I pulled open my bedside drawer, grabbing the photo that I hadn’t looked at much since Skully gave it to me when I was eight years old. A man and woman stood side-by-side. He wore a dark suit with a gray tie and had a cigar in his mouth. She had long black hair that was pulled up on the top of her head and a cigarette in her mouth. She stood partially in front of him, a possessive hand in front of him. I gathered it was my parents, even though Skully didn’t tell me anything else. I wondered what happened to them. Why they put me here. Why would any parent dump their child at an abandoned psych ward and just leave? I hated them.

Scrunching up the photo, I tossed it back into the drawer and fell down onto my bed. There was a knock on the door, and I yelled to come in. It was most likely Poppy. She couldn’t sleep usually and needed to sleep with me. Her parents dumped her here a year after I was. She didn’t know anything about her parents. No one here did.

I opened my door and paused when I saw Henry standing on the other side. Henry and I weren’t friends, yet somehow he always managed to be the person delivering news to me. “Nine-oh-two.” I banged my head back on the door and watched as he moved back through the corridor. Henry was older than the rest of us, but he reminded me of a teacher’s pet. Always so fucking eager to do anything for Skully. But then… so was I.

I reached behind the door and grabbed my machete, flipping my hoodie over my head. After closing my door, I made my way down, counting the numbers on each door in passing. Eighty-seven… I let the sharp tip of the machete scratch the walls as I walked down, counting the numbers beneath my breath.

902.

Shoving open the door, I saw the body tucked beneath the blankets, chest rising and falling. Perfect. I didn’t have to look at this one. Stepping in, I directed the tip of my knife above the shoulder and cut the vein that pulsed on the side of the neck. Blood flowed out of the incision neatly, and I tilted my head. Henry spilled in behind me, yanking the blanket off and looking down at the blood-soaked body.

It was a girl. Young. I didn’t like doing the girls. I didn’t like doing any of them, but mostly the girls.

Henry fell onto the bed, his head bowed. When her head fell to the side, I saw it was Delany, Henry’s sister.

“I didn’t—” I say.

Henry shook his head, clenching his jaw. “Just leave.” Neither of us knew who was in what room. Skully rotated them every two nights and it was always a case of Russian roulette.