Imogen had won last year's costume competition at the annual Halloween spectacular hosted by her mother, Charlotte Sinclair, at their family estate, and she was determined to defend her crown.
She had a reputation for creativity, and it was important to her to save face.
"I can't just come dressed as any old scrub like you, Mousey," she said. "People have certain expectations of me."
It sounded stressful. I was glad nobody expected anything from me. Most of the time, Imogen chose my outfit, usually something that would accessorize and elevate her own.
Last year, she and her friends thought it would be hilarious if I dressed as my namesake. They found me a slutty polka-dot Minne Mouse dress, matching hair bow, clogs, and mouse ears. With my skinny legs and flat chest, I felt completely exposed.
It had given Imogen the idea to dress as a sexy cat. She chose a sleek, black leather bodysuit with a tail attached to the back, knee-high boots, cat ears, and a whip. She locked my wrists in cuffs behind my back and clipped a leash to a collar around my neck. She called her display "Minnie's capture." Everyone had a great time with it. I smiled along, trying not to blush as she paraded me around, desperate to be seen as part of the joke rather than the butt of it.
The night crescendoed with her releasing me from my leash, pretending I had escaped so she could hunt me down. It made for a great show as everyone watched, laughed, and applauded when she cornered me, threatening to strike me with her whip. I slid down the wall to my knees, pleading in a whisper for her not to hurt me. She grinned, dangling her leash. I shuffled back to her feet, and she hooked it back to my collar. Everyone cheered, and she directed me back to the dancefloor where the judge awarded her costume the victory. That showpiece moment had clinched her the title.
This year, she was coming dressed as a doctor. I was to be her patient. It all sounded fine until she revealed the straight jacket and standing gurney she had found for me.
Mom had been in the psychiatric hospital for a year now. She had suffered a severe nervous breakdown during one of her shifts at Sinclair's, the elite restaurant owned by the Sinclair family: Imogen's family.
Mom had made a huge scene, quitting her position, declaring her hatred for the owner, Imogen's mom, Charlotte, blaming her for overworking Dad and causing his heart attack, accusing her of ruining her life. She went as far as threatening to burn the whole building down. Charlotte's lawyer, Gael LeMarr, made it clear that if I did not commit her, then prison was the only alternative.
It was a blessing that Charlotte volunteered to pay for private care. Mom had no insurance. Without Charlotte, Mom would have been stuck going to a state facility. Imogen warned me about all the awful things they did to patients in those places. I was lucky to have Imogen as my best friend. I would have been so lost during this awful time without her.
Mom begged me not to leave her alone in that place. She screamed that there was nothing wrong with her. That she was thinking clearly for the first time in years. All she wanted was a fresh start, free from the restaurant, free from Charlotte. She clawed at me, begging for me to release her. She preferred prison. She said we could run away together. Escape it all. When I asked her what she meant, she ranted and raved about what a monster Imogen was. That she was just like her mother. She said that she was so sorry for introducing me to her. She never meant for any of this to happen. Something about a goddess cult. Egypt. A golden ankh. It was hard to comprehend what any of it meant.
I was prevented from questioning her further as the hospital aides entered her padded cell, restrained her to the floor, and pacified her with an injection into her neck.
I still have nightmares about that day. It was the last time I had seen her. She looked so scared. She was pleading with me until the very last moment. It was awful. I cried myself to sleep every night thinking about it. I tried to tell myself that this was for her own good. That this was her chance to heal. That I was a good daughter. That she didn't really hate me. That everything would go back to normal one of these days. But the truth was, I had no idea when I might ever see her again.
Dr. Lexington was vague about the potential timeline for when I might be allowed to visit. During my last update, she had recommended an experimental electro-shock therapy. She assured me it was safe. The principle was to induce a controlled seizure that would alter her brain chemistry and form new neural connections. If I wanted to expedite her recovery, this was the only option. It sounded like an extreme measure. I said I needed time to think it over. Mom already hated me for committing her. I worried she would never forgive me if I signed off on her electrocution too.
I do trust that Dr. Lexington knows what she's talking about. Not only is she at the top of her field, but she is a personal friend of Charlotte. Apparently, the two of them were in high school together back in the early 90s. Charlotte said they were in rival friend groups back then but have gotten much closer since. It was reassuring to know Dr. Lexington held a personal stake in my mom's care. That could only be a good thing. It was just difficult to think of my mom being electrocuted.
