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appeared to be a perfectly normal hallway—the kind you might find at a posh boarding school. There was a communal bathroom and six individual patient rooms, which Janie had actually been right about—they seemed pretty nice, furnished with matching dark wood nightstands, dressers, and vanity tables. The closest one to the bathroom—Room 1—had a pastel-pink bedspread and a dresser with a missing drawer.
    “I’ll take this one.” The words left my mouth before I knew they were coming.
    “I thought you hated pink,” Dad said, moving past me with my suitcase.
    That was true. And the broken dresser reminded me of a sinister, toothless smile.
    “I like the view,” I said. “Plus, it’s as far from Janie as I can get.”
    And as close to the exit.
    “I heard you!” Janie shouted from the room she’d chosen—Room 6, the one at the very end of the hall.
    After Mom and Dad headed back downstairs, I loaded up my messenger bag with everything I’d need to hit the road. It might be a long, rainy walk to town, and a suitcase would just slow me down. I wished I’d thought to bring an umbrella.
    Down the hall, Janie was singing softly to herself.
    In spite of my sister’s many (many, many) shortcomings, she had perfect pitch and a natural talent for singing. I certainly wasn’t looking forward to the day she realized just how good she was. With my luck, she’d win one of those TV talent shows and end up a millionaire, and I’d be the talentless reject sister, forgotten in the shadows. Sometimes I felt like our whole family was waiting for that to happen.
    Her voice, clear and lovely, drifted down the hall while I waited on the bed with my packed bag, watching the minutes tick by on my phone. I’d changed from my jeans and T-shirt into an old baggy burgundy sweater of Dad’s and gray leggings dotted with white hearts. On my feet were a pair of knockoff Ugg boots, and my hair was pulled up into a messy bun. It was basically a half step up from pajamas, but I figured that if I was going to spend the night in a bus station (or juvie lockup), I might as well be comfortable.
    My feet rested on the little round stool I’d pulled away from the vanity, rocking it back and forth on its uneven legs in time with my sister’s song. Her flawless rhythm and the gentle knock of the wood against the floor lulled me into a bit of a trance. I found myself following the words of her song. It was one I’d never heard before, and it was old-fashioned—a complete departure from her usual repertoire of pop songs about breakups.
    “Beautiful dreamer, wake unto me … Starlight and dewdrops are waiting for thee …”
    Her voice drifted off, like she’d fallen asleep. Excellent. This would be my best chance to sneak out. I got up off the bed, accidentally knocking over the little wooden footstool with a clatter. I hurriedly set it upright. But as soon as my fingers let go of the smooth, round edge, it knocked itself over again …
    And rolled toward me.
    I watched in silence, unable to believe my eyes.
    Then it bumped up against my foot.
    My heart racing, I scrambled backward, running into the bed and knocking something loose behind me. I turned around to see that I had dislodged a leather strap, complete with buckles, bolted to the bed frame. Lifting the bedspread, I found more straps—one for each wrist and ankle, and a big one that would fit perfectly across a torso.
    Don’t freak out, I told myself. Just go. Get your things and go.
    I grabbed my messenger bag and purse, double-checked to make sure I had my phone and charger, and started into the hall. The bathroom door gaped open, and I caught a flash of lightning through the window.
    A high-pitched scream filled the air.
    It was the kind of sound that overloads your brain, leaving you blank except for the sudden, all-consuming awareness of a person in horrible distress.
    Janie!
    I dropped my stuff and ran back to her room, gasping at the sight that greeted me—
    My sister was