Heartless by Sara Shepard Read Free Book Online Page B

who’s gone through something really terrible,” he explained. “Usually people get cold sweats, heart palpitations, stuff like that. They also relive what happened over and over.”
    Hanna traced the wood grain pattern on the kitchen table. All right, she had been experiencing symptoms like that, usually experiencing the moment when Mona mowed her down with her SUV. But c’mon—anyone would freak about that. “I’ve been feeling great,” she chirped.
    “I didn’t think much of the letter at first,” Mr. Marin went on, ignoring her, “but I pulled a psychiatrist aside at the hospital yesterday before you were discharged. Sweats and palpitations aren’t the only symptoms of PTSD. It can manifest itself in lots of other ways, too. Like self-destructive eating patterns, for example.”
    “I don’t have eating problems,” Hanna snapped, horrified. “You guys see me eat all the time!”
    Isabel cleared her throat, glancing pointedly at Kate. Kate wound a piece of chestnut hair around her finger. “It’s just, Hanna . . .” She gazed at Hanna with her enormous blue eyes. “You kind of told me you do.”
    Hanna’s jaw dropped. “You told them?” A few weeks ago, in a moment of insanity, Hanna had spilled to Kate that she used to have an eensy-weensy binge-purge problem.
    “I thought it was for your own good,” Kate whispered. “I swear.”
    “The psychiatrist said lying could also be a symptom,” Mr. Marin went on. “First telling everyone you saw Ian Thomas’s dead body in the woods, and now with you girls saying you saw Alison. And that got me thinking about the lies you’ve told us —sneaking out of our dinner last fall to go to that dance at school, stealing Percocet from the burn clinic, shoplifting from Tiffany, crashing your boyfriend’s car, even telling your whole class that Kate had . . .” He trailed off, clearly not wanting to say herpes aloud. “Dr. Atkinson suggests that it might be best if you took a few weeks off from all this craziness. Go somewhere where you can relax and focus on your problems.”
    Hanna brightened. “Like Hawaii?”
    Her father bit his lip. “No . . . like a facility.”
    “A what? ” Hanna slammed her mug down. Hot coffee sloshed over the side, burning the side of her index finger.
    Mr. Marin reached into his pocket and pulled out a pamphlet. Two blond girls were strolling down a grassy lane, the sun setting in the background. They both had bad dye jobs and fat legs. The Preserve at Addison-Stevens said swirly writing at the bottom. “It’s the best in the country,” her father said. “It treats all kinds of things—learning disabilities, eating disorders, OCD, depression. And it’s not too far from here, just over the border in Delaware. There’s an entire ward dedicated to young patients, like you.”
    Hanna stared blankly at a wreath of dried flowers Isabel had hung up when she took ownership of the house, replacing Hanna’s mother’s far more preferable stainless-steel wall clock. “I don’t have problems,” she squeaked. “I don’t need to go to a mental institution.”
    “It’s not a mental institution,” Isabel chirped. “Think of it as more like . . . a spa. People call it the Canyon Ranch of Delaware.”
    Hanna wanted to wring Isabel’s scrawny, faux-orange neck. Hadn’t she ever heard of euphemisms? People also called the Berlitz Apartment Town, a dumpy, dilapidated housing complex on the outskirts of Rosewood, the Berlitz-Carlton, but no one took that literally.
    “Maybe it’s a good time to escape from Rosewood,” Kate simpered, in an equally I know what’s best voice. “Especially the reporters.”
    Hanna’s dad nodded. “I had to chase one guy off the property yesterday—he was trying to use a telescopic lens to get a picture of you in your bedroom, Hanna.”
    “And someone called here last night, wanting to know if you’d give a statement on Nancy Grace, ” Isabel added.
    “It’s only going to get worse,”