Antitype by M. D. Waters

Author:M. D. Waters
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2014-05-12T16:00:00+00:00

I storm into Dad’s study. “I just came from the WTC.”

He glances over from where he sits behind his ridiculously large desk. “How are the girls?” he asks, then smiles as if he cares.

“Where’s Hannah?”

His eyes lower to the desktop touch screen inset in the wood by his right arm. A video plays, but he doesn’t appear to be watching it. “You were right. She suffered a mental break. I’ve had her committed.”

A fissure cracks open and gapes in my chest, but it appears that the opposite happens to Dad. Walls and gates and support beams slam into place. His back straightens and he taps his screen until a white document replaces the video.

“Where is she?” I ask, my tone gravelly.

“It doesn’t matter. You can’t see her.”

“You can’t stop me.”

With a sigh, he pushes back in his chair. “They need to spend time with her. Evaluations. Medication. Maybe they can salvage what’s left so she isn’t a lost cause.”

I step closer, my stomach roiling. “You still hope to marry her off.”

“I’m not holding my breath at this point. Initial evaluations say she’s too far gone.”

I have to lock my fingers around the back of my neck to keep from grabbing his suit jacket. Shaking him to his feet. Yelling accusations that won’t do a damn bit of good. But despite my restraint, tears burn the backs of my eyes, and my temples pulse with the charges I would put on him. She’s too far gone? She wasn’t when I last saw her. I refuse to believe a month made so drastic a difference.

“I need to see her,” I say. “Because I don’t believe you.” My voice has risen, and spittle dots my lower lip, but Dad sits there as if no words have come out at all.

“House control,” he says in an even tone, “call Edgemont. Request video for room 47 and play in the study.”

Annabelle appears in the doorway behind me, clutching her belly. She looks pale, and a sheen of sweat coats her brow, but she smiles for the benefit of three-year-old Lance clutching her leg. “Baby’s coming.”

Dad stands and throws a smile on his face. “Wonderful. Let’s go to the hospital.” He looks at me. “We’ll finish this later?”

I nod and try smiling at Annabelle. I can barely utter the words, “Good luck,” without getting sick all over the carpet. All I care about is Hannah.

I have the study to myself when the video hologram appears. A partial of a padded white room appears in front of the desk. Hannah sits on the floor, arms wrapped around knees pulled tight to her chest. She rocks and mumbles unintelligibly. Grease thickens her black hair, making the strands hang in clumps. Her skin, usually porcelain in color, is pale. Ghostly and sick.

“What the fuck?” Gabe darts into the room, wide eyes glued to the video. Both hands drag through his mop of blond waves. “Is that Hannah?”

I can’t answer. I’m shattering into a million pieces.

“The girls must be scared as hell,” Gabe says, swiveling his head to look at me.

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