Chapter 30
Kenzi
Dr. Hanson’s office is warm, the blinds drawn against the late evening chill. I sit on the edge of the couch, restless, my hands twisting in my lap. I’ve been pushing for her to set up a meeting between Dr. Radley and me.
“Did you finally reach him?” I ask.
Her face doesn’t change. She just leans back in her chair, fingers steepled. “I suppose it’s time you know the truth.”
A cold knot forms in my stomach. “What truth?”
She exhales long and heavy, as though she’s been rehearsing this moment. “I’ve been documenting everything. Every session, every recovered memory. Every trigger and response.”
My chest tightens. “You… you’ve been using me?”
“No.” Her voice is steady but sharp. “I’ve been protecting you. And protecting the case.”
I shake my head, pulse pounding. “Case?”
She leans forward now, eyes burning. “The North Ridge facility is tied to Radley. That’s where they had me.
I was a patient, Kenzi. Just a little girl, like you.
They put the spool in my hands, they told me it would lead me out.
It only led deeper, and I swore if I survived, I’d never let them bury the truth again. ”
Her words knock the air out of my lungs. She was one of us. I stare at her, unformed questions stuck in my throat.
“I became a psychiatrist because it was the only way in,” she continues, her voice taut.
“Years of records, interviews, survivors who could barely speak. I’m compiling all of it into a manuscript for a book to expose it all.
I have names, dates, and evidence Radley can’t explain away.
But I needed one more piece.” Her gaze is fixed on me.
“I needed the voice of someone they trained. Someone who lived through Radley’s stage. ”
The room shrinks. “You mean me.”
“Yes.” She doesn’t flinch. “But I never forced you. Every exercise we did, every question I asked, was designed to help you recover memories in the safest possible way. I couldn’t risk triggering a collapse. I’d never do that to another survivor.”
I press a hand to my chest, trying to inhale a full breath. “So this has all been about your book?”
“No,” she says fiercely. “It’s about justice.
And healing. The manuscript is the case, Kenzi.
The only way to bring down Radley and every institution tied to him.
If we confront him with nothing but anger, he’ll crush us.
But if we confront him with evidence, with testimony, with undeniable proof—he’ll fall. They all will.”
Her words burn through me, hot and cold at once. For so long I wondered if she was another handler, another doctor pulling strings, handing me a spool. And now she claims she’s been on my side all along.
My throat burns as if I’ve swallowed glass. I want to scream at her, to call her a liar, a manipulator—another adult who used me for her own ends.
But the way she said North Ridge—the tremor in her voice, the way her eyes flickered like she was seeing it again—that wasn’t an act.
“You should have told me sooner,” I whisper.
Her expression softens. “I wanted to. Every session. But if I’d rushed you, you might not have remembered on your own. Your testimony would be useless if I pushed it into you.”
“Testimony,” I repeat, the word sour. “That’s all I am to you. A witness.”
She shakes her head. “I still believe in your confrontation,” she adds, softer now. “But it must be staged carefully. Recorded and supported. Otherwise, Radley will spin it as hysteria. And we’ll lose everything.”
“Staged?”
“I didn’t mean it like that. Truly, I’m on your side. You know I am.”
I look down at my trembling hands. Billa’s face flashes in my mind. Ember’s, Fenna’s. The kids from my memories.
My voice comes out hoarse. “Then we don’t just confront him. We end him, once and for all.”
Dr. Hanson nods slowly. “Exactly. But we have to do it my way. Or we risk becoming another forgotten act in his twisted theater.”
“How do you know we can do this? He’s capable of so much.”
“You’re a survivor. That makes you dangerous to him, to all of them. That’s why we have to be precise.”
I stand, pacing the length of the office. “Precise doesn’t save kids in basements. Precise doesn’t stop them from training the next Fenna.”
Her voice sharpens. “And reckless doesn’t stop Radley. No, it feeds him. He’ll turn your confrontation into proof of your instability. That’s how he’s survived this long. Believe me, it’s happened before. We have to handle this with care and learn from the past mistakes of others.”
The truth of that lodges in my chest like a splinter. I imagine bursting into Radley’s office, screaming, demanding answers. I can already see the smug way he’d tilt his head, the clinical notes he’d scribble as if I were a specimen and not a person.
Especially now that I remember. Now that he can’t deny the truth and pretend I don’t know.
I squeeze my eyes shut. “I can’t wait years for your book.”
“You won’t have to.” She leans forward, urgency in her tone. “I’m close. Weeks, maybe months. Your memories are the keystone. That’s why I pushed you, why I took the risk.”
I turn back to her, my voice breaking. “And if I’m not strong enough? What if I remember wrong?”
“You’ll remember right,” she says firmly. “You already are.”
The silence between us stretches, thick with things I can’t say. Finally, I force the words out. “If I do this your way, you have to promise me something.”
“Anything.”
“We don’t just write about him. We still face him in person. I want him to know who’s behind his fall.”
“Of course.” Her eyes glisten, but she nods. “We’ll make that the final act.”
The phrase makes me shiver.
Final act.
But for a change, I feel like maybe the ending won’t belong to Radley. Maybe I can even return to my life as if none of this had ever happened. But I don’t dare speak the words out loud.
Dr. Hanson doesn’t pick up her pen this time. She doesn’t hide behind her notes or her calm professional mask. She leans forward, elbows on her knees, and studies me like I’m not a patient anymore but a partner. “All right, let’s treat this like strategy, not therapy. What’s our first move?”
For a moment, I just stare at her. I’m so used to being directed—remember this, focus on that—the question almost doesn’t compute. But then I realize she means it. She’s asking me.
I take a slow breath. “We need proof Radley is still active.”
Dr. Hanson nods. “Proof that ties him to North Ridge and Willow Glen, which is another site. We have to prove it’s not just Radley Hospital. If we can show the network is still running, it can’t be brushed off as history.”
A spark flickers in her eyes. She grabs a legal pad but doesn’t angle it away this time.
She writes while I speak, like we’re drafting battle plans.
“I have records, financial transfers, partial rosters. But it’s fragmented.
What you bring are the memories—specific rooms, objects, names they used inside.
That’s what makes the paper trail unshakable. ”
“What about your memories?” I ask.
“They’re similar to yours, which ties North Ridge to Radley. It will help, but it has to be more than just our words, our memories.”
My pulse kicks faster. The memories don’t feel like chains around my throat. They feel like weapons. “I can describe the stage, the props, the spool, and whatever else comes to mind. I can draw them if I have to.”
“Good,” she says. “That will corroborate what I’ve already collected.
And there’s something else.” She lowers her voice, as if even the office walls might be listening.
“There are whispers about another performance scheduled. Not here, but at one of the other facilities. If it’s true, we’ll need to be ready before it happens. ”
My lungs deflate. “They’re still staging?”
She nods. “Still scripting, still programming. Which means we need someone on the inside who remembers enough to recognize the cues as they happen. That’s you.”
The weight should crush me. But instead, I feel steady. Seen.
I lift my chin. “Teach me how to see like you do. Not just as a survivor, but as an investigator. Someone to take the whole thing down.”
Her mouth curves into the faintest smile. “I thought you’d never ask.”
For once, I don’t feel like I’m sitting in a therapist’s office. I feel like I’m sitting in a war room. And perhaps I’m finally on the winning side.