“Dr. Hammond’s office,” A female voice said.
Sage froze, unsure. Then, in the steadiest voice she could manage, she said, “I’m sorry. I’m trying to dial out. Can you connect me?”
“This is the head of administration’s office,” the woman said, “not the switchboard.”
“How do I get the switchboard?” Sage said. Please don’t ask who you’re speaking to.
“You need to dial zero.”
“Thank you,” Sage said, and hung up.
Suddenly Evie’s voice came over the intercom, making her jump. “Get off the phone, Miss Winters. I can see you’re trying to use it.”
Ignoring her, Sage picked up the receiver again and dialed zero.
Another female voice answered. “Operator, how may I direct your call?”
“I . . . I need to dial out,” Sage said.
Then the line clicked and Evie’s voice came on. “Operator, this is Dr. Baldwin’s secretary. There will be no outside calls from his line for the time being. I’ll let you know when he returns to his office and you can open it up again.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the operator said. “I understand.” Then she hung up.
“Hello?” Sage said. “Hello, operator?” She pushed the hang up button again and again, but the line was dead. She slammed down the receiver. “Damn it!” she yelled, tears of frustration burning her eyes. She pressed the button on the intercom. “Please, Evie. I just need to make one phone call, that’s all. Just one. Please.”
“I’m sorry,” Evie said. “But you know I can’t allow that.”
“Will you at least tell me why Dr. Baldwin sent for me? Please?”
Evie said nothing.
Desperate, Sage released the intercom, picked up the phone again, and dialed Heather’s number, knowing it was a waste of time but hoping for a miracle. Nothing happened. No ringtone on the other end of the line. No dial tone. No clicks or other sounds. She hung up the receiver, then stood and went over to the window, where a shaft of sunlight filtered in below a yellowed shade. If she could open the window or break the glass, she could climb down or jump out and go to the police. Then she pulled up the shade and realized the office was at least five stories up if not more. The blanket of snow and shoveled brick sidewalk below looked a hundred miles away. If she fell, she’d fracture her skull or break a leg, which would make running impossible.
She tried opening the window anyway to let in some fresh air, but it wouldn’t budge. Cursing under her breath, she turned and paced the floor, a hundred scenarios running wild in her mind. Was she in Dr. Baldwin’s office because they’d found Rosemary’s body? Was Alan coming to get her? Were they sending her to the state security hospital as punishment for trying to escape?
She surveyed the doctor’s desk. No files sat on the blotter. No papers or other clues that might help her figure out why she was there. She hurried behind the desk again, sat in the chair, and tried the middle drawer. It was locked. She tried the other drawers. Also locked. She stood and looked at the stacks of black filing cabinets. The answer to why she was in the office wouldn’t be in there, but maybe some helpful information about Rosemary would—if the filing cabinets were unlocked. Peering at the tattered labels, she found the drawer labeled “W” and pulled. To her surprise, it slid open.
What looked like a thousand crumpled files filled the long drawer, packed together so tightly it seemed impossible to take one out, let alone put it back again. Quickly scanning the faded names on the tabs, she looked for the one labeled “Winters.” With every sound on the other side of the office door, every scrape of a chair and thump of a drawer in the waiting room, she shut the drawer, scrambled around to the front of the desk, certain Dr. Baldwin would catch her.
Finally, she found two files with the name “Winters” and tugged on the first one, trying to get it out. The tab started to rip. She stopped and pulled out the next one, which was sticking up just enough to get a good grip. She opened the file. Affixed to the first page was a black and white photo of a young boy, a toddler with crossed eyes and a cleft lip. On the wall behind his head were five digits on a white sign. Below the photo was a date: November 3rd, 1955; the name “Gregory Winters”; and words in bold type: “SEVERELY RETARDED.” Gregory looked like he was laughing in the photo, his first teeth showing in a gummy grin, his nose crumpled in delight. Sage swallowed, wondering if Gregory was still alive. She closed the file and took out the other one labeled “Winters.” When she opened the cover, she nearly dropped it.
Rosemary looked back at her with frightened eyes, her lips pressed together as if she were trying hard not to cry. Written beneath her name in bold type was: “MANIC-DEPRESSIVE SCHIZOPHRENIC WITH SPLIT PERSONALITY DISORDER.” Even with the terrified expression, Rosemary looked exactly like Sage remembered her, with translucent skin and light wisps of hair framing her dainty features. It was like looking at a photo of herself. Blinking back tears, she turned the page and started reading.
December 10, 1965: Resident seems in good physical health. Did not settle into the ward easily. Responded well to Thorazine. No longer hostile after three days of treatment, although hallucinations and delusions continue to occur. Continued daily treatment recommended.
May 12, 1966: Resident is fairly cooperative and eats and sleeps well. No complaints from nursing staff. Continued daily treatment recommended.
Sage drew in a sharp breath. No one had reevaluated Rosemary for six months after she had been admitted? Unbelievable. Out in the waiting room, Evie’s phone rang, making Sage jump. She skimmed over the next few pages, reading as fast as possible.
June 2, 1967: Resident is definitely paranoid in her thinking and continues to have delusions. Has developed a fixation on another patient, claiming she is her sibling. Continued daily treatment recommended.
July 10, 1968: Resident continues to be paranoid and delusional. Also seems to have developed split personality disorder, with three separate personalities detected so far: Trixie, Belinda, and Sage. Staff advised not to contradict. Continued daily treatment recommended, along with dose of Prolixin as needed.
September 1, 1969: Along with continued paranoia, schizophrenia, and split personality disorder, resident has developed violent tendencies. After causing a disturbance in the dayroom, during which she assaulted an attendant and several other residents were injured, she was confined to seclusion for four days in an attempt to adjust paranoia. Continued daily treatment recommended, along with dose of Prolixin as needed.
September 6, 1969: Seclusion failed to curb violent tendencies. Temporarily transferred to state security hospital.
October 12, 1970: Resident attempted escape. Confined to seclusion for eight days. Continued daily treatment recommended, added dose of Prolixin as needed.
January 6, 1971: Resident went missing. After two days found in House Fourteen, dazed and highly paranoid. Continued daily treatment recommended, additional dose of Prolixin until readjusted.
Despite having been told that the residents rarely saw doctors, seeing it in black and white made Sage even more furious. How could the doctors let an entire year pass between evaluations? It was outrageous and cruel. Willowbrook would never help anyone with that method. She flipped through the last pages, looking for anything that might tell her more. Other entries in a dozen different scripts included medication logs; physical characteristics like height and weight; and medical situations that needed attention: compound fracture, dysentery, eye injury, hepatitis test, suicidal ideation.