He gives me the look of one who feels sorrow for someone crazy, and it pisses me off.
Until he pulls out his cell phone and hits play. I hear what sounds like my own voice coming out of the speaker.
"Help. Someone help me. My name is Celeste, and I'm about to hurt myself. Stop me before it's too late."
He pauses the recording and waits for me to say something.
Only no words come, because I never made that call, but I know whose voice that is.
It sounds like me. And if you didn't know the difference, you'd think it was me.
But it's not my voice.
That voice belongs to my sister.
My twin sister who died six months ago.
Estelle.
3
When I still refuse to respond to his question about the phone call, Dr. Livingstone tucks his cell back into his pocket and leans back, studying me.
“Why don’t we start with the basics,” he says. “Where did you grow up?”
I hesitate, wondering if I should answer anything he asks. But I know if I don’t cooperate at least to a degree, it won’t go well for me here. Nurse Schmidt already delivered that message.
“California,” I finally say, conceding to this game reluctantly. “But I’m guessing that thick file you’re carrying on me already told you that.” I nod at the manila folder lying on the desk behind him.
His smile is fast and reveals rows of straight white teeth that make him somehow both handsome and terrifying, all at the same time. Before I can begin to fathom what exactly scares me about such an attractive smile, it’s gone, along with the predatory glint.
“All right. According to the file, you’re an art student studying in Paris. Your father was American. Killed in a car accident twelve years ago. Your mother was French. She committed suicide ten years ago after a lifetime of mental health struggles. Before that, she was a painter. Explains your interest in art and what you’re doing at the Sorbonne. The family history could also explain your own treatment these last few months. Care to fill in the rest of the blanks yourself?”
I’m actually wondering how he filled in so much already. Did he somehow get my school files? Search my flat? Talk to my friends? But instead of asking, I put on a mask of confusion.
“What blanks?” I ask, but I already know where this is going. Where it’s been going since the moment I arrived in this god-forsaken hospital. Or maybe the moment my dead sister somehow made an emergency call to this man’s hotline.
His gaze softens, as do his next words. “You self-harmed, Celeste. Attempted to end your life. I’m interested to hear what led you to take such a drastic action.”
“And I’m interested to hear your justification for kidnapping me and holding me in a prison cell against my will.”
“Regardless of your opinion of our methods, I hardly think your accommodations here could be compared to a prison.”
I bare my teeth in the kind of smile I hope conveys my fury over this whole thing. “Would you prefer I use the words medieval torture chamber instead?”
He sighs. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll personally review your accommodations if you tell me what led to your suicide attempt.”
I hesitate. There is no version of this where some crooked group of doctors can kidnap me, and I’ll just go along with it, crying on a shrink’s couch until I suddenly feel the will to live.
But one thing the maze of locked doors has already taught me is the only way out of here is their way.
Even Declan, who, if my eyes can be believed, is capable of changing into a true beast, hasn’t managed to escape their grasp. So I give him the smallest piece of myself I can.
“Six months ago, I lost my sister,” I say, and with each word comes the memory of that night.
The pain. The loss. The blood.
So much blood.
Like a trigger, the words send whispers through my mind.
I’m still here.
Find me, Celeste.
Free me.
“Your twin,” Dr. Livingstone says, proving he knows more about my life than he’s revealing. He watches me sharply, like he’s waiting for me to give something away. Something words can’t explain. “You were close to her?”
“Very.” My throat feels tight.
I ball my hands into fists, squeezing to channel the anxiety.
Any other day, it works well enough, but today, nothing diminishes the edginess inside me.