Chapter 10
Billa
I finish the last of my almond milk latte just as the bell rings above the cafe door. My head immediately whips in the direction. The tall, elegant woman with a perfectly twirled bun steps in like she’s never been uncomfortable anywhere in her life.
That has to be Florencia. I wave the investigative reporter over, and she sashays around the tables as if this were a dance floor instead of a coffee shop. “Billa?”
I nod, and as she sits, I hand her the tea she said she wanted over our texting conversation.
She thanks me as she slides out of her overcoat. “Sorry to keep you waiting. There was construction near City Hall, and I couldn’t get around it.”
“No problem.” I smile. “I appreciate you meeting with me on such short notice—and on the weekend, no less.”
Florencia sips her tea. “When you said you had connections to Radley, I jumped at the opportunity.”
“Is it hard to find leads?”
“More than you’d think. This has turned into one of my more challenging stories.”
“Why’s that?”
She sets the paper cup down and looks deep in thought for a moment. “It’s challenging to find people who will admit to having been there. Although, I’m beginning to think it might not be so much admitting as it is remembering.”
That hits a little close to home.
Florencia lifts one of her perfectly manicured eyebrows. “Did I strike a nerve?”
I play with my empty cup. “You could say that.”
“Any chance you knew Laurel Radley?”
My back stiffens at that woman’s name.
“Another nerve, I see.” Florencia flicks me a knowing glance. “You don’t have to tell me anything you aren’t comfortable with, but at the same time, be aware that even a seemingly minor detail can help me make connections.”
“Do you mean to other former patients?”
She nods, taking another sip.
“How many have you talked to?” I lean forward, suddenly curious about how much she’s learned from her investigative reporting.
“Several, though I get the feeling I’m only scratching the surface. Each story brings the fuller picture into a little more clarity.” Florencia holds my gaze, clearly wanting me to spill everything I know.
I lean back and tap the table. “What are your plans with the report? Is it going to be an exposé? A documentary? Or just a blog post?”
She chuckles. “It won’t be a blog post, I assure you. One of the large TV networks is interested in buying the rights if I can gather enough proof. I can’t say much more than that, but if all goes as I hope, it could very well end up being a docuseries.”
“Really?”
“If I can get enough people willing to speak out against the institution.” There’s a hitch in her voice.
“You’re having trouble finding people?”
“Let’s just say people’s minds have been messed with, and that gives the whole thing a special sort of challenge.”
I flash back to that guy with the weird eye saying ‘milkshake’ to Kenzi right before she started acting weird. Then I study Florencia. “You mean like hypnosis?”
“More along the lines of a medically induced head messing.”
“Drugs?” I lean forward, my breath hitching.
“That, yes. But also more. Does that sound familiar?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
She tilts her head. “No?”
I take a deep breath. “You’re going to want to get comfortable. You have time?”
A smile tugs at her mouth. “As much as you have. Mind if I take notes?”
“Have at it.”
Florencia digs into her bag and pulls out a tablet. “Start whenever you’re ready.”
It’s hard to know where to begin, but I figure my journals are as good of place as any.
Her gaze goes between her tablet and me as she listens and takes notes.
I take so long going through the details of what I know, I end up ordering myself a hot tea with honey to keep me going. Customers come and go around us as I share my story in the most roundabout way, following thoughts as they pop into my mind.
She asks questions here and there, but mostly just listens and jots notes on her tablet screen. By the time I’m done, my stomach is growling and my throat is dry, as I emptied my tea at least a half hour ago.
“Does any of that help?”
Florencia nods as she sets down her tablet. “More than you can imagine. It sounds like your family is deeply entwined with the Radley institution.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if Ryker discovers he went there too.”
“Or your niece, even though she doesn’t remember anything.”
I shake my head. “It sounds like her mom purposefully kept her away from the family.”
“Do you think she was involved with the institution?”
“Claire?” I ask. “I wouldn’t know, though nothing would surprise me at this point.”
Florencia asks more questions, some that I can’t answer because I never met Claire. Not even as a child.
As we’re wrapping up and Florencia is putting her tablet back into her bag, I turn the tables. “What have you learned from the other patients you’ve spoken with?”
She frowns. “I’m not at liberty to say. You wouldn’t want me telling others what you’ve shared with me, would you?”
“I’ve basically given you permission to share it all on a docuseries.”
“True, but at this point all I’m doing is gathering information.”
“Can you tell me anything? I desperately need answers to help Kenzi.”
Florencia’s expression turns somber.
“What?” I ask.
“I’m torn.”
That means she might help. I press my palms on the table. “How so?”
“Obviously, I want to do what I can to find answers and therefore help her and others but—”
“Others? Are you saying she isn't the only one in a zombie-like state?”
Florencia nods. “Precisely.”
My stomach drops. “She isn’t the only one. Right now?”
“Correct. There’s something…” Florencia pauses mid-sentence, her fingers frozen above her tablet.
She inhales slowly, then sets the device down like it’s suddenly too heavy.
“I should probably tell you something before we go any further.” Her voice has lost its polish, stripped bare in a way that unsettles me.
My chest tightens. “What is it?”
She meets my gaze, and for a change she doesn’t look like the composed investigative reporter who breezed into the cafe. She looks… haunted. “I’m not just chasing this story from the outside.” She leans in closer and speaks barely above a whisper. “I was a Radley patient too.”
The words hit hard. My breath catches, and I grip my teacup though it’s long gone cold. “You… you were there?”
Florencia nods. A tremor runs through her hands before she hides them under the table.
“Not for long. Or at least, not in any way that I can measure. My memory of it is fractured—weeks blurred into hours, hours stretched into months. Maybe even years. It’s like someone spliced my life apart and taped it back together.
Things look right, but something’s wrong. ”
A chill snakes up my spine. “Why didn’t you say anything before?”
Her jaw tightens. “Because the moment people hear that, they stop seeing me as credible. They think I’m too close, too damaged, and too unreliable.” She swallows hard. “But I need you to know something. I won’t ask you to share anything that I wouldn’t put myself on the line for too.”
I lean back, searching her expression for any sign she’s manipulating me. She could be lying. Or she could be planting this to get me to open up further. Worse, she could be telling the truth, which terrifies me more.
If she’s one of us… can I trust her?
She could be working with Laurel.