The camera flashes blinded the reporters at the press conference.

Gina stood on the stage, wearing the midnight blue gown.

She smiled perfectly.

She answered every question with flawless, rehearsed grace.

The next evening, the New York tabloids hit the stands.

Gina.

Hailie sat on the edge of her four-poster bed.

She held a newspaper in her trembling hands.

She screamed and ripped the paper in half.

She tore the photo of Gina into tiny, jagged pieces and threw them onto the floor.

"Trisha."

Hailie yelled.

The young maid scurried into the room, her head bowed.

Hailie opened the drawer of her nightstand.

She pulled out a thick stack of crisp, hundred-dollar bills.

She shoved the money into Trisha.

Then, Hailie reached into the bottom compartment of her makeup box.

She pulled out a tiny, unlabeled glass vial.

Clear liquid sloshed inside.

"Put this in her dinner tonight."

Hailie whispered.

Her eyes were wide and manic.

"It is a hallucinogen. It will make her lose her mind completely. They will lock her back in the asylum tomorrow."

Trisha looked at the thick stack of cash.

She swallowed hard.

Her fingers curled tightly around the glass vial.

She nodded and slipped the vial into her apron pocket.

Back in her small guest room, thirty minutes before dinner, Gina had carefully peeled back the rubber sole of her canvas shoe. From a microscopic waterproof pouch hidden inside, she had extracted a tiny, clear pill-her final line of defense developed during her years in the asylum's underground lab. She had slipped it securely under her tongue, anticipating their next move.

Dinner was served at eight o'clock.

The long oak dining table was empty except for Gina.

She sat at the very end, staring at the polished wood.

Trisha walked out of the kitchen.

She carried a silver tray.

On the tray was a porcelain bowl of steaming black truffle mushroom soup.

Trisha.

Her hands shook violently.

She set the bowl down in front of Gina.

The silver spoon rattled against the porcelain with a loud clink.

Gina slowly raised her eyes.

She looked at Trisha.

Trisha quickly looked down at her shoes.

"The chef made this specially for you, Miss."

Trisha stuttered.

Gina picked up the silver spoon.

She dipped it into the thick, dark soup.

She stirred it once.

The hot steam rose into the air.

Gina inhaled.

Beneath the heavy, earthy smell of the truffles, her nose caught something else.

It was a faint, sharp, chemical bitterness.

Gina.

She had spent five years in the asylum operating as an underground surgeon and chemist.

Her brain instantly broke down the molecular structure of the smell.

It was a high-purity LSD derivative.

A massive overdose.

Enough to cause permanent psychosis and terrifying visual hallucinations.

Gina did not stop stirring.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a shadow move on the second-floor landing.

Hailie was hiding behind the banister, watching.

A microscopic smirk touched the corner of Gina.

She brought her left hand up to her mouth, pretending to cough.

Under the cover of her hand, her tongue pushed the hidden broad-spectrum antidote capsule from her cheek to her teeth.

She bit down.

The capsule shattered.

The bitter, neutralizing liquid burned down her throat.

Gina lowered her hand.

She scooped up a large spoonful of the poisoned soup.

She put it in her mouth and swallowed.

She ate the entire bowl.

Trisha let out a massive, shaky breath.

Gina put the spoon down.

She reached up and pressed her fingers hard against her temples.

She squeezed her eyes shut and let out a soft groan, swaying slightly in her chair.

Trisha turned and practically sprinted up the stairs to tell Hailie the job was done.

Gina stood up.

She dragged her feet, stumbling slightly as she walked back to her small guest room.

She pushed the door shut and locked it.

The moment the lock clicked, Gina.

Her posture snapped straight.

Her eyes opened.

They were clear, sharp, and completely focused.

The poison was already neutralized in her stomach.

Even without the antidote, her body had endured so many chemical trials in the asylum that this dose would barely give her a headache.

Gina walked to the window.

Outside, thick black clouds rolled over New York.

Lightning flashed, followed by the deep rumble of thunder.

A storm was breaking.

Gina pulled her suitcase from under the bed.

She unzipped a hidden waterproof compartment.

She pulled out a micro-Bluetooth speaker, an infrared smart bulb, and a folded piece of white fabric.

She shook the fabric out.

It was an old, blood-stained maid.

It belonged to Aine, the maid Hailie had pushed down the stairs five years ago.

Gina looked at the uniform.

If Hailie wanted to play with hallucinations.

Gina would give them a nightmare they would never wake up from.

She began to wire the room.

The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed 2:00 AM.

Outside, the rain slammed against the windows in heavy, violent sheets.

Thunder shook the floorboards of the Rollins estate.

Trisha crept down the second-floor hallway.

She held a heavy brass master key in her sweaty palm.

Hailie had ordered her to check on Gina.

Hailie wanted a video of Gina tearing her own hair out in a drug-induced panic.

Trisha stopped in front of Gina.

Her hand trembled so badly the key scratched against the metal plate before sliding into the lock.

She turned the key.

A soft click echoed in the dark.

Trisha pushed the door open.

The room was pitch black.

A sudden flash of lightning illuminated the space for a fraction of a second.

Trisha raised her phone.

She hit the record button.

The red light blinked in the darkness.

She took a step inside.

The bed was empty.

The blankets were thrown onto the floor.

Suddenly, a sound came from the corner of the ceiling.

It was a long, rattling sigh.

It sounded like a woman trying to breathe through a crushed windpipe.

Trisha.

The hair on her arms stood straight up.

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

She whipped her phone around, trying to use the screen light to see.

A sensor clicked.

The overhead bulb flared to life.

It did not glow yellow.

It emitted a sickly, flickering, ice-blue light.

Trisha looked toward the bathroom.

Through the frosted glass door, she saw a silhouette.

It was a woman standing with her back to the door.

She wore a white uniform.

A massive, dark stain covered the entire back of the dress.

Trisha recognized the cut of the collar.

It was Aine.

The speaker in the corner crackled.

The sound of heavy, wet drops hitting marble played on a loop.

Then, the sickening crunch of bone snapping.

Trisha.

Her throat closed up.

She tried to scream, but only a wet, choking sound came out.

Her legs turned to jelly.

She could not move backward.

The bathroom door slowly creaked open.

Gina stepped out.

Her hair hung over her face in wet, tangled clumps.

Her skin was painted a ghastly, dead white with a thick, dried paste she had quickly mixed from a stolen tube of toothpaste and a crushed sliver of white hotel soap.

She dragged her left leg behind her, perfectly mimicking the broken hip Aine suffered in the fall.

Trisha.

Gina.

Her voice was an unnatural, hollow whisper.

She used a precise hypnotic cadence, pitching her voice to vibrate in Trisha.

"Why did you wipe the blood off the stairs, Trisha?"

Gina took a dragging step forward.

"Why didn't you call an ambulance?"

Trisha.

Her mind shattered.

The guilt she had buried for five years exploded under the weight of the drugs she thought were in the room.

She believed she was looking at a ghost.

A massive clap of thunder exploded directly over the house.

Gina lunged forward.

She shoved her face inches from Trisha.

Gina stretched her mouth into a wide, unnatural, horrifying grin.

Trisha let out a blood-curdling shriek.

Her eyes rolled completely back into her head, showing only the whites.

Her bladder released.

A warm stream of urine soaked through her skirt and puddled onto the expensive carpet.

Trisha collapsed.

Her head hit the floor with a dull thud.

She was completely unconscious.

Down the hall, a door slammed open.

Hailie ran out, wearing a silk nightgown.

She heard the scream over the thunder.

She sprinted to Gina.

Lightning flashed.

Hailie saw Trisha lying in a puddle of urine on the floor.

Hailie gasped and covered her mouth.

She looked at the bed.

Gina was curled up in the corner of the mattress.

She wore her normal pajamas.

She had her arms wrapped around her knees, shaking violently, looking terrified of the storm.

Hailie ran into the room.

She kicked Trisha in the ribs.

"Wake up, you idiot!"

Hailie hissed.

Trisha did not move.

Hailie smelled the urine.

She looked at Gina, who was perfectly fine, not hallucinating at all.

A cold wave of pure terror washed over Hailie.

She did not understand what had happened in this room.

She looked at Gina.

In the dark, Gina stopped shaking.

Gina slowly lowered her arms.

She looked at Hailie.

A slow, mocking smile spread across Gina.

Hailie screamed.

She spun around and ran out of the room, her bare feet slipping on the carpet as she fled back to her suite.

Gina swung her legs off the bed.

She stepped over Trisha.

She walked to the window, looked out at the storm, and laughed.