Chapter 10: Alder House

"The place I came from," I said, "had a view of a lake."

Shanna blinked.

"I'm not scared of that room," I said. "I'm scared of what I didn't know while I was in it."

Griffin snatched the paper off the table and tore it down the middle.

"My mother's lawyer wrote this," he said. "I know his phrasing."

"It's still an order," the officer said from the doorway.

"Then I'll fight it."

"Griffin." I stood up. "You said you'd tell me when we knew about Dylan. We know."

His face went tight.

"Tonight," he said. "At home. Rhett is here, Alana, let's not..."

"I'm done waiting for you to be ready."

I took my keys off the table.

Rhett looked up from the football he was holding like a baby. "Where are you going?"

"To get something that belongs to me."

Alder House sat at the end of a long gravel drive in Davidson, a stone building with white shutters and a lawn that ran down to the lake.

I had seen it for forty-one days through a window with a grille over it.

I parked in the visitor lot and stayed in the car with my hands on the wheel until they stopped shaking.

Then I went inside.

The lobby smelled of lemon polish and old carpet, and a young man at the front desk asked how he could help.

"I'm a former patient," I said. "I want my records."

"Medical records are in the back, ma'am. You'd need to fill out a form and wait up to thirty days."

"I was here twelve years ago. I was admitted in March."

"Ma'am, it's the policy."

"Is there someone who's worked here since then?"

He hesitated.

Behind him a door opened, and a woman in her fifties came out holding a stack of folders.

She was heavy and gray-haired, in a cardigan with a lanyard around her neck.

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