Chapter 2

Leland's chest puffed out slightly. A smug, satisfied smile touched the corners of his mouth.

He truly believed the three years of isolation and chemical restraints had crushed her spine. He believed she was finally the obedient, broken dog the Campbell family needed her to be.

"Follow me," Leland ordered.

He turned on his heel and walked out of the isolation room. Ella followed. Her legs felt heavy and weak, but she forced her steps to remain even.

They walked down the sterile white corridor until they reached the heavy oak door of Dr. Finch's office.

Leland pushed it open without knocking.

Dr. Finch, a balding man with wire-rimmed glasses, shot up from his plush leather chair. He wiped his sweaty palms on his slacks.

Leland tossed the discharge papers onto the mahogany desk. It landed with a soft slap.

Finch adjusted his glasses. He picked up the paper, his eyes darting nervously between Leland and Ella. He cleared his throat.

"Mr. Campbell, I must advise against this," Finch said, his voice dripping with fake medical concern. "Ella's borderline personality disorder is highly volatile. She is prone to pathological lying and violent outbursts. Another year of intensive therapy-"

"Another year of draining my family's trust fund, you mean," Leland interrupted. His voice was like a whip.

Finch swallowed hard. The greed in his eyes was obvious.

"I can control a broken girl, Doctor," Leland said. He leaned over the desk, invading Finch's space. "Sign the bottom line. Now."

Finch's shoulders sagged. Knowing he had lost his cash cow, he picked up a gold pen and scribbled his signature.

He opened his top drawer and pulled out a small, clear glass vial filled with liquid, along with a sealed syringe.

"Take this," Finch said, sliding the vial across the desk. "It's a highly potent synthetic sedative cocktail. If she has a psychotic break at the gala, inject it straight into her thigh. It will suppress her nervous system and neutralize her in a matter of minutes."

Leland picked up the vial. He slipped it into his pocket.

Ella stood near the door. She watched the two men trade drugs and signatures to manage her like she was a dangerous piece of livestock. Her chest felt tight, but she forced her breathing to remain shallow. She felt nothing but a deep, hollow pity for them.

A nurse walked into the office. She carried a battered, taped-up cardboard box.

"Her personal belongings from admission," the nurse mumbled, shoving the box into Ella's arms.

Ella gripped the bottom of the box. Her index finger slid along the bottom edge. She felt the slight bulge under the false cardboard bottom.

Her heart gave a hard, sudden thump against her ribs.

The three notebooks filled with AP Calculus, Macroeconomics, and Advanced Literature notes-smuggled in page by page by a sympathetic janitor-were still there. Her entire future was hidden in that half-inch gap.

Leland looked at the dirty box. His nose wrinkled.

"Go to the bathroom down the hall," Leland commanded. "Take off that disgusting hospital gown. Put on whatever rags are in that box. You are not getting into my car smelling like a psych ward."

Ella nodded. She hugged the box to her chest and walked out.

She entered the small, flickering bathroom and locked the door. The loud click of the lock gave her a sudden rush of oxygen.

She set the box on the sink and looked in the mirror.

Her cheekbones were sharp enough to cut glass. Her skin was a sickly, translucent white. But her dark eyes were burning. The dead, compliant look was gone, replaced by a fierce, terrifying clarity.

"Tonight," she whispered to her reflection.

She stripped off the hospital gown. She pulled out the faded, dark blue dress she had worn the night they dragged her away three years ago. It was too short now, hitting her mid-thigh, and tight across her chest.

She smoothed the cheap fabric down. She picked up her box, unlocked the door, and walked out to meet Leland.