Finding Forever (14 page)

“Fifty-one fifty,” the short man said deliberately. “You're on a 5150 Hold of the California Welfare and Institutions Code.”

Stitched in green cursive script on the left side of the man's white smock was “Helper George.” Taylor studied his black hair, so dark it looked as if it was painted over with shoe polish. His beady eyes showed no wrinkles around them, even when he blinked. His forehead had the smoothness of a freshly Zambonied sheet of ice.

“I don't get it,” Taylor said, confused.

“It's simply a safety precaution.” He smiled. “You need not worry. Any person deemed by a mental health professional to be a danger to themselves or others can be held—against their will—in a psychiatric lockup for up to seventy-two hours.”

“So you're saying I'm crazy.”

“Not exactly. That's why you are being evaluated in our care. We are trying to figure out, clinically, the extent of your issues.”

“But what would make you think I'm nuts? I'm probably the most normal person I know. I am so normal I am boring. Despite what you might read on the blogs.”

George opened the manila folder he'd been clutching and read from the piece of paper on top. “According to our admission report, you locked yourself in the bathroom of your house on Saturday and threatened to kill yourself if anyone tried to come in. Does that jog your memory at all, Ms. Prince?”

“No. Not at all.”

“We have sworn statements from several eyewitnesses, including a Simone Witten.”

“That's my assistant.” Taylor looked down at the “Helper” on George's coat and backed up. “Who do you help, by the way?”

“You.”

“Besides me.”

“The doctor.”

“Which doctor?”

“You'll be meeting him shortly. Like I said, your assistant told investigators that you had been under the influence of drugs and had been threatening to kill yourself several times that night. According to her statement, you shaved off all your hair with a razor—and then threatened to cut your wrists.”

“Sir, I can promise you that Simone would never say anything like that. She knows me better than anyone else, and that's just not true. I love life. I love my hair. This is totally insane—”

“Are you sure all this is not true or do you just not remember?” George asked in a condescending tone that made her want to hurt him. “There's a big difference.”

Taylor looked beyond George out the window at the palm grove and lush green lawn. “That's a bullshit trick question.”

“All I'm saying, Ms. Prince, is that it's not uncommon for someone who experienced a psychotic episode to have no memory of it. It's the brain's way of protecting itself from incurring even more trauma.”

Maybe I am crazy. Maybe I did shave my head. But why?

“We've contacted your mother,” George continued. “She, of course, is quite concerned, and will be making her way here to see you very soon. She has contacted everyone on your team as well. She realizes you are under excellent care.”

“I want to talk to her,” Taylor said. “I have that right.”

“Ms. Prince, you don't.” He shrugged. “At least not until your seventy-two hour hold has expired. Our focus at the moment is on diagnostics and getting you healthy while we complete our investigation.”

“So how long have I been locked up here?”

George glanced at his watch. “A little over fifty-five hours.”

So she had just a little over a day to convince them she wasn't crazy. It was a role—that of a sane, well-adjusted, not-crazy sixteen-year-old girl—that she was convinced she could pull off. Though if she did threaten to kill herself, and if she did, in fact, repress that memory, she could be a total whack job. But the last thing she wanted to do was let on that she had any doubts.

Act sane.

“So where am I exactly?” she asked.

“The Kensington Center for Wellness and Rejuvenation. We are the state's most respected center for the treatment of psychiatric and addiction-related issues for teens. If you haven't heard of our program, I'm sure you're familiar with some of our members.” George rattled off a who's who of young celebrities who have been treated there over the last few years—Brianna Jean, Savannah Ramirez, Remy Sky, just to name a few.

“Needless to say, you're in excellent hands here with us. You may say we specialize in catering to the unique needs of high-profile young people such as yourself.”

Act normal.

She flashed him her ankle marking. “Can you at least explain this?”

“Your member ID.”

“A tattoo? Is this really necessary?”

“That's the infinity symbol,” George said. “Kensington offers its members a permanent solution, and lifelong membership.”

“What's the number two all about?”

“That's your member number.”

“What about all the others you mentioned?”

“They were patients. Not
members
.”

Taylor sighed. “Just tell me when I can leave.”

George placed his hand gently on her shoulder. “First you must get pure. It's been said that a pure soul is like a fine pearl. When a pearl is hidden in its shell, no one even thinks of admiring it. But if you bring it out of its shell, the pearl will shine and attract all eyes.” His grin pinched upward. “Kensington will help you shine again.”