“Of course, I want to fucking escape,” I snap. “Who the fuck wouldn’t?”
Her shoulders straighten, her cheerful facade fading slightly as my tone registers. “Well, I’m not sure. We’re not allowed out much, and the only time I’ve seen outside was during an alarm drill.”
My gaze flickers across the room, searching for anything resembling a fire alarm or an exit.
“Oh, you won’t find one in here,” she says nonchalantly, leaning in as though sharing another secret. “They’re in the hallways, but they’re locked with fobs.”
I sag, my shoulders heavy with exhaustion and hopelessness. Running my hands over my face, I take a deep breath to steady myself.
“Tell me,” I say after a moment, “what kind of people come here? Any more young people?”
“Oh, yeah,” she replies lightly. “Kids come in here frequently. Some stay, some go. Right now, there aren’t any.”
My pulse quickens. “Why? Do they go through the same ‘therapy’ as everyone else?”
She nods, her face going blank, her gaze unfocused. “Yes, they do. Sometimes they’re sent here by their parents to be… cured. Or so I’ve heard.”
Her words tighten the coil of dread in my chest. The puzzle pieces fall into place, one by one, forming a picture that makes my blood boil. Sacred Heights isn’t just some forgotten asylum—it’s part of the system. It explains everything. Why they took Ty when he was thirteen. Why they’ve taken me now. They want to erase us. To stop us from speaking.
This is about control. About secrets.
“Dr Moss doesn’t like it when people aren’t cured,” the girl says suddenly, her voice faint, as if speaking from another plane. “When that happens, he tries harder. And it hurts.”
I lean in, my breath hitching as her focus snaps back to me. “Has anyone ever pretended to be cured… and he’s found out?”
Her face lights up in a chilling smile before falling flat again, almost robotic. “Oh yes. That makes him very, very angry.”
A chill runs down my spine, my skin prickling. My mind races. Dr Moss knows. He knows what Ty’s been doing. Letting him out wasn’t a mistake—it was a test, a trap to see if he’d slip. This isn’t about rehabilitation.
It’s a fucking game.
“Has there been any riots in here?” I whisper, my eyes wide as I take a quick glance behind me.
“Not often, but I’ve seen a few.”
My eyes snap to hers. “What happens?”
A giggle escapes her lips, almost like she’s remembering something darkly amusing. “Well, once Joanie shouted at the top of her lungs that they’re trying to kill us, and the place went crazy. Staff were attacked, but they overpowered us.”
I just stare at her, a sick feeling twisting in my stomach. I drop my head with a sigh, trying to process it all.
“I’ve heard there’s a way out.” She suddenly says and my attention darts to her.
My heartbeat picks up as I lean in slightly. “Where?”
She leans closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I’ve heard there’s a door at the back of the kitchen on the lowest floor. It’s supposed to be an escape route, but of course, it’s useless with all the security here.”
I raise an eyebrow, the gears in my mind already turning. “Not everything is impossible if someone here isn’t out of their mind.”
Her eyes widen with excitement, and for a brief moment, I see something dangerous behind her unhinged smile. “Can I help?”
I lean closer, lowering my voice to a near whisper, my eyes scanning the room for any prying eyes or listening ears. “If you’re serious about helping, then I need you to focus. No giggling, no distractions. Got it?”
Her expression shifts, the usual unhinged giddiness melting into something sharper. She nods eagerly, her excitement now toughened with a hint of seriousness.
“You said there’s a door in the kitchen on the lowest floor. Tell me everything you know about it.”
“It’s hidden, tucked behind a storage rack.”