Page 40

Dear Saint,

There’s a girl nicknamed Sleeping Beauty here.

I guess she’s been here a while. One of the other girls, Beckett, likes to go into her room and steal stuff.

She seemed appalled that Sleeping Beauty even had stuff to begin with.

But then Dr. Hawthorne mentioned that her brother still holds out hope she’ll one day wake up.

Because of that hope, he spends money on giving her a private room, and he fills it with things she used to like. I guess the thought behind it is that if she does wake up, she’ll feel safe and protected.

Isn’t that the saddest thing you’ve ever heard?

A lot hinges on an if.

Beckett has been told to stop stealing from her. One of Dr. H’s nurses caught Beckett in the act, and Beckett was moved to a different building.

That means a new doctor and all that.

But it’s piqued my interest, Saint. I can’t stop thinking about this girl who’s apparently not going to wake up, surrounded by treasure.

Whoever gave her the nickname probably nailed it on the head.

Did she prick her finger on a sewing needle, or whatever that cursed object was?

Is she surrounded by thorns, guarded by a dragon?

It’s given me something to focus on, at any rate. Everyone is starting to decorate for Christmas, which will be here in two days, and everything reminds me of what I’ve seemed to have lost.

You. My brother and his family. Antonio.

The list would go on. It’d include Nyx, Reese, hell, even Kade can be thrown on there. Not that any of them are gone -gone except Nyx.

So maybe she’s the one who will be with me this holiday season.

Now that I think about it, I can blame her bad influence on my need to see Sleeping Beauty. She would’ve been just as curious as me.

I hope you’re well.

Give everyone my love.

Merry Christmas.

Artemis

My letter does not address that he told me he loves me.

It does address my burning curiosity, which I seek to satiate immediately. As soon as I finish writing, I shrug on my zip-up sweatshirt and those stupid slip-on shoes.

Room 109. I haven’t had a reason to even go down there until now.

Well, okay, I don’t really have a reason.

I’m just gonna go, see what all the fuss is about, then leave.

Some part of me assumes she’s going to be the boogeyman. Or perhaps she’s not actually asleep?

Imagine if she was pretending?

Then letting Beckett get away with theft would be savage. Borderline criminal.

Everyone is busy with holiday preparations. They’re doing a tree-decorating contest in the dining hall, and then a Christmas movie after dinner with hot chocolate and popcorn. The residents* all seem to have accepted that they’re here for the winter, if not longer.

But not me. I’m just visiting, per the asterisk.

Maybe it’s an extended visit.

I reach the hallway I need. The first room is 101. Then 103. All the odds… all the way down to 109 at the end. Her door is solid wood and closed.

I knock just in case, checking over my shoulder to make sure no nurse is about to catch me. The last thing I want is to be relocated like Beckett. Not when I’ve been getting comfortable around the other girls.

When no one answers, I slip inside.

Soft light comes in through a large picture window. The lamp beside the sleeping girl’s bed is on, too, casting a warm glow across the blankets and part of her face.

She is sleeping. And sure enough, the room is filled with things.

The blue shoes have been returned, sitting on top of a dresser in the corner of the room.

There’s also a globe, a Rubik’s Cube, a puzzle box.

A vase of fresh flowers is on the other nightstand, closer to the window.

The blanket draped over her legs is special, and it seems extra-soft.

I drift closer.

Sleeping Beauty.

She is pretty. Her white-blonde hair has been well taken care of, and it lies smoothly across her small breasts. They have her in a hospital gown, maybe to better take care of her? She has a feeding tube fed through her nose, and an IV taped to the back of her hand.

My heart pulls for her.

She’s really, really pretty. Her lips are like a bow, and the kind of natural pink lipstick companies would be envious of. Her eyelashes and eyebrows are dark blonde, and her complexion is pale.

I go to the foot of the bed to get a direct look at her.

A clipboard hangs there.

After only a moment of resistance, I pick it up and scan her chart.

Lyssa Laurent .

I drop it.

Luckily—I mean, seriously, luckily —it’s attached. It doesn’t clatter to the floor, it just swings wildly before settling against the rail.

The first thing that stands out?

Laurent . As in—Kade Laurent.

The sister with the medical bills.

Surely it can’t be her ?

And then there’s another thing. Her first name… Not Alyssa. Not Liza.

Lyssa.

I’ve only seen that once.

My heart bangs against my ribs as I inch up to her side. I don’t really want to do this, but it’s a surefire way to confirm.

I check under her gown, and the blood rushes away from my head when I spot the single pierced nipple.

“I’m going to be sick,” I whisper to her.

Everything is starting to make sense.