“Come down,” one encourages. “We can get you some help.”

“You’re all just going to hurt me,” Number Three cries, rubbing her arms. She looks completely crazy, like she’s finally let it take over her body.

“No,” one of the guards says. “Come down, and we’ll take care of you.”

“You’re liars!” she screams, shaking. Her eyes are wide and frantic. “Liars!”

“No. We’ll make sure you get the help you need.”

“Stop lying,” she wails, taking a step back. I feel my heart leap into my throat.

Is she going to jump? My knees wobble and I try to open my mouth to call her down, to encourage her away, but all that comes out is a desperate squeak. My eyes are hazing over, and I can hear a loud ringing in my ears. Tears form in my eyes, and I hear Number Twelve begin to coax Number Three down.

“We’re in this together,” she cries. “You are stronger than this!”

“I need to be free,” she yells. “Like an angel, I need to let go. You have to let me go.”

She stares down at us, her expression empty. It’s like there’s nothing left, like whoever was inside has exited, and all that is remaining is an empty shell. She turns, and relief floods me as her back faces us. She’s going to walk away; she’s going to let us help her. Oh, thank God.

Then she stretches her arms out like an airplane and she just lets her body fall backwards. As if in slow motion, she soars down towards the ground. I hear myself scream, but I can’t force my legs to run forward. My head spins, and flashes of memories soar through my mind as I finally get myself to move.

“Lanthie!” I scream.

I don’t even know why.

I hear the loud crack as Number Three hits the concrete below. I can hear yelling, and screaming, but I can’t focus on anything else. My body is close to hyperventilation, and my heart feels like it’s stopped beating. My vision blurs as I finally reach the lifeless form on the ground. There’s blood everywhere, most of it coming from her cracked skull. I drop to my knees, coating myself in her warm blood as I lift her broken head into my hands. Her mouth is open, and there’s blood coming out of it in thick rivulets.

“Lanthie,” I sob. “I’m so sorry. It wasn’t my fault.”

“Get the master,” someone yells.

“Is Lanthie her name?” a guard whispers.

“No, her name is Isabella.”

“Lanthie,” I cry, feeling my head spin. “I’m so sorry, so sorry. He wouldn’t stop, I tried to get him to stop so I could get to you.”

“She’s lost it. Someone get her away.”

More yelling, and more orders. I {ore1; s scream, and grasp at the bloody body as a set of hands hook under my arms. Horrific flashes of memories fill my mind. I can see her head, all that blood, but it’s being replaced with the image of a blonde girl. I shake my head, gripping the sides of it and screaming as I’m pulled further away. Another set of arms wrap around me, but my body is too weak to fight.

“Lanthie,” I sob. “Lanthie, baby, I’m sorry.”

“Hush, Beauty.”

I begin to squirm in his grasp; it’s his fault she’s dead. My Lanthie. “Let me go. No, it’s all your fault. You stopped me from going to her,” I scream, thrashing.

“You’re hyperventilating. You’re imagining something that isn’t there. Be calm.”

“Let me go,” I wail. “Let me help her. Please, let me help her!”

“George,” I hear him bark. “Get me an injection.”

“No,” I scream so loudly my own ears ring. “No, don’t! Let me go, please, God, don’t let her die. Please, it’s all my fault, I didn’t get to her in time. Please, let me go back.”

“Hush, it’s not real. Lanthie is not here.”

“You’re a liar! Don’t you take her from me.”

“Number Thirteen,” he barks. “The girl on the ground is Number Three. It is not Lanthie, it is Number Three.”

“You’re a liar, liar, liar!”

His arms tighten around me, and another person takes hold of my shoulder. I feel a sharp sting in my neck just before my legs give way.

“Lanthie,” I whimper again, before darkness consumes me.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

WILLIAM

“She’s gone, sir,” George says, walking into the room. He’s covered in blood, and his head is hanging.

A sharp pain rips through my chest, and I take a deep, ragged breath.

“The police?”

“They are finished, they will call if they need more.”

“She jumped to her own death,” I whisper, glaring at my hands.

“It isn’t your fault, sir. She was damaged.”

“I was meant to help her,” I bark, lifting my eyes and shooting daggers at him.

“Some people can’t be helped.”

I don’t bother to answer. He doesn’t understand. No one does. These girls are here with me for a reason, and I’m meant to be teaching them to trust me. They’re supposed to understand that they can have a good life here if they do the right thing, not jumping off a building out of fear. It makes me question everything I am.

“Is Number Thirteen still out?” he asks.

I turn my head and stare at my closed bedroom door. Number Thirteen hasn’t stirred; she hasn’t even made a sound.