Chapter 12
Billa
The box is heavier than it seemed before, or maybe I’m just tired and need more rest. That’s probably it.
Dust billows as I tug it onto my bed, the faded cardboard soft at the corners from too many attic summers.
I decided I was finished with these journals, these scraps of my forgotten younger self.
But after Florencia’s confession, I can’t stop thinking about what I might have overlooked.
I flip through crayon drawings and messy handwriting, half memories I barely claim as mine. A house with windows too small. A figure with a long white coat and no face. Pages of scribbles where my pen dug so hard it nearly tore through.
Then I see something… creased in the corner, almost torn free. A drawing of a bear. Childlike and clumsy. One button eye staring, the other missing. Its stitched mouth crooked, its fur shaded darker on one side.
My breath hitches.
I’ve seen this before. Not this exact drawing, but something close—another picture, another time. The photo from Laurel before, the same one-eyed bear, taken many years ago.
Probably around the same time.
Why would I have drawn it here back then? Unless it was never just a toy. It had to have meant something at Radley.
I trace the outline with my finger, wishing I could ask the younger version of me what she meant. But she’s as unreachable as the rest of my lost memories.
My phone buzzes, startling me. Florencia’s name flashes on the screen. For a moment, I consider ignoring it. I’m not sure I trust her. Not sure I should.
I answer anyway.
Her voice is low, urgent. “I found something you need to know about. There’s a group that meets in person. Former patients—survivors. They’ve kept quiet, hidden, but they exist. I can’t believe I’ve found it.”
I clutch the bear drawing tighter. “What kind of group?”
“A support group. At least, that’s what they call it.
But it appears to be more than that. They’re sharing pieces of the truth.
Stories about Elias Radley, and about Laurel too.
She’s taking the fall for everything the authorities know about—but it isn’t much.
Barely a sliver of what really happened. ”
I breathe out slowly. “So Laurel’s not the monster?”
“She’s a monster, for sure.” Florencia’s words are careful. “But not the monster. Just the one they could catch. The weakest link.”
I stare at the one-eyed bear, its crooked smile staring back at me. Somehow I know this is the beginning of something I can’t unlearn. Maybe even just what I need to unlock my own memories.
Perhaps even Kenzi’s.
I press the drawing flat against my knee, trying to steady my breathing. “So what you’re saying is, they know more than what’s in the files. More than Laurel ever admitted.”
Florencia waits a beat before answering. “Yes, and they’re meeting soon. I could get us in.”
“You can?”
“I’m good at what I do. This is my job—finding answers any way I can.”
Her words send a chill down my spine. That means she could work me too. “You want me to go with you?”
The words hang heavy between us. A secret door swinging open.
“I think we should both be there,” she answers softly. “If anyone understands what you’re piecing together, it’ll be them. And if what they’re saying about Laurel is true…” She trails off, leaving the unspoken obvious. Someone else is still out there, unpunished. Maybe many someones.
I close my eyes, but the bear is still there, seared into my vision. Half-blind, half-whole. Waiting for me to find it—and the truth.
“What if it’s not safe?” I whisper. “What if this group is just another trap? A way of keeping tabs on anyone who remembers too much? I’ve already had my life put on the line for this. She even went after my innocent baby niece.”
Florencia exhales as if she’s been holding the same fear. “Believe me, they’ve come after me too. I’ve thought about it all. But what if the group’s real? What if this is the only chance we have to hear the truth from others who lived it?”
I bite my lip. My instinct is to run the other way, to hide my drawing back in the box and shove it under my bed. Pretend I never saw it. But another part of me knows I can’t. Not anymore.
Finally, I speak. “We’d have to be careful. Careful about what we share with them. And about how much of ourselves we put in their hands. I can’t risk my family getting hurt.”
“So… you’ll go?” Florencia asks, not seeming to care about the possible consequences. Maybe she doesn’t have other people to worry about.
I glance down at the bear, its crooked smile daring me to look away. Then I make my decision. “I’ll go, but if this turns out to be another layer of their game—”
“Then you can walk away,” Florencia promises.
But we both know it won’t be that simple.
My heart won’t stop racing. I’m about to step into a room full of people who might remember what I can’t.
And that terrifies me more than doing this alone.