Read Online Dead Girl Walking by Linda Joy Singleton - Free Book Online Page B

for you to behave normally. No more wild talk about not knowing your own family or they’ll lock you away. Can you do that?”
    I stared at her through eyes that weren’t my own, shuddering at the threat of a locked room in a mental hospital. I’d seen movies about mental wards with electric shocks and straitjackets, where even the sanest person turned into a drooling zombie. If I told the truth, I was crazy. But if I lied and pretended to be someone I wasn’t, I was sane.
    Swallowing hard, I met Leah’s mother’s gaze.
    Then I nodded.

I realized later, when I woke up in a beautiful and unfamiliar room, that despite my agreement to cooperate, the “vitamins” Mrs. Montgomery instructed the nurse to give me before leaving the hospital were in fact sleeping pills. I vaguely remembered half-crawling into the wheelchair—embarrassed because the nightgown was open in the back and I was mooning the male nurse—then I was out.
    The silky, butter-yellow sheets were a definite improvement over the starchy white hospital sheets. And the four-poster bed with its frilly lace canopy was right out of the “Cool Stuff I Can’t Afford” magazines I flipped through when no one else was around. Oooh, so very luxurious. Unfortunately I couldn’t enjoy myself. I just wanted out.
    For a desperate moment, I prayed that this was all an outrageous prank. I was the unknowing victim on an extreme reality show like Punk’d . Any moment, Alyce and Dustin would pop out and shout, “Gotcha!”
    Only when I glanced down at myself, and saw wavy blonde hair over an elegant, ivory satin nightgown, reality slapped me hard. No matter how many times I wanted to believe this wasn’t happening, it was.
    Emotionally I was a wreck, but physically I felt better. Sleep had cleared the cobwebs from my brain and I could move my arms with only minor pain. I tested my legs, wiggling one and then the other. Not bad, just a little stiff. I drew back the gauzy bed curtains, pushed away a satin comforter, and slowly lowered my legs to the plush carpet.
    This exertion was more tiring than I’d expected. I paused to catch my breath. Then I lifted my head and looked—really looked—around the spacious room. Despite the utter mess of my life, I couldn’t help but be awed.
    Way gorgeous room! Ornate white-gold vanity dresser, entertainment center with everything electronic imaginable, oil paintings by famous artists I’m sure Alyce would know, an L-shaped dark gold couch, and lace-draped picture windows. I had a wild urge to fling open the closet, check out the drawers, and try on all Leah’s clothes. You can bet she’d have an amazing wardrobe: designer everythings from oh-so-fab stores where under normal circumstances I couldn’t even afford to window shop. But these were far from normal circumstances. I was still reeling from the weirdness of being Leah.
    A full-length mirror seemed to beckon from across the room.
    Like a sleepwalker, I moved toward the mirror.
    And I studied Leah.
    She looked unusually pale, and younger than I remembered from school. Even without makeup she was stunning: slim, with wavy white-blonde hair and exotic long-lashed blue eyes. Her creamy skin was flawless, free of the pimples that plagued me whenever I was on my period. Her slender arms tapered down to elegant French-tipped nails, and underneath the silky nightgown, tiny, cherry-red polished toenails poked out.
    Leah’s body was firm like she worked out, but soft like she never really worked. No scrubbing bathrooms or scouring greasy pans for these baby-soft hands. Leah probably had a housekeeper to clean her messes, a cook to fix her meals, and a personal fitness guru to firm her perky assets.
    Thinking of assets … okay, I’ll admit it, I was curious.
    Before I could decide if there was something voyeuristic about what I was going to do, I slipped off the fancy nightgown and stood naked before the mirror.
    Not bad, Leah, I thought.
    The breasts were amazingly perfect,