Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 47525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 238(@200wpm)___ 190(@250wpm)___ 158(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 238(@200wpm)___ 190(@250wpm)___ 158(@300wpm)
“Please see to it that the amount you write is enough to cover Miss Pretty’s tuition in full. Also throw in an extra twenty-five thousand to give to her upon graduation. She might want to take a fun and relaxing gap year before college.”
More words are said between us, fake apologies about the “misunderstanding” are uttered, and then promises about this incident never being recorded are smoothed over with a handshake.
I’m left alone to “think things over” in the attached study room.
Math has never been my favorite subject, but I know that the cost of tuition and twenty-five thousand dollars will never be enough to make me ever forget about being raped…
30
SADIE
Day Eleven
The truth serum doesn’t make me feel as loopy or out of control this time.
Probably because Ethan administered it himself.
It’s still potent, but I think I could lie my way around Robin if she tries asking about sex again.
I smile at the memory of Ethan taking hold of me in his bathroom, wishing he’d do it all over again—wishing he’d done it a lot sooner.
“Miss Pretty,” he says, looking at me through his mask, “are you ready for today’s session?”
“Yes.”
The lights dim, and his face disappears, leaving me shrouded in darkness all over again.
“Robin will lead with questions,” his voice soothes me, “but allow me to ask a few off-the-record ones to make sure the system is functioning.”
I nod.
“What’s your favorite book?”
The Count of Monte Cristo.
“When’s your birthday?”
Halloween.
“Do you really have a boyfriend?” He’s been holding onto that one since the Vanderbilt guy asked me days ago.
“Yes and no.”
“It can’t be both.”
“It’s complicated.”
“I think she’s ready,” he says. “Relax…”
The room falls into eerie silence, and I start to drift—until:
“Hello, Sadie.” Robin’s voice echoes through the dark. “Do you feel any remorse for killing Mr. Sorenson?”
“I didn’t kill him.”
“But do you feel remorse?”
“Not really.”
“Your new lawyer has filed appellate papers with the court. There’s a chance you may get a new trial. Do you think you deserve one?”
“I deserve to be free.”
“If Jonathan Baylor really raped you—”
“He did.”
“Yes, well… did you ever tell your lawyer that?”
Silence.
“Sadie?”
Hot tears slide down my cheeks.
“Would you like to come back to this question?”
“Yes, please.”
“Very well, then…”
She drills question after question, probing deeper, but she doesn’t find what she’s looking for. It’s not until the lights rise slightly that I catch a glimpse of her exasperated expression.
“Do you think it was fair for the judge to give you a sentence that allowed for multiple chances at early parole,” she asks, “just because you were found to be insane at the time of the crime?”
I blink.
I’ve heard this line before. Same cadence. Same phrasing.
But it wasn’t a question then—it was a monologue.
From her podcast.
“I believe the judge did his job,” I say. “I’m grateful he didn’t give me life without parole.”
“You don’t think you deserved that?”
“No.”
“Okay.” She sighs.
I brace for her to circle back to the lawyer question so I can fake confusion and get out of here, but instead, she pivots again.
“Last question,” she says. “During your isolation sessions, I’m sure Dr. Weiss explained his theory about the three types of criminal birds, correct?”
“He has, yes.”
“Which one do you think you are? Hummingbird, raven, or eagle?”
“You’d have to tell me, Miss Schreiner.”
“That’s not how this works. Which one are you?”
I say nothing.
Because I honestly don’t know.
“Let’s break for lunch and have Miss Pretty moved to the observation room, please,” she sighs, and the room floods with bright light.
I blink against it.
When my eyes adjust, I see Ethan seated nearby, watching me with quiet pride.
He mouths two simple words: Good job.
31
THEN
SADIE
Back then…
“With the insanity defense, we don’t have much of a hill to climb because, well—what you did was literally insane. So we just need to focus on getting a few spiritually woo-woo people on your jury.”
I clench my fists under the table.
The way my lawyer talks down to me should be studied under How to Perfectly Incite Rage. He’s not trying to help me; he’s painting by the numbers, treating this as an ‘L’ before we’ve even played the game.
“That’s the best thing you have going for you, honestly.” He smiles. “This was a completely random attack, and you have no ties to any of the victims, so—”
“Jonathan Baylor raped me.”
“What?” His face goes ghost-pale.
“He raped me.” I enunciate every syllable, letting the words hang in the air like a loaded weapon.
“When exactly was this, Sadie?”
“My senior year of high school,” I say. “He got away with it. And he even tried to rape me again a couple of years ago.”
“Jesus Christ.” He slams his folder shut. “Why are you just now telling me this?”
“I’ve been trying to tell you for months.” I glare at him. “I think it helps our defense.”
“No, Sadie.” He growls. “It doesn’t. It gives you a fucking motive—and we can’t have a motive if we’re going with a temporary insanity defense.”