Page 19 of Wicked Vile King
Trixie finishes with her shoes. "Don't know. People say weird stuff around here, that Dr. Boucher kills ‘em and diddles their bodies, crazy shit like that. Jenks—you'll meet him, he's a fellow senior—when he's off his meds, he'll shout in the halls about how the shadows eat the students. I don't buy any of that though. I think they try to escape and are stupid about it, so they die in the woods, either killed by the elements or the wolves. So I suggest you don't try to escape, newbie."
"I thought you were just trying to leave?" I say, looking at the rain pelting the window.
"I am, but I'm not going to be stupid about it," she answers. "I've got no plans to end up on Dr. Boucher's operating table."
"Who's Dr. Boucher?" I ask as she walks over to the door and gestures for me to follow.
"He's the head honcho, the guy above Headmistress. There's Dr. Cross at the bottom of the totem pole, then Headmistress Graves above him, and then Dr. Boucher. Hopefully, you never have to meet him. He only treats those housed in isolation, and I've only seen him once after a bad manic episode. I thought I was hallucinating at first. Hand to God, I swear he looks like the crypt keeper."
She raises a hand as if to make her point before continuing. "People call him Butcher behind his back, but I suggest you don't do it to his face. Rumor is that he got sacked from his last job for using archaic methods—electroshock, hydrotherapy, all that illegal shit. But up here, he can do as he wishes. We're a reformatory academy, not a mental institution, and they say he uses that loophole to do whatever he wants."
A lead weight drops to the dead center of my chest, squeezing my breath away.
"That's messed up," I say on a swallow.
Trixie nods. "Go along with your treatment plan, take your meds, and don't talk back. Tell them what they want to hear—that you're reformed, you're feeling better, you don't have those bad urges anymore, and you'll be fine, like me, just counting down the days until graduation or your escape when you can tell your parents to finally fuck off."
The door opens, and two things happen all at once: the bedroom light turns on and, unnecessarily, a flashlight shines right at my face, blinding me.
"Names?" a man in black scrubs demands.
"Moreaue," Trixie says quickly.
"Cadelle," I add.
The man looks between us, announcesPresent!, and moves on down the hall, the man at his side taking notes on a lined, yellow notepad.
Trixie steps over to the door as the two men continue down the hall, leaving room doors open in their wake.
"How long have you been here?" I whisper because I notice no one else is talking at full volume, not yet anyway, even if they do stick their heads out of their rooms and survey the hall.
"Six months almost to the day," she whispers back to me. "Got expelled three times before I was sent here. You?"
"I've never been expelled."
She sucks in a breath between her teeth and side-eyes me.
"Really? Oof, that sucks. Your parents must be hard asses then. No one sends their kids here for their first offense. That's fucked up, newbie."
"That's my dad," I mutter.
"Well, your dad is a colossal dick then, no offense," she whispers as I follow her lead and wait at the door.
"Chowtime, animals!" one of the men calls at the end of the hall as they finish roll call.
"Come on, fresh meat," Trixie says, no longer whispering. "I'm starving."
I follow her into the hallway, and girls are shuffling everywhere, headed down the wide hall to a spiral staircase, talking and chattering in their matching Academy uniforms.
"Stick with me," Trixie says, "and you'll be okay. The doors are unlocked every morning at 6:00 a.m. rain or shine, Monday through Sunday, for roll call. There's another roll call again every evening at 7:30 p.m. too, and you better be here for it or you will end up in deep shit. Isolation, one-on-one with the doc, whatever it is, I guarantee it will suck. Also, don't miss a mealtime and don't miss a therapy session or a one-on-one with Dr. Cross, and you'll be all right."
A commotion breaks out behind us, and Trixie hurries me forward.
"Never look back," she says. "That's rule number three."
"What are rules one and two?" I ask as we continue down the stairs.
"Rule number one: don't end up in the hole. Number two: don't miss roll call."
