Chapter 113: Sadie: Hate This Place

SADIE

Considering where things stand between us, I shouldn’t be affected by how Trey described our time together. Or pissed that I’m affected. Yes, I’m far above those feelings, especially when it comes to him and Paige. Two people I’d like to believe deserve each other.

Okay, no. That’s a stretch.

Trey doesn’t run and hide after being humiliated. He sticks around and faces the consequences of his actions, including the ones I’m currently making unpleasant for him.

Paige disappears for a while, then returns with a plan that makes me wonder if her brain went missing with her. Trey, at least, thinks his evil through.

He plans properly and makes sure it works, which is an irritating thing to have to give him credit for.

"You said you’d be done at the lab by nine," Lola says as we cross the student center parking lot toward his car. "Not only are you late, but we find you with Paige. You keep questionable company."

Trey glances at me again, despite the complaint coming from her. "Paige stopped me on the way. Didn’t mean to keep you waiting."

I keep walking beside Lola, following her toward the white Porsche Cayenne parked a few spaces ahead.

As we approach the passenger side, Walker steps around from the other side of the car, slipping his phone into his pocket.

According to Lola, he’s coming too. It took another round of convincing before I agreed, and not because she suddenly decided two male figures were necessary. It’s Trey’s car and Walker’s Saturday. They’re friends. If this is how he wants to spend his free time, I’m not going to argue him out of it.

"What took you guys so long?" he asks as Trey unlocks the doors.

"Who else?" Lola gestures toward Trey. "Your friend."

Then she nudges my shoulder, and I turn to glare at her. She’s been grinning and giving me little looks since we left Paige. I know what she’s thinking. That doesn’t mean I want to participate.

She claims the front passenger seat, leaving Walker and me to settle into the back.

**********

Four hours later, we’re still in the car on the way to Helena’s.

Thanks, traffic.

I should’ve accounted for that when I was planning, though I doubt arriving on time would’ve made me any less cranky.

My pulse won’t settle, and there’s pressure behind my eyes from all the thinking. The anxiety too, although I’ve been trying to call it other things for most of the drive.

I haven’t been back there in five years. Sixteen years in that place, and five away haven’t made the thought of seeing it any easier. Maybe it felt like salvation to other people. For me, it was a hellhole I left with more memories than I knew what to do with, most of which I’ve spent years trying not to revisit.

Just thinking about returning kept me awake last night. Now Trey is making the final turn toward Helena’s, and I’m running out of time to get myself together.

Matron isn’t dead, is she?

Surely somebody would’ve told me. There’s been no news, which means I should prepare myself to see those cold eyes again. She’ll look at how much I’ve grown and find a way to make it about her. Her training. Her discipline. All the things she’ll say prepared me for the world.

I draw in a deep breath and stare out the window.

The gates will appear soon, and I need to remember why I’m here before they do. I have questions to ask, whether I feel ready to see her or not.

"We’re here," Lola says a little later, turning in her seat. Her eyes are tired, but her voice is gentle. "Still anxious?"

I nod. There’s no point denying what everyone in the car can probably feel.

Ahead of us, HELENA’S CHILDREN’S HOME stretches across the high gates in letters that look bigger than I remember. The sight settles it. I hate this place. It still scares me.

"I should just..."

Before I can finish, Trey opens the center console and retrieves a pack of gum. His hand appears between the seats, offering it to me while he presses the horn.

I hesitate before taking it, then put a piece in my mouth and chew frantically.

Nerves, go down. Please go down.

"You sure this place is still open?" Walker lowers his window and leans out as Trey honks again. "This is how horror movies start. You visit somewhere like this, get inside, realize it’s abandoned, then spend the rest of the night getting chased by dead people."

Lola sighs. "Maybe take a break from the movies. They’re scrambling your brain."

Their argument fades into the background as I watch the gates, though I catch Walker explaining why being part Lycan would guarantee his survival.

I’d settle for someone coming to let us in. Why is nobody opening the gate?

"Think one of us needs to go knock?" Trey asks, turning to look at me.

It’s the first thing he’s said directly to me since we got in the car. I let out a breath before nodding. "I’ll go."

My hand is already on the door handle when the gate groans. I pause as it slowly swings inward, watching an elderly man step through the opening.

Mr. Berebon. There’s no mistaking him, even after five years. Mr. Bon Bon, as we used to call him.

Back then, he only had a few gray hairs scattered across his head. Now they’re all gray, and he struggles to hold himself upright as he approaches. I watch his slow steps, trying to reconcile them with the man I remember.

He bends to peer through the front passenger window, and Lola lowers it before he can speak.

I lean forward. "Good afternoon, Mr. Berebon."

His attention shifts to me. He studies my face, leaning closer as recognition slowly replaces the question in his eyes.

"Oh my goddess," he exclaims. "Is that you, Rhodes?"

"Yes." I nod, smiling back at him. "I didn’t expect you to still be here. How have you been?"

Lola lowers her window even more as he looks me over again.

"Dear child, it’s been ages. You’ve grown so much." He shakes his head a little. "Unless my eyes are deceiving me."

Only then does his attention shift to the others. He studies them with the same concentration, but this time, no recognition follows.

"I don’t remember these faces. Is that my old age?"

"No, no. They weren’t here," I assure him. "They’re my friends. They came with me."

"Your friends." He nods, smiling as he looks back at me. "Well, look at you, Rhodes. All grown up. It’s good to see you, dear child. Very good."

"It’s good to see you too."

He keeps smiling until a glance over his shoulder reminds him of the gate. "Forgive me. I should let you in."

He turns and starts back, moving slowly enough that I want to get out and help. Watching him softens something in my chest. He was one of the kind ones here, and I remember that kindness.

"How do they still have him working?" Lola asks quietly. "He should be retired. Resting somewhere."

"Not everyone can afford that," Walker says. "Some people have to work until their last day."

"Someone like him shouldn’t have to," I say. "It’s exploitation. They need someone who can actually handle security, but he probably costs less than a new employee, so why bother? They save a few bucks while he works himself into the ground and the children go without proper protection. Exploitation. That’s what they do best here."

The car goes quiet. Walker blinks at me, and Lola turns toward the windshield with her lips pressed together. What? Did I drag everyone’s mood down with mine?

Mr. Berebon finally gets the gate open. He pushes it back in slow, practiced movements, pausing to adjust his grip until there’s enough room for us to pass.

Trey drives through, and suddenly five years doesn’t feel like much time at all.

The maples and red oaks still line the driveway, their branches stretching over the car. Between the trunks, the library comes into view, the first building past the gate. I recognize its narrow steps and the windows set too high for the smaller children to see through. The pale-yellow paint has faded and peeled beneath the sills, but the door is freshly blue. I find myself staring at it.

Beyond it stands the main building, two stories of classrooms, offices, and dormitories. Small shoes line the wall outside a ground-floor door. Across the lawn, the swings hang still beside the slide, and a red ball rests against the chain-link fence around the play area.

With this many children living here, there should be noise. But it’s just past one, which means nap time. Even the older children would’ve been made to lie down, whether they could sleep or not.

I spent those afternoons looking at the underside of the bed above mine, waiting for permission to get up.

My heart is pounding harder by the time Trey pulls the car to a stop.