Page 46 of Lost Echoes
Dr. Hanson finally speaks. “You have been more lucid lately.”
“Proving my point.”
Her jaw tightens. “If we even consider this, we do it carefully. Structured, support in place. No rushing.”
But her tone doesn’t matter. Because at last, I know what I have to do.
The theater is waiting, and I’m going to walk back onto that stage.
“I want to go tonight.” The words come out fast, almost desperate. “If I wait, I’ll lose the nerve. I’ll talk myself out of it. Or worse, they’ll talk me out of it.”
Dr. Hanson’s brow furrows.
I lean forward, gripping the arms of my chair. “You don’t understand. I feel it. The stage is still inside me, pulling me back whether I want it or not. If I go there now, if I face it on my own terms, then I might be able to break it. I can finally stop it.”
Her expression softens, but her voice is firm. “I do understand. That’s why I can’t let you rush into this. A site session like this requires preparation—risk protocols, consent paperwork, safety measures. If we go in blind, I can’t protect you.”
Paperwork. The word grates, absurd in the face of what I’m carrying. How can that be what stands between me and my baby girl?
“Paperwork?” My voice rises, ragged. “Laurel didn’t hand me a consent form before she put the spool in my hands. She didn’t give me a pen when she told me to smile and hurt other children. I didn’t get to choose then, but I’m choosing now.”
Dr. Hanson doesn’t flinch. She lets the silence stretch until my breathing evens, if only a little.
Finally she says, “If you truly want to reclaim that stage, then we do it right. No one drags you back there, not even your own urgency. We go prepared. I’ll handle the paperwork, and I’ll make sure there are safeguards in place. You’ll have control.”
Her calm words chip away at the panic but don’t erase it. My hands still shake. My body is already halfway there, already walking those aisles.
But I force myself to nod. “Fine. Paperwork. But don’t make me wait long.”
“I won’t,” she says softly. “I promise.”
I grip the chair harder, the wood digging into my palms. Waiting even one more day feels like torture.
But if it means I won’t face the stage alone, maybe—just maybe—I can bear it.
24
Billa
By the time I’m finally talking with Ember and Luke again, my hands are still shaking. I keep them stuffed in my pockets, as if I can hide my nerves along with everything else.
We’re in Ember’s room at the mansion, the three of us hunched over her laptop. The glow paints their faces stark, all hard edges and shadows.
“We need to pull it all together,” Luke says, sketching notes across a scrap of paper. “Phoenix’s files, Compass’s maps, Ghost’s financials, what you learned at the support group. Every thread connects.”
Ember glances at me. “And you said you’ve been… seeing things at Radley?”
My throat goes tight. The image of my mother under that harsh fluorescent light sears into me again. Her hands flipping through a file. The look in her eyes, one moment from catching mine.
I nod slowly. “There are places below the hospital. Locked doors, old corridors. They’re hiding a lot.”
Ember leans forward, eyes fierce. “Then that’s it. That’s our proof.”
Luke adds, “If there are sub-levels still in use, that explains the deletions Ghost was seeing. They’re hiding current operations, not just history.”
They’re both looking at me now, waiting. My heart pounds so hard it hurts. I could tell them everything—that my mother isn’t who I thought she was, that she’s involved. That the questions she scribbled in her notes weren’t just idle curiosities.
The words press against my teeth. I should tell them. Tell them now.
