My head started to throb. Didn’t he even care that his daughter just got out of the hospital for attempted suicide? “I don’t want to go to a dumb party. You and Mrs. … Mom can go without me.”
“Don’t be absurd. Why would your mother go?” He scowled, as if I’d insulted him. “Of course you’ll accompany me. Congressman Donatello is looking forward to seeing you again.”
“Why would a congressman care about me?”
“Really, Leah. Fishing for compliments is so juvenile.” Mr. Montgomery’s laugh held irony and amusement. “Besides, it’s not as if anyone expects me to appear with your mother. Her condition is a badly kept secret, and everyone is quite sympathetic. You know she hasn’t gone to a social event in years. You, however, are welcomed with open arms.”
“Even though I attempted suicide?” I blurted out.
His expression darkened, and for a moment I thought he would hit me. I moved backwards until my back pressed up against a bookcase.
“Do not use that word,” he snapped. “You were very ill, and can’t be blamed for your behavior. It’s in the past, where it will remain. You’re much better now.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.” He stepped toward me. “Because if you weren’t better, you wouldn’t be living in my home. Sadly, I’d have no recourse except to follow Dr. Hodges’ recommendation and commit you to a mental institution.”
“You wouldn’t!”
“By now you should know
I frowned, afraid. I thought longingly of my own father, who laughed easily and loved me no matter what I looked like or how many mistakes I made. He would never threaten me or slap my butt.
“Here.” Mr. Montgomery pushed the velvet box into my hand. “You’ll look lovely in this bracelet. Be a good girl and I’ll buy you the matching necklace and earrings. I’ll have Angie bring you an exercise schedule and set up a Botox appointment.”
I cringed, tightening my fingers around the jewelry box. I wasn’t sure which was worse — being injected with poison that would freeze my facial muscles, or exercising. Probably exercise. At least the Botox injection would be quick and not involve sweat.
“The suicide attempt, the game playing, sneaking out and lying,” he said coolly. “All of it will end now, and you will behave as my daughter should. Do you understand?”
“No, I don’t,” I said stubbornly.
“DeHaven Psychiatric Resort has an immediate opening,” he said in an ominous tone. “They have cutting- edge treatments for the mentally disturbed. They believe in controversial methods of electric shock and isolation in padded cells. All I need to do is make a phone call. Or would you rather agree to behave properly?”
I hesitated, fear tightening a noose around my soul. Slowly, I nodded.
“That’s my girl.” His satisfied smile made me want to barf. “By the way, to insure you get plenty of rest, I’ve had a few things removed from your room and the lock reinforced. You may leave now.”
I was dismissed.
As I started to go, he called after me, “Take care of yourself, Leah.”
I shuddered. Not because of his threats or inappropriate behavior — but because he’d emphasized “Leah” in a tone that echoed with ownership.
And for the first time since my death, I felt sorry for Leah.
14
Computer. Desk phone. Cell phone. Car keys.
All gone from Leah’s room. And the formidable deadbolt lock on the door required two keys, which Angie, a thirty-something housekeeper with an impressive double chin and long black snake-braid, withdrew from her skirt pocket. She didn’t seem friendly, and I was too emotionally numb to care. She asked if I was hungry and I nodded, although I’d lost track of time and appetite.
“I’ll be back with your lunch,” she said coolly. The lock double-clicked behind her.
Something clicked inside me, too — outrage, panic, fear — and I rushed to the door, rattling the knob and pounding on the wood.
“Let me out!” I shouted. Then I kicked the door and ranted about unfairness, threatening to report everyone in this household to child-protective services. They were all cruel and awful and hateful.
My rampage only lasted about five minutes, until my voice cracked and my throat burned. I sagged against the door in defeat. Leah’s father had completely shut me off from the outside world. I might as well be in the crazy bin wrapped in a straitjacket — I’d have more freedom than in this princess prison. I sank to the plush carpet and huddled against the door. Tears warmed some of the numbness. I hugged my knees, rocking to ease my shivers.
Everything was so wrong and all I wanted to do was go home. I had to let my family know I was alive. Aunt Suzanne said they were suffering, and knowing that made me feel worse. Why had I given up so quickly? Aunt Suzanne didn’t know me that well — she didn’t even like me. If I’d reached my parents or friends, I could have convinced at least one of them. But now I was totally cut off. Alone behind a locked door, everything seemed hopeless.
I have no idea how long it was before I heard a key in the lock and smelled delicious aromas. Wiping my face and pushing back my tangled hair, I jumped to my feet so the door wouldn’t smack me as it opened.
“Here’s your lunch.” Angie avoided looking directly at me, double-locking the door behind her as if she expected me to bolt for freedom.
She carried a covered silver dish on an oval tray. Wonderful lemon and buttery smells revived me a little. My stomach rumbled.
“Thank you,” I said quietly. “It smells good.”
Angie ignored me, turning to leave.
“Wait,” I called out. “Stay a minute. I’d like to talk.”
“About what?” she asked, flipping her braid over her shoulder in a defiant gesture. With her hands on her hips, she eyed me with suspicion. She was younger than I’d originally thought, maybe in her late twenties. Yet her plodding manner and sour expression made her seem much older, as if her inner bitch had matured fast.
“I need help,” I told her sincerely. “I have to get away.”
“As if!” She snorted like I’d said something funny.
“This is life-or-death important,” I added, desperate enough to beg. It was awful being at a stranger’s mercy, especially when there was no hint of compassion in her narrowed eyes. “Please, will you help?”
“You’re saying ‘please’ to me?” She folded her arms around her curvy chest. “Hell must have frozen over.”
“So you’ll help?” I asked eagerly.
“Absolutely, positively never gonna happen.”
“I have to get out of here! If you don’t help me something terrible will happen.”
“You can’t threaten me anymore — your father already knows about Luis’ past, and he doesn’t care. You’re a real tool and I’m not dumb enough to get screwed again.”
“Huh? Whatever I did … I’m sorry.”
“Sure, sorry you can’t push me around anymore,” she said with thick sarcasm. “I work for your father. Not you.”
“He isn’t my father.” I sighed as her expression closed. “I mean, he doesn’t act normal. It’s cruel to lock me in.”
“Consider yourself lucky. He should have sent you to the loony bin. I hear you flipped out, have a dozen different personalities.”
