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GARETH I wake to the sound of soft, mocking laughter, like a distant echo bouncing off the sterile white walls. My head is heavy, my limbs bound in the tight grip of a straitjacket. I sit up on the white tiles, the cold digging into my bones. The room smells of suffocating antiseptic, the walls blurring in and out of focus as I try to figure out if I’m in my head. No. I’m here. In the real world. Sitting on the floor. My pants are white, too, like the straitjacket. The same straitjacket Grandpa tried everything to save me from—even hiding the truth from Dad. I smile and my jaw hurts. Ah, fuck. Looks like I’m not keeping my promise to him after all. I’m sorry, Grandpa. The laughter draws my attention, and I stare at the flicker of light. Projected images dance across the wall, crude and distorted at first, but then clearer. That’s when I see them. Kayden and her. Cassandra. It’s a loop of videos. The first one is homemade, where she’s laughing, her voice soft as she films Kayden asleep,