Read Milo's Story: Stories from The Gateway: Companion tales to The Gateway Trilogy for Free Online Page A

glazed over in thought.
    I let the silence spiral as long as I could tolerate before I finally burst out, “What? What is it?”
    “I was just thinking,” she mumbled vaguely.
    I rolled my eyes. “I can see that. Care to let me in on it?”
    “Right, sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “Well, like I said, Jeffrey will be really angry if you go back in there, now that he thinks he’s got his room back. I don’t think he’ll be quiet about it, especially if we provoke him.”
    “And why in the name of Vogue would we want to provoke him?” I asked warily.
    “We wouldn’t, if it were just us, but if the nurses were all there, it might just be the perfect solution to both of our problems.”
    “Okay, I’m intrigued. Elaborate,” I said.
    “If we get him really angry, angry enough to cause some more stuff to fly around the room—then what choice will the staff have but to believe us?”
    I thought about it for a moment, and then my face split into a grin that may or may not have qualified as evil—I’m not at liberty to say at this time.
    “Do you think we could provoke him into throwing something blunt directly at Coffee-breath’s head?”
     
    ~
     
    It took two more days of pointless manual labor and sucking-up on my part before it was decided that I could rejoin the general population. Amidst other usual indignity, I’d been made to write an excessively long and flowery apology letter to Coffee-breath, which I then had to read out loud to her while she mugged and scowled at me. It was laced with sarcasm that went right over her head, which was the only way I could secretly salvage my pride. I’d been sure I couldn’t take another minute of it, but now, as I stood facing the open door of that room again, I seriously considered walking in there and breaking something just so they would send me back to solitary.
    “Well, here you are again. Home sweet home,” Coffee-breath said.
    “Yup. Feels just like old times,” I said quietly, staring around the room. Nothing looked out of place. Not a single clue as to what was probably lurking invisible in the corners, tucked in the shadows. I took a deep breath.
    I stepped over the threshold, still holding that deep breath in. I wished suddenly for Hannah’s little porcelain hand in mine, the cold, fragile, reassuring pressure of it. She’d told me what to do, and what to say. I just didn’t want to do it without her. After all, ghosts were her specialty, not mine. Damn her repeat offender status, or she might have been able to come with me.
    Okay, I told myself. Here goes nothing. And possibly everything.
    “Margaret, could I just ask you a question?”
    Coffee-breath turned back to me, clearly aggravated. “You could. Doesn’t mean that I’ll answer it.”
    “Lovely, thanks. I was just wondering what kinds of alternative therapies you all have here for… you know, difficult cases.”
    She frowned at me. “What do you mean, difficult?”
    “Don’t you ever have cases that need even more than a trip to the behavioral ward? Don’t worry, I’m not suggesting I’m about to get difficult,” I said, as she gave me the stink-eye. “But there must be some kids who just don’t cooperate with that. So what do you do with them?”
    The light closest to the window began to flicker ever so slightly. I felt my pulse quicken.
    “We have alternative treatment plans to fit many different scenarios,” Coffee-breath replied, her tone still suspicious of why our conversation was headed down this road. “We assess the patient and the situation and create an individualized plan to fit that patient’s needs.”
    “But you must have, like, extreme measures, right? Like for emergencies or really crazy outbursts,” I pressed, as the light flickered just a bit faster. “Come on, you can tell me. You must have seen some really intense stuff since you’ve been here, right? I’m sure they save all the really difficult stuff for the most experienced