Page 42 of Break Me: Smith and Belle

“And how do you know Miranda?” she asked curiously.

“I bought her house,” I said with a grim smile.

“It’s not common knowledge that she’s here,” Dr. Fellows informed me. “May I ask how you knew?”

“My gardener worked for the family. His brother was a friend of hers.”

“Ah, Seth,” she guessed.

“You knew Seth?” I studied her for a moment. She looked to be in her forties, not old enough to have been here when Miranda first came.

“Seth visited often. In fact, he was the last visitor Mrs. Thorne had.” She led me toward a pair of double doors, pausing to swipe an access card. “I have to warn you that Miranda doesn’t speak much.”

“I just want to see her.” I didn’t know what seeing Miranda would prove to me.

Fellows stopped in front of a door and knocked before opening it. I was surprised to see it was unlocked. She poked her head inside. “Mrs. Thorne, you have a visitor.” She moved to the side. “Please return your name badge when you leave. We like to keep track of them.”

“That’s it?” I asked. “Don’t you need to lock the door or watch or something?”

“Usually,” she admitted before glancing at Miranda who sat silently on the bed, staring at the wall. “But Miranda has been here longer than any other patient in the facility. Most people pass through our facilities for a few weeks or months. She’s been here for decades, as you know. She’s never tried to escape. She’s never harmed another patient. She just sits in her room. Of course, she’s quite heavily medicated. Anti-psychotics. They affect everyone differently.”

“I see. I won’t be long.”

The doctor left, closing the door, as I lingered in the entry.

“Mrs. Thorne, my name is Smith.”

She didn’t answer. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be locked away for fifty years, rarely speaking, never trying to escape. The woman in front of me didn’t look insane. Her silver hair was neatly combed, her dress old-fashioned but clean. She didn’t look up at me as I spoke, but remained seated on the edge of her bed with her hands folded in her lap. The room itself was as lifeless as its inhabitant. Walls, which had once been a cheerful yellow, had faded to the color of an old newspaper. The walls were bare save for a single cross hung in the center of the far wall. There was a chair and a bureau, but nothing else. No books. No art. No photographs. No sign that this had been someone’s home for half a century.

“I was hoping you could answer a few questions.” I crossed the room, hoping my movement might inspire a reaction.

It worked. Miranda lifted her eyes and I stepped backward. There was nothing there. No sign that a person inhabited the body in front of me. It was like looking into the eyes of a corpse.

I cleared my throat, determined to press on. “I recently purchased Thornham.”

Her cheek spasmed, but she didn’t move. I couldn’t decide if I’d imagined the reaction.

“My wife and I moved there with our daughter, Penny. I understand Thornham was in your husband’s family for a long time.” The second time I mentioned the house, her shoulders arched protectively up towards her ears.

“There have been some strange things happening,” I continued. She was listening. I could sense it. Her hollow eyes glinted slightly. “To my wife and my daughter.”

“You should leave.” The words cracked from her like she’d opened a dusty, old book with a rigid spine.

“I’m sorry,” I said, moving towards the door. “I was just hoping you might tell me what happened to you.” I reached for the knob when she spoke again.

“Leave Thornham.”

I turned to find she was watching me, her chest rising in quick, shallow pants. “Why?”

“They’re all there,” she said, her head swiveling back to the wall.

“Who?” I asked.

“My children.” Her voice grew more distant, and I realized she was slipping away again.

“We found them,” I said softly. “We found their bodies. They’re dead.”

“Oh no.” Miranda shook her head, sending her hair rippling like melting ice. “No one is ever dead at Thornham, Smith, no matter how hard you try to kill them.”