Chapter 4

4: 4

The photos were gone from my sister's room.

I went through every drawer, and finally, behind the panel under the desk, I found a hidden compartment.

A dozen ledgers were crammed inside.

I opened the earliest one. The first page read:

"From the day you were born, Edwina had nothing left."

"If it weren't for taking care of you, she never would have gone with your father."

After that came line after line of accounts.

"Edwina received a new backpack. Expense: three hundred eighty dollars."

The next line read: "Summer's backpack worn until torn, to offset the shame Edwina suffered as a child scavenging used bags."

"Edwina enrolled in piano lessons."

"Summer's after-school programs stopped, electronic keyboard smashed."

"Edwina attended summer camp in France."

"Summer locked in the storage room for seven days."

Every single thing my sister got was followed by a punishment I endured.

My frostbite, my hunger, my allergic reactions, my scars, all of it written up in neat little columns as expenses.

On the far right was another column: "Settlement status."

Almost every entry bore a red stamp.

Paid.

The page for my sister's riding lessons read:

"Edwina, four riding lessons."

"Summer's right leg immobilized for one day, to offset the grief Edwina felt falling with no one to care for her."

Those photos weren't keepsakes. They were invoices.

There was a portable hard drive under the desk too.

The folder was named: "Fair Education Records."

In the video, five-year-old me was picking up the pieces of a torn picture book.

Off camera, my mother's voice was gentle. "Edwina had no books as a child, so her little sister can't either."

In another clip, I was chipping at the ice on a frozen river for water.

When I fell, my mother didn't help me up. She only filmed my bleeding hand.

"See that?"

"Every hardship you went through, she won't miss a single one."

In the newest video, my sister sat in a room I didn't recognize.

She was much thinner than in the photos, her eyes red and swollen from crying.

"I don't want your money, and I don't want to watch you torture Summer anymore."

"She's been begging for help this whole time!"

My mother's voice was calm.

"If you don't watch it to the end, everything she suffered means nothing."

"This is abuse! I'm calling the police!"

"You can call the police."

"But don't forget, you're the one who abandoned me and chose that useless father of yours."

"What Summer paid off is the debt you owe me."

My sister rushed up to the camera.

"She was only four that year!"

"I'll give you back the school and the money, just please, don't touch her again."

The video cut off.

So my sister had known all along that I was being punished.

But my mother had never once let me hear her cries for help. She'd left only those polished photos, so I would believe my sister was enjoying everything with a clear conscience.

Pressed beside the hard drive was an application for long-term confinement training.

The receiving institution was Consultant Lambert's center.

It wasn't registered as a hospital, but as a residential behavioral training center.

The contract said nothing about "treatment" or "medication." Everything was written as "lifestyle management" and "behavioral intervention."

As long as a guardian signed, they'd lock a child inside.

The assessment was already written out: "Summer Fox exhibits jealous delusions, aggressive tendencies, and self-destructive behavior. Confined intervention recommended."

Attached were screenshots of me refusing to apologize at the graduation ceremony, of my allergic reaction, of me pounding on the balcony door.

Every act of resistance, edited into evidence that I was mentally unwell.

The second document was an accident insurance policy.

The insured was me.

The beneficiary was my sister.

On the last page of the ledger was a new settlement entry.

"Edwina returns home."

"Summer permanently removed from competition."

"Method of settlement: long-term confined intervention."

Below it, a line of small print.

"In the event of an accident during intervention, payout funds transferred to Edwina's education account."

I stared at that word, accident, and a cold crept through my fingers in waves.

She didn't want me to withdraw from school.

She wanted me gone from everyone's life, and she wanted my sister to believe it was for her sake too.

The lock clicked softly.

My mother pushed the door open, two men in white coats standing behind her.

She glanced at the computer and actually smiled.

"Perfect. Saves me the explanation."

I grabbed the ledger and ran for the window.

My mother caught me by the hair and forced me to the floor.

Restraint straps snapped around my wrists.

I kicked and struck at anything I could, and the lamp and picture frames crashed to the ground.

My mother held up her phone.

"Get it clearly. She's attacking staff on her own."

A wet towel suddenly clamped over my nose and mouth.

She dragged me into the bathroom, twisted on the cold water, and pushed my face into the tub, again and again.

"Admit you were jealous of your sister, and I'll make them leave."

Every time I was about to lose consciousness, she hauled me back up.

The camera never left me.

She wasn't going to kill me outright.

She meant to break me first, drive me out of control, then prove I'd been a lunatic all along.

There was less and less air in my lungs.

Every time I nearly blacked out she lifted me again, so the camera could catch me clawing and kicking.

The stretcher wheels rolled over the floor.

My mother wiped the water from my face.

"Don't be scared. Your sister comes home tomorrow."

"Before she gets back, I have to settle the last account."

A needle jabbed into my neck.

As they lifted me onto the stretcher, I saw her pick up the ledger.

The red stamp came down.

"Paid."

Those words pressed down over my name, like a headstone carved in advance.