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Hunter told me that Dad didn't put Layla in any ordinary mental institution.
The institution he locked her away in is some backdoor, whacked-up place where people end up if you need to erase them.
As the plane takes off, I lean my head against Hunter's shoulder, and he slips an arm around me. Then I switch my gaze from the blank space on the floor to the tattoos on Virgo's fingers. He and Jericho are sitting across from us.
No one speaks. Everyone seems to be lost in thought.
In my mind, all I see is Layla. I keep imagining what hell she must have gone through all these long months in that mental institution. Dad paid those people half a million dollars to keep her locked away indefinitely.
Apparently, that picture Hunter showed me of Dad and Layla was of him visiting and taking her out for the day.
Dad had her diagnosed with schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, and all sorts of other mental illnesses to get her confined. Then he convinced people she was dangerous to make sure she got put in the securest part of the facility.
I’m beyond shocked, and I can’t even ask myself why anymore.
Hunter said Layla must have stumbled over something she shouldn't have.
I keep wondering what that could be. It must be something terrible for Dad to do this.
Layla must have been so scared all this time. She would have been terrified and vulnerable with no hope of getting help from anyone.
If I didn’t happen to go to her apartment that day and find the documents for the yoga retreat, we would never have found her. Or if we did, it might have been too late.
What did Dad plan to tell us when she never came home?
What if he had her killed in the end like that guy?
At this point, I think my father is capable of anything, so I wouldn’t put it past him. I just hate that Layla had to go through this.
I don't realize I'm crying until a teardrop lands on my hand. I lift my head and wipe my cheeks as more tears follow.
Surprisingly, Virgo is the first to hand me a tissue.
"Thank you," I say, giving him a small smile.
"Don't worry about your sister. We will get her back," he assures me in his thick Russian accent.
Hunter dips his head, appreciative of the kind words.
"Thank you for your help, both of you." I look at him and Jericho, and they both nod at me.
"Try to get some sleep," Jericho suggests.
I smile back at him just to be polite because I know I won't sleep, but my God, do I try. Sleep is usually my only escape, but it doesn't come.
Closing my eyes opens the door to the face of my new nightmare: my father.
I can't remember the last long-haul flight I was on where I stayed awake for the entire duration. I normally look forward to getting the chance to sleep and wake up in a new country. Today, I have no such experience. I keep worrying about what more we'll find out about my father. I guess I'll know soon enough.
The ten-hour flight ends an hour later, and we arrive in Marseilles.
We're picked up by a black Range Rover and driven for another hour to the Holman Asylum. The dark Gothic-looking building has my skin covered in goose bumps the moment I see it. The place reminds me of something you'd find in a horror movie.
Two burly guards stand at the gates. One approaches to ask us questions, but the words die in his mouth the moment he spots Virgo.
Terror replaces his former confidence, and I instantly see the reason Hunter got Virgo to come with us.
We drive through the gates and up to the building. When the four of us get out of the car, a tall, elegantly dressed man wearing a cravat comes out to meet us.
