touch anything,” she reasons. “I only?—”

I flinch as his hand hits her face and the sound cracks through the house like a thunderclap.

I was six years old when I walked in on him striking her for the first time.

Her right cheek was emblazoned with his handprint for hours after.

I remember her telling me to stay upstairs and reassuring me that they were only playing a game.

Since then, it’s become a pattern. Whenever something doesn’t go right for him, she takes the brunt of his bad moods and pretends everything is fine the next day.

Sarah tried to intervene a few times. She yelled at the top of her lungs for him to stop and threatened to report him.

He simply laughed. No one would believe that Magnus Acacia, the esteemed psychiatrist, beats his wife.

“Don’t you understand how stressful the last week has been for me, woman?” he roars. “I’ve worked around the clock to protect our family while criminals have roamed our streets, and this is how you choose to repay me?” He picks up another object and hurls it. “Clean up this mess!”

“Yes, Magnus,” she agrees like she always does.

I wish I were as brave as Sarah. There’s so much I’d like to say— want to say—but I don’t. Nothing will make a difference, anyway. She’ll never leave him.

Slowly, I shut my door. Although I don’t have three dangerous men to worry about anymore, I can’t help wondering whether they’re any worse than the monster I share my home with.

At breakfast the next morning, Mom overcompensates by preparing a mammoth feast, and my father acts extra appreciative.

“You’ve done a wonderful job with the eggs, Jocelyn,” he praises, squeezing her hand.

Her entire face lights up. I push my plate away, suddenly losing my appetite.

Her sole reason for existence is pleasing him, and even though I know she’s a victim, a part of me hates her for it.

Maybe if she stood up to him, I wouldn’t be how I am.

Maybe Sarah would still be here. Maybe the three of us could have had a happier life, but she’d choose him over her own daughters every single time.

“It’s a beautiful day,” Mom comments wistfully. “I see the reporters have left town.”

“They’ve moved on to the next big story, I expect,” he says. “They’re fickle. There’s nothing to write about now that everyone is where they belong.” Dad’s eyes narrow at me. “Aren’t you going to eat the food your mother has so lovingly prepared?”

Mom’s pleading gaze meets mine. I play along, spooning grapefruit into my mouth. Sour to match my mood.

“I’ve been reading the latest digest from the academy,” she says. Every week, parents receive a newsletter with updates from Stonybridge. “I see the concert has been rescheduled for the end of the week. Isn’t that wonderful news, honey? You’ve been working so hard.”

“Are you performance ready?” Dad queries.

“Yes,” I reply.

“The Harvest Ball is coming up soon,” Mom says. “Now all the nasty business is wrapped up, everything can finally return to normal again.”

I chew the gooey grapefruit until it turns to slime.

“So it is,” Dad says. “I expect you’ll want to go to the ball, Erin? All students attend.”

“I…” I almost choke. “I didn’t think you’d…”

Dad’s eyes flash a warning, letting me know I should consider what I’m about to say next carefully.

“I hadn’t thought about it,” I say. “With everything else going on, it seems kinda… trivial.”

“Nonsense,” Mom says, bubbling with enthusiasm. “I remember my own Harvest Ball. It’s the social event of the season. We need to find you something to wear. I’ll take you dress shopping! After the concert, you’ll have earned a fun night out with your friends. Tell her, sweetheart.”

Her excitement has given her a whole new lease of life. She’s never worked. She keeps her days busy with beauty appointments, shopping, and social engagements.

“Your mother’s right,” Dad agrees, to my surprise. “We must continue as normal. You will perform at the concert and attend the ball. How will it look if my daughter doesn’t go? We’re a high-profile family. We have influence here.”

“I guess I’ll go then,” I mumble. “We don’t have to go shopping, though. I have plenty of dresses in my closet.”

Unworn dresses she keeps buying that I’ll never wear.

“You need something new. I’ll go to the mall later today,” she insists. Her tone becomes animated as her mind strays to browsing racks, searching for the perfect piece. “I’ll find something for you.”

“You really don’t have to,” I object.

“Let your mother spoil you, Erin,” he says. He’s always nicer after they argue, even if it never lasts. “Don’t be ungrateful.”

“Will you be chaperoning this year, Dad?” I ask.

His lips purse. As much as he wants to keep an eye on me, his presence will draw a lot of attention after Sunnycrest’s recent publicity.

“I’m sure I can trust you alone at school for one night,” he says. “Can’t I?”

Mom laughs, but he’s not joking.

This is a test.

A test I can’t fail…