Page 41 of Break Me: Smith and Belle

“A cake?” she repeated. Whatever for?”

“It’s Georgia’s birthday,” I blurted out. It was a terrible lie. One that would be undone the moment that Georgia opened her mouth to contradict me—unless I forced her to go along with it first.

“I’ll have to go to the village. You might have mentioned it before now,” she clucked, clearly put out to be left to do something last-minute.

“I’m so sorry.” In truth, I was relieved. I would have sent her to the moon if I had to. Making a cake was easier. “I just found out it was her birthday.”

“Who’s birthday?” Edward asked, striding into the kitchen.

“Georgia,” I told him quickly.

“It is?” He scratched his head as if he was trying to check his mental calendar.

“It is,” I repeated firmly. “Mrs. Winters is going to make a cake. But we shouldn’t make a big deal out of it, because you know Georgia will overreact if she finds out.”

“Okay,” he agreed slowly, shooting me a look behind Mrs. Winters back. He mouthed what is going on? Out loud, he asked, “Where’s Nora?”

It was a fair question, given that I had told him only yesterday that I planned to spend today in the Bless offices. I glanced over at Mrs. Winters to find she was waiting for my answer with obvious interest. “I had to let Nora go.”

“Is this about whatever happened between you and Smith last night?”

I grabbed him by the elbow and steered him out of the kitchen. “I’ll tell you about it on the way to the village.”

“We’re going to the village?” he asked in confusion.

“For presents,” I said in exasperation as though this should be obvious. This lie was quickly snowballing into a ridiculous to-do list. I couldn’t talk with Edward openly here, though. Not without risking Mrs. Winters overhearing. Until Smith returned From the Brighton Sanitarium with answers, I couldn’t rule out that Mrs. Winters knew something about Nora’s disappearance. I could only hope that she had nothing to do with it. I wouldn’t allow myself to consider what she might have seen last night. Smith might be convinced that I had nothing to do with it, but I had taken the sleeping pill. I had no way to prove that I hadn’t had another episode.

Edward followed me to the nursery and watched me pack Penny’s bag.

“I guess she needs to come with us,” he commented, lifting her from my arms so I could concentrate on getting things ready. “What happened with Nora?”

I sighed and braced myself against the changing table. Closing my eyes for a brief second, I considered where to begin. But when I opened them to tell him the truth, I looked up and spotted the nursery camera Smith had installed in the corner. Without saying anything, I rushed out of the room to Smith’s study.

Edward came after me, peppering me with questions, but I ignored him and went straight to the computer. It took me a minute to log on and then another to find the application that stored the videos. It was a long shot. I mean, sure, the audio monitor was on last night when I checked on Penny, and nothing had woken me in the night.

“You’re beginning to scare me,” Edward admitted while I scrolled through the footage.

“Give me a second.” I found last night’s footage and forwarded until I saw myself entering the nursery. That was before I had taken the sleeping pill. I watched myself leave before skipping ahead. According to the video, two hours later, I entered the room again. My heart plummeted to my stomach. I had no memory of going to check on Nora again. I had been sleepwalking last night. Edward hovered over my shoulder, watching the video without comment. As we watched, someone else entered the room.

Nora.

“No,” I said in a strangled voice. Nora came over to me and placed a hand on my arm. Then I watched as she led me from the room.

“What is this about?” Edward asked in a quiet voice.

I swallowed, no longer feeling an ounce of hope in my entire body, and turned my face to him. “I think I killed Nora last night.”

19

Smith

Brighton Sanitarium was as cheerful as I expected. The old, stone building looked like it belonged in a horror movie. A wrought-iron fence surrounded the grounds, and the asylum loomed straight up as though reaching to escape. I took note of the bars on the windows as I approached, parking the Range Rover in the lot in front. The day itself was just as gloomy; the temperature had risen just enough to turn what might have been snow into ice cold rain. It battered down from gray clouds, leaving bullet holes in the last remaining snow from the holidays.

I peeled the name tag the man at the guard post had given me when I drove up and stuck it to my sweater. I opened the front door, entering a holding vestibule, and waited for an attendant to buzz me. I supposed it was a precaution to keep patients from escaping. A bolt clicked and I pushed open the main door with hesitation. For all intents and purposes, I was entering a prison. I ignored the surge of adrenaline that rushed through me as the door locked behind me, trapping me in this soulless place.

A woman in a prim, maroon suit walked over to me and stuck out a hand. “Mr. Price,” she said, reading my name tag. “Doctor Fellows. I’m told you’re here to visit one of our long term patients.”

“Yes. Miranda Thorne,” I said in a clipped voice. I didn’t want to explain myself. I wanted to get this over with and get out of here as quickly as possible.