by Sophie Davis
“Only a few more hours,” he said kindly. “Just don’t tell anyone I broke you out beforehand.”
“Our secret,” I promised. And it would be. Because David didn’t need to know everything.
In fact, David knew very little of the life I had planned. The megalomaniac actually believed this immersive therapy experiment in D.C. was his idea, but only because his ego was too big to let him think otherwise. But that was fine. His enormous ego was what made him so easy to manipulate. Just like Asher’s do-gooder nature made him an easy target. They both played right into my plan.
Don’t get too cocky. We’re still on the wrong side of the barbed wire, you know.
I laughed, and the orderly looked over at me as if my release from the mental institution was a tad premature. Usually I was the one preaching caution, so for Lark to do so was humorous.
Not even twelve hours and we will be free, Lark, I promised her.
Free? Asher will be there, babysitting us, she reminded me.
True, but he doesn’t know about the apartment or our plans to reach out to Blake. Once Raven finds the package in the safety deposit box, it will only be a matter of time before she puts everything together. Then, we’ll be whole. Then, you can be with Blake.
Yes, I was making it sound easier than it would be. David only agreed to let us go to D.C. to study Raven outside a clinical environment. He wanted to test the connections between all of us, to see whether he could trigger Raven into recalling Lark’s life. He said if this worked that Lark would get better, and she believed him. I wasn’t so naïve. The damned doctor intended to erase Lark’s memory yet again when this was over, no matter the results. That was what the Kingsleys paid him for, after all.
Little did that insipid man know….
Everything was in place for Lark—for all of us—to start over, to have the life we deserved. And as long as Raven was as clever as I believed, there was nothing David or anyone else could do to stop us. Not with all the dirt we had on the lot of them.
“Lark? Come on, you really need to get back inside before someone sees you. I could lose my job over this,” the orderly said, placing one hand on my shoulder and turning me back toward the door.
“We wouldn’t want that now would we?” I replied sweetly.
“No, definitely not,” he agreed.
Too bad every one of you simpering morons will be out of a job when I’m through with you, I thought as I passed through a side door to Montauk for what I hoped was the last time.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
RAVEN
Just over an hour later, I sat across from Blake in a hole-in-the-wall tavern near GW’s campus. It specialized in craft beers and whiskey and served complimentary homemade potato chips to all their customers.
“I come here a lot, it’s one of my favorite spots,” Blake announced.
Being alone with him was weird. Up to this point, Asher had always been there as a buffer. But it was just the two of us—well, I suppose the four of us might be more accurate.
“It’s cute,” I said for lack of something more eloquent.
He leaned across the table. “They don’t card, so take a look at the wine menu,” he said with a conspiratorial whisper.
The waiter appeared, a girl about my own age with a bouncy ponytail and bright smile. “Hey, guys, welcome to Tavern Off the Hill. Do you need a minute? Or have you already decided?”
I glanced at Blake. “You come here all the time, what’s good?”
“The Tavern Panini is my favorite.”
“Two of those,” I told the server, and then raised an eyebrow in Blake’s direction to make sure he was cool with me ordering for him.
He nodded. “Two Tavern Paninis and two house ales.”
Our waitress nodded as she collected our menus. She hesitated, then gestured to the third chair at our table. “Are you waiting for someone else?”
I hadn’t given much thought to the third chair and I was about to tell her no, when Blake said, “Yeah, he’ll be here soon. You can get him the glazed salmon salad and a cup of orange peel soup. Oh, and a Waxing Moon pint.”
“Gotcha. I’ll be right back with your drinks.”
I waited until she was out of range before turning on Blake. “Who’s coming?” I asked.
Had he invited Asher? I hadn’t heard from my watcher since he left the apartment.
“Adam,” Blake said softly.
Confused, I narrowed my gaze. “But I thought I was meeting him tomorrow?”
Blake wrinkled his nose adorably and admitted, “Yeah, I might have lied about that.” He gave me an impish grin. “Sorry. I just thought maybe if Asher didn’t know when you were having dinner with Adam….” He trailed off.
Hands shaking slightly, I reached across the table. Blake laced his fingers with mine. “Thank you. Honestly, thank you.”
For a moment that was both too short and forever long, Blake and I stared into each other’s eyes. His swirled with concern, and I felt as though he was looking deep within me. Is he searching for Lark?
“Hey.”
The one word, the voice I didn’t recognize and yet still knew immediately, broke the moment Blake and I shared.
I looked up and saw Adam Ridell standing awkwardly behind me. Blake cleared his throat and gestured to the empty chair. “I ordered for you, your usual,” he told Adam.
“Thanks, man.” As he sat, Adam averted his gaze as though afraid to look at me. He cleared his throat several times. Then, finally, he dared a peek in my direction.
I smiled at the guy I didn’t know and yet felt a deep affection for. Clasping my hands in my lap, I said, “Hello, Adam.”
His lips twitched like he wanted to smile but couldn’t quite get the hang of it. Dark eyes studied my face, it seemed he too wanted to catch a glimpse of Lark inside of me.
“Raven, right?” he asked finally.
I nodded.
“Look, this is weird, I’ll be the one to say it,” Blake interjected. He glanced between Adam and me, holding my gaze a beat longer than necessary. “I just think if we all acknowledge that fact, this might go better.”
I laughed. It wasn’t funny, not really. But there was a proverbial elephant at the table—I was that elephant—and Blake was right to point it out.
The waitress brought our beers, and we all sipped them in silence. I knew alcohol wasn’t a great option for me—who knew what sort of visions it might bring. On second thought, maybe getting drunk would help me finish the puzzle Lark and Lila had created.
After he’d sucked down half his pint, Adam turned to face me. This time he managed a real smile. “So, you, Raven, wanted to talk to me?”
I did want to talk him, but now that we were together, I was unprepared for the conversation. Blake’s little rouse had caught me off guard. Where did I even begin? How did I begin?
“Blake said something about your—Lark’s—incident in the eighth grade?” Adam prompted when I didn’t respond.
“It’s okay, Raven,” Blake coaxed. “Remember, we are all in the know.”
“Right.” I filled my cheeks with air, and then exhaled slowly. “The doctors think I was created after Lark’s breakdown—that Lila, Lark’s other…personality….” I watched Adam’s expression, but he just nodded as though he was fully briefed on the situation. And maybe he was. Maybe Blake had given him a complete rundown. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
“Go on,” Adam said softly.
“Okay, so yeah, the doctors, they believe Lark needed another alter to cope with whatever triggered her.” Guilt gnawed at my insides as I admitted, “I know you and Lark have talked about what happened that day. I…I read about it in her journal.”
Adam’s expression was kind but guarded. “We did. After her birthday party, we had lunch the next day. She did ask about the day you’re referring to, but…” he shook his head sadly “…I’m sorry, I wasn’t able to tell her much then, and I don’t know how I can help you now.”
R
eaching for my beer, I drank several sips and tried not to let myself become too discouraged. I hadn’t realized what high hopes I’d placed on Adam and his insider’s knowledge. I’d just assumed he’d have all the answers. Was I reading too much into my own creation? Was, as I’d considered often, Lark just a very troubled girl? Was I just a very troubled girl? After being an eyewitness to murder, who could blame her.
“After that lunch, Lark had a therapy session,” I said, glancing back and forth between the two guys. “Dr. Rebecca Fullbrook was her therapist in Manhattan. I don’t know if she is part of David’s team, but I’d bet she’s at least associated with him and his institute. Anyway, Rebecca performed hypnosis on Lark. I don’t know what Lark experienced during the session, not entirely. But there was something about a short story you guys were reading in Mrs. Edelmen’s class?”
“Yeah, that’s right,” Adam confirmed. “The Lottery. It’s a pretty messed up story. Every year the townsfolk have a lottery, and the ‘winner’ is stoned to death as a sacrifice so that the town will have a good harvest.”
“And that was when Lark had her meltdown, right? While the teacher was reading the story aloud?”
I already knew the answer but thought talking through the events might help one of us understand what happened that day. And it did. When I’d first read Lark’s entry about the hypno-therapy session, her reaction to the story seemed extreme. But knowing about Jonas and Kingstown gave me an entirely different perspective on the situation. The town in The Lottery wasn’t a direct mirror for Kingstown, but there were parallels. A bunch of people sat by while one of their own was killed for the greater good.
Gross, I thought, disgusted by humanity.
“Is there anything you remember, Adam?” Blake pressed, raking a hand through his brown curls. “Anything that maybe didn’t seem important at the time, and maybe still doesn’t…?” He trailed off, imploring Adam with his gaze as though the other guy might suddenly might recall a tiny detail that he’d never told Lark yet would prove vital.
“I’m sorry, guys,” he said genuinely.
“It’s okay,” I assured him. “I actually think I’m starting to understand.”
The guys didn’t ask me to elaborate, a fact for which I was immensely grateful. I would explain it to them eventually, but I needed time to process.
“Aside from the incident, what did you and Lark talk about?” Blake asked, covering the weighty silence that had descended over our trio. “You guys did spend a lot of time together in those last months before….” He trailed off, apparently unsure whether “disappearance” was the right term now that he knew about Lila and me.
The waitress passed our table, and Blake signaled for another round of drinks. Adam finished the dregs at the bottom of his glass as he seemed to turn into his own head, considering Blake’s question. It wasn’t until the server returned with both our second round and our dinners that Adam finally answered.
“We talked a lot about our parents,” he recalled thoughtfully. “School. College. You, of course,” he added, gesturing toward Blake with his fork.
I watched the two guys, noted their comfortable demeanor, their familiarity, and wondered if this wasn’t a topic they’d covered on one of their previous dinner dates.
“Your parents?” I repeated.
A line from one of Lark’s entries about her birthday party suddenly surfaced in my mind. Something about Adam and his father being important to Lark’s future.
“Yeah,” Adam picked at his salad, “mostly just the normal stuff. Mr. Kingsley was pressuring her about her future and her education, and Mrs. Kingsley…well, she just wanted Lark to be perfect.” He laughed derisively. “In Eleanor’s mind it was that easy. You know, like if she thought it hard enough that Lark would be perfect.”
“That worked like a charm,” I said dryly, staring down at the food that smelled and looked amazing but still turned my stomach. Swallowing my sarcasm, I added, “But I was actually wondering more about your parents.”
That piqued his interest, Blake’s too. It seemed neither guy had considered this angle. Maybe I was grasping at straws.
“Um, I don’t know. We talked about them, sure. I think Lark asked about my dad’s reelection, and she might have asked about my mom’s charities. I don’t remember us discussing anything weird, though.”
“Your father is a senator, right?” I asked.
“Yeah, how did you…?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. It’s just, when I saw the picture of you and Lark at prom and read your name, I thought I recognized it. It was like I just knew your dad was the Senator Ridell.” I wrinkled my nose guiltily. Even though everyone at the table now knew that I had, and had read, Lark’s journal—which was really my journal—I felt weird talking about the passages. “Also, Lark wrote about her birthday party and referred to your dad as ‘Senator’, so I figured I was right.”
“Hmm, well, he is,” Adam said slowly, “but I don’t think that has anything to do with Lark, or you.”
My appetite was the only one suffering it seemed, since Blake and Adam ate most of their respective meals while I moved food around on my plate. While reading Lark’s journal and going through the videos and articles about her disappearance and her family, nothing had stuck out, nothing had triggered so much as a nugget of information. And yet, I’d known Adam’s father was Senator Ridell.
What does that mean?
“Does your dad have like a specialty?” I asked.
“He’s on the arm’s committee,” Adam replied, eyeing me strangely as though very interested in where I was going with this line of questioning.
I wasn’t entirely sure myself. I was just throwing out ideas and hoping one stuck.
“So, like, military stuff?”
Adam laughed softly. “Yeah, military stuff,” he agreed, pushing his empty salad plate toward the middle of the table. “But I don’t know much about his work. The stuff he talks about at home is pretty boring, budgets and whatever. All the good stuff is classified.”
“Classified? Right….” I trailed off as a thought occurred to me. “So your father has top secret clearance?”
Stunned was an understatement. A look passed between Adam and Blake, as if each asking the other if he knew why I was suddenly very intrigued.
“I guess,” Adam said. “I mean, he must. But what does—”
“And your father has been quietly investigating Lark’s disappearance, right?” I interrupted him.
“Yeah, but—”
“Have you ever heard of the Montauk Institute?” I asked, once again cutting off Adam midsentence.
Recognition dawned in Blake’s green eyes, and he began to nod slowly.
“No, why? Should I have heard of it?” Adam asked.
“Your father hasn’t mentioned it?” I pressed.
“Not to me,” he replied, glancing back and forth between Blake and me. “What is the Montauk Institute?” Adam directed the question to me, but when I didn’t answer, he turned to Blake and raised an eyebrow.
I gestured for Blake to explain. Once he finished giving Adam the highlights, which was really all we knew, we all sat back in our chairs, each of us lost in our own thoughts. As far as I knew, the Institute was private, with no ties to the government and military. But aside from what Asher had told me about the Institute and David, I didn’t know much about what went on behind closed doors.
“Do you think my father might be connected to this institute?” Adam asked once the waitress had come by to collect our dishes and box up my leftovers.
“No, I don’t,” I said truthfully. “Otherwise, David wouldn’t have authorized our dinner. I was sort of hoping maybe your father had stumbled across it during his investigation, though.”
“Not so fast,” Blake interjected. “Asher is planning on attending that dinner tomorrow night.”
“Yes,” I conceded, “but I still don’t think David would agree to it, even with Asher present to steer the convers
ation.”
“Okay.” Adam rested his elbows on the table. “So tell us what you do think.”
“I think…I think I need a favor from you.”
Adam smiled. “Anything.”
“Will you ask your father about Montauk? Will you ask him to look into the Institute? You can tell him you were right about Lark, if that helps. You know, about the multiple personality thing.”
I knew Asher worried that Senator Ridell would tell the Kingsleys about me and the alert them to the fact their daughter was no longer locked away, but I didn’t share those fears. Adam’s father knew there was something off about Lark’s disappearance. And he seemed to suspect the Kingsleys were involved.
Adam’s determination didn’t waiver. “I’ll let you know the minute I speak with him.”
It was just a hunch, but one that I was willing to bet Lark’s trust fund would lead somewhere. Montauk played a part in the big picture. I felt that in my bones. Just saying the name aloud—hell, thinking the name—left a bad taste in mouth, like sour milk. The Montauk Institute was rotten, and I intended on gutting the decay starting with the core.
Adam hadn’t told me anything I didn’t already know but seeing him did open my mind. As we sat there, and the guys talked, memories from that day in eighth grade started to come to me. They were more detailed than the account I’d read in Lark’s journal, and more visceral than the suggested ones David had given me in preparation for the D.C. field test. I knew the memories were real. What was more—they were mine.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
LARK
The last day of eighth grade refused to end. Wasn’t that how it went? The more you looked forward to something, the slower time passed. I tried to focus on my teacher’s droning words, hoping that the distraction would move things along.
Why do teachers even bother on the last day? I wondered. No one is paying attention, no one cares.
Ms. Edelmen paused in her dramatic reading of the short story. Everyone, even those of us not actually paying attention to her, looked up. She started reading again, and a picture began to form inside my head. Line by line, my mind conjured an image of the words she spoke.