Page 32 of Unwell
The sound was wrong. Too loud and final.
I pounded on the door with my fists, but the thuds came back at me from every angle. Amplified and multiplied, a thousand bangs raining down from the inky nothing.
‘Let me out!’ My voice hit the walls before peeling back to attack me. Starting loud and desperate until they shrank to menacing whispers.
I clawed at the concrete until my hands stung, nails peeling back, broken. But no one came for me. Just my twisted voice to keep me company.
I cried for my mama. Yelled for my Pops. Screamed for Nurse Nancy.
I slid to the floor, wrapping myself around my belly and rocking as the sound swelled until I couldn’t tell if it was me or the room screaming.
The Echo Chamber had me losing my mind.
It would swallow me up.
TWENTY
NANCY
The bag of ribbons was still in my bag, crinkling faintly every time I moved. I hadn’t had the chance to see Ginny, yet, and hoped she was staying out of the woods. I’d check on her as soon as I finished my mission.
That mission? To break into Dr. Marney’s office and look through Ginny’s files. Someone had to know why she had been admitted.
Marney and his cronies almost always had an extended lunch break, chatting shit in the break room about patients. All I needed was twenty minutes. Hell, maybe only ten.
Dr. Marney’s secretary was absent as I approached his office, likely out chain-smoking whilehe had no need of her. I couldn’t blame her. Being close to him for any length of time made my skin crawl.
My fingers shook as I pressed down on the door handle, sweat coating my neck as it swung open. I slipped inside and closed it behind me while trying to calm my erratic breath.
The records cabinet sat in the far corner, half-open and spilling with papers. A quick glance through the stuffed drawers had me scanning the surnames.
Clark.
Where was Clark?
It would be easier to find her if Dr. Marney actually let his secretary file them. Of course, that would risk her discovering more about what he did in the depths of the asylum.
I flipped quickly, ears pricked for footsteps.
Then I saw it: Ginny Clark.
Her file was empty. No admittance paperwork. No details about Ginny’s history.
Fuck.
I slammed the file back into the drawer and steadied myself against his messy desk.
As exhaustion set in, I saw it. A slip of paper beside his telephone.
Ginny Clark. Marsh Ranch, Old Farm Road.
Her mother’s address. Ithadto be.
I mouthed the address to myself over and over. Memorising it. Whispering it like a prayer. Marsh Ranch, Old Farm Road. Marsh Ranch, Old Farm Road.
The doorknob rattled, and I jumped half out of my skin. I turned to plead my case as an orderly stepped in.
‘You’re not supposed to be here.’ His eyes narrowed, suspicion flaring within them.
