8.5 – Sadie
SADIE
(Day three for me)
T he next time I open my eyes, a brunette woman is slipping into the cabin. She doesn’t say a word to me. She just sets down a blue bottle of medication, a folded note with another chess play, and another “then” page assignment.
Still, no Dr. Weiss.
This isn’t how the experiment is supposed to go…
Later that afternoon
I roll over in bed, ready to see what’s for dinner, but Dr. Weiss is sitting in the chair next to me.
With his white sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and his deep blue eyes locked on me, it makes me wonder just how long he’s been here watching.
“Hello,” he says, his voice deep.
“Hi.”
A slow smile spreads across his face and he lifts a clipboard and a coffee from my desk.
“Are you ready for our first session, Miss Pretty?” he asks.
“Yes, Dr. Weiss.” I push off the covers and sit up on the bed.
“Good to hear that.” He holds out the cup for me. “Half coffee, half whipped cream and caramel.”
“Thank you.” I take the cup and enjoy a long, slow sip.
Clicking his pen, he glances over at the chessboard—noticing that it’s his turn. He picks up an adjacent pawn and moves it one space forward before focusing on me again.
“Let’s get straight to the point,” he says. “Why should you be let out of prison and allowed back into society?”
“Prison is for criminals.”
“That’s exactly why you were sent there.”
“I didn’t commit those murders, Dr. Weiss. It was someone else ... Didn’t you admit me into this cabin because you believe I didn’t do it?”
“Answer my question, Miss Pretty.” His voice is firm. “Why should you be let out of prison?”
“I’m innocent.”
“I see.” He stares at me, his expression a cross between amusement and frustration. “It’s common for patients suffering from certain dissociative disorders to imagine another person outside of themselves committing crimes they’re ashamed of or don’t want to admit to.”
“Is that a fancy way of saying imaginary friends?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t have any of those.”
Silence.
“So, you expect me to believe that someone else committed these murders, and you’re serving time for them?
” He leans back in the chair, giving me a glimpse of his chest through the unbuttoned shirt.
“Instead of cutting a deal for yourself or exposing the real murderer, you decided to just do the time?”
I don’t have a decent answer for that, and he scribbles on his pad.
“Does it hurt your feelings whenever people call you a murderer, Miss Pretty?”
“I never respond to anyone who calls me that.”
“Do you feel any remorse for what you did?”
I don’t know how to answer that question.
“Miss Pretty?”
“Yes?”
“I just asked if you feel anything about your three victims,” he says. “Jonathan Baylor, Gregory Sorenson, and Heath Baylor.”
Hearing their names only makes me feel a deep sense of pain…and rage. It feels like sandpaper being etched against every inch of skin—rough and reckless, again and again.
“I….” My breathing slows and my chest begins to ache. The words I really want to say are suddenly trapped in my throat.
Speechless, I set my coffee on the table, and the doctor stares at me in anticipation of an answer.
Something suddenly creaks from my left, and I look over my shoulder.
A camera is inching forward from a still fruit painting, extending its arm and inching its metal neck closer to the table.
Someone is listening and waiting for my answer right now…
“Yes.” I swallow as the camera grazes my shoulder. “I feel tons of remorse. If I could go back in time, I would make better choices with my life.”
“You wouldn’t kill them, you mean?”
“I…” I still can’t bring myself to admit to something I didn’t do. “I told the police exactly what happened. My story has never changed.”
“I’m not a lawyer, Miss Pretty.” He pauses. “I’m just here to get inside your mind. But for the record, most of the people on the outside are able to admit when they’ve done something wrong.”
“Or maybe they’re good at ‘masking’ and smart enough to avoid ever being caught.”
That answer earns me an intense gaze, and he scribbles down his longest note of the day.
“Next question,” he says. “What’s the first thing you’d do if you were let out of prison?”
“Go for a swim in the nearest lake.”
“Hmmm. What’s the next thing?”
“Buy an entire case of strawberry cream bars.”
He arches a brow. “You don’t have to wait until you’re released for that.”
“You’ll let me sneak out to the store and buy some?”
“Absolutely not.” He stands to his feet and walks to the kitchen. “Come here.”
I oblige, and he opens the oversized deep freezer, revealing a massive stash of bars that I didn’t even think to look for. I hadn’t even considered opening the freezer of the fridge since I’ve been here.
As I’m reaching to grab a box, he grabs the chain on my cuffs and pulls me forward until our heads are nearly inside the box.
“Stop fucking with me, Sadie.” He lowers his voice to an angry whisper.
“What?” I gasp as he glares into my eyes.
“I admitted you here for a very good reason,” he says. “But if you keep veering off the course and making my job difficult, I’ll make the rest of your stay as fucking hard as you made me on the day I first saw you…”
I swallow, whispering back. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I don’t have time to explain it.” He tugs on my chain a bit harder, staring into my eyes.
“We have about fifteen seconds before the system realizes there’s no sound happening,” he says. “If I ask you, ‘why should you be let out of prison,’ you need to show some goddamn remorse for the victims while the cameras are rolling.”
“ I’m the victim,” I say, my voice cracking. “They killed me .”
“Sadie…”
“I might not have shed a single tear when they died,” I say, “But if I could bring them back to life, I would plot a way to murder them… just to be able to see their last breaths up close.”
“ Interesting. ” A soft smile tugs at his lips, and he lets go of the chain. “Very interesting.”
The cabin’s front door suddenly swings open, and a man in a navy-blue ‘ Weiss Technician Crew’ jumpsuit strolls to a box near the couch.
“Don’t mind me,” he says. “Just fixing a slight microphone issue.”
Dr. Weiss shoots me an “I told you so” look, and I open an ice cream bar.
Shortly after the serviceman leaves, Dr. Weiss leans against my bedroom wall and adds more notes to his clipboard.
While he writes, I grab a new ice cream bar and then make my next move on our chessboard.
The moment I finish, he quickly moves his bishop, claiming my pawn as the first casualty.
“I’ll see you in the morning, Miss Pretty.” He looks me over one last time before leaving. “I’m impressed with your progress already…”