“Avery Flint,” Dr. Garrick’s voice is gentle. Very gentle. “You haven’t said a thing since you got here. And it’s been three weeks.”
His face blurs. Then his face refocuses. I blink a few times before I lose focus again.
Dr. Garrick takes his glasses off. “I’m going to be honest. We get two kinds of inmates here. The kind that cannot be helped, and the kind that have been wrongly convicted.”
I stare into his eyes until he’s forced to turn away.
“You’re the latter,” he whispers to himself. It’s so soft that one might’ve mistaken it as the billowing wind if one hadn’t been paying close attention.
“I really want you to find the courage to open up. I can help you get out of here. But I’m going to need your cooperation.”
I shake my head. Don’t want to get out. I shake my head until I feel the cranial fluid in my brain sloshing around. Don’t want to get out. Don’t need to get out—everything one could possibly need, it’s right here.