In the small but ever-tidy sitting room of their small row house, Millie squared off against her parents. Her parents were in the armchairs by the narrow fireplace while Millie, fresh from the hospital and with a new bandage taped over the healing wound along the side of her face, sat on the loveseat. Olivia was next to her, holding her hand and rubbing her back as Millie shook with rage.
"I don't want to go!" Millie snapped. For all her anger, it was undone by the trails of tears that streaked down her cheeks.
Her father was a tall, imposing man. Usually, his looks were deceiving, for he was really a gentle giant—a man of infinite patience and calm. Not now, though. Now his patience was failing, and he sat rigid with irritation.
"It doesn't matter what you want Millie," he replied, his formidable moustache bristling as he spoke. "You must go. It's for your own good."
Millie swept her free hand towards her sister at her side. "Olivia doesn't have to go!"
Her father turned to her mother, who was sitting quietly, her own eyes wet with tears. It was from her that Olivia had inherited her perfect looks, and as a woman of appearances, she had never handled confrontation well. As she looked back at her husband, her expression was fretful, her mouth opening and closing several times, as though she was trying to muster the courage to defend Millie...
But a cutting, cold look from Millie's father cut her off.
Her mother quickly acquiesced and forced a trembling smile as she turned back to her girls. "Dearest, you know that's because Olivia is—"
Millie didn't let her mother finish either. "Starting training at St Thomas, I know, I know! But why can't I train to be a nurse, too? They say they need all the help they can get!"
Her parents shared another look that Millie couldn't decipher. Were they exasperated that, once again, Millie was unsatisfied with their plans for her? They had always let Olivia do as she pleased, eager to bow to her dreams and ideas, but Millie was usually forced to do as she was told.
Next to her, Olivia started to stroke Millie's newly close-cropped hair. Millie, now just as furious at her sister as she was with her parents, tried to pull away. But Olivia tightened her grip on her wrist, making Millie wince.
"You're too young, Millie," Olivia cooed. "It's just a bit, just until you're done the year. Then as soon as you're out of school, you can come and join the effort at St Thomas!"
Millie scowled at her sister like she was a traitor.
"Don't." Her father shook his head and pressed his fist to his forehead as if all the arguing was giving him a headache. "Don't encourage her."
Her mother jumped in, trying to smooth everything over. "We just don't want to lose you—" she had to stop, her voice going thick. She had to clear her throat before continuing. "We don't want to lose you. You'll be safe at Wickford."
Millie ripped her hand out of her sister's grip and punched at the sofa cushion beneath her.
"I don't want to be safe!"
That was it. Suddenly her father's dark eyes deepened. A rush of red flooded into his cheeks.
"Do you know how many strings I had to pull to get you in this evacuation cohort?" he said. Despite the fury clear in his face, his voice stayed low, controlled. "Queen's Park is a very prestigious school, and you're lucky to go with them."
"I don't want to go!" Millie screamed.
Olivia sighed and tucked a lock of Millie's hair behind her good ear. "Oh, sweet Millie..."
Millie wanted to shove her sister off the couch, to get up and run from the room, but something shifted. The room began to shake, and dust rained down on them from the ceiling. Pictures slid off the walls, and knick-knacks toppled off the mantle, shattering on the hardwood floor below.
Millie froze, fearful.
Had a bomb landed nearby?
Would another be coming?
But there were no sirens, no screaming...
And no one else seemed to notice.
Her father continued to drone on as the room fell apart around them, though whatever he was saying couldn't be heard above the noise. Her sister and mother, with their mirrored faces, looked at her with concern. Millie looked around in a panic. All her training for what to do when the bombings began had flitted from her head. She searched the room for shelter, for escape...
As she turned to look at their bright yellow front door, she saw Sister Marion standing in the corner. She glared down at her, watching her, full of judgement—
Millie's eyes snapped open, and she drew a deep, gasping breath. Once again, she was back in her room at Wickford, drenched with sweat and tangled in her sheets.
It had all been a dream. Another goddamn dream.
Her racing heartbeat began to slow.
Out of habit, she turned to look over at Petra's bed, though she knew she would find it bare and empty. She sometimes hoped that had all been a dream, too—
But it wasn't empty. There was someone there. Two people, in fact.
Though their figures were cloaked in shadow, she recognised the first.
Petra.
She was just as Millie had last seen her that horrible night. Still dressed in her white nightgown, her expression blank as the wound at her neck lay open and pulsing, spilling red down her front. Millie could hear Petra's gasping, gurgling breaths as she fought to breathe, reliving her final gruesome moments over again.
And at her side, Millie's double. The same-faced stranger's familiar wound along the edge of her face was raw and bloody too, but her eyes were focused, staring back at Millie with deep hatred.
"Get me out of here!" she hissed.
Millie shot up in bed, but in a blink, the figures were gone.
Blowing out a long breath, Millie threw off the covers and crawled out of bed. Sleep was a lost cause.
She wandered across the room, no longer needing to be quiet, and sat down at the writing desk. There was another half-finished letter lying there, addressed to her sister.
Olivia,
Something strange is happening at Wickford. Something has changed since Petra died. The school says it was all an accident, but I think Petra was—
She had left the letter there, unsure how to finish it without sounding like she had lost her mind. Maybe that wouldn't be so terrible—maybe her parents would be forced to pick her up if they thought her mind had gone. But if they did think she was mad, then no one would believe anything she said about what had really happened to Petra, and the school and the nuns could get away with their lie.
Millie knew she wouldn't get far if she just accused them.
She needed proof.
The office was shrouded in darkness, lit only by a thin sliver of moon outside the large window that looked out on the front drive. Millie slipped in through the door, her small flashlight in hand. She glanced around, listening for movement.
All was quiet. She was alone.
She blew a breath through her clenched teeth and made her way across the room. It felt foolish to be sneaking around at night after her friend had met such a violent end, but Millie couldn't let it rest. It seemed as though she was the only one willing to do something about it. And she had the feeling that if she didn't find a way to get the word out, more would follow after Petra...
She found her way to the file cabinet that Petra had once dug through and opened the same drawer labelled A–D. She flicked through the folders, looking for the one labelled Downey, Petra.
There was Doppler, and Doxberry, but no Downey.
Petra's file was not there.
Millie muttered a curse under her breath.
Where could it have gone?
It made some sense that it may be out of place, having something added to it in the wake of Petra's demise. Would a school keep such records? Would the nuns? Millie scanned the office, looking for where it might've been left. There was the secretary's desk, the stack of papers by the window, the private offices down the hall...
Footsteps echoed through the hall beyond the office door.
Miller froze.
Not again.
She listened, trying to determine their direction.
These footsteps were quite unlike those that had pursued her and Petra that night. Those had been quick and light. A teacher doing their rounds, drawn in by their noise.
These were heavy, slow, sure...
And headed directly for her.
Millie shivered as a chill crawled up her back. She left the drawer partially open, avoiding the closing clang that had drawn attention last time. As the footsteps crossed the foyer, Millie headed down the hall to the private offices, the same way they'd made their escape before—
Only now, the footsteps were coming from that direction.
Millie froze and doubled back.
How did they get there so quick? Was there someone else with them?
She turned—
But now, the footsteps sounded as though they were getting closer to the office.
Millie spun in a circle, at a loss. They had her trapped. There was nowhere else to go. Unless...
With the barest of hopes, Millie tried the handle of one of the office doors. To her relief, it gave, and she opened it just a crack and slipped inside.
The office was small but ornate. The corner wall behind the large carved desk was made of soaring bookshelves that had once belonged to the library before it was sectioned off. Millie had no time to admire the room, as the footsteps were closing in. She dove behind the desk and curled up in the gap between the drawers.
She listened hard as the footsteps reached the hall. They paced the small hall outside, pausing outside the office in which Millie was hiding. They lingered there as if they were waiting for something, listening for a sound that would give her away.
Millie slapped her hand over her mouth as if they could detect her ragged breathing through the door. She squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for whoever was there to push the door open and step inside...
But they didn't.
They stood there, outside the office, the floor creaking beneath them as they rolled back and forth on the balls of their feet. Millie couldn't tell if it was one person or two. Either way, no one spoke. For a long moment, there was just the creaking of the floor and Millie's muffled breathing.
Then the steps retreated, as though they had simply given up.
Millie released her mouth and exhaled, relieved.
Had it really been that easy?
With the footsteps long gone, Millie crawled out from under the desk. She peered over the edge, to see if someone was still at the door, but the textured glass window showed no one there. Bracing herself against the desk edge, Millie pulled herself up... then stopped.
There was a stack of files spread across the desk's top.
Millie quickly pushed them around, looking for any that may have Petra's name attached. But it didn't seem that Petra's file wasn't here either. Millie sighed. It wasn't a smart idea to stick around for much longer, not when someone was lurking around, but she wanted to keep searching...
As she pushed the last file aside, something else caught her eye.
A thick stack of letters, bound together with a bit of string, sat at the edge of the desk, beneath a green-shaded lamp.
Millie frowned. She knew she should just leave them and go, but something about them looked... familiar.
She leaned across the desk to take a closer look...
Her stomach dropped.
They were her letters.