“It’s Portia,” she guessed. “The girl in the insane asylum.”
Melanie watched as he reached into the box and pulled out a heavy canvas straitjacket. The straps from the ends of its over-sized sleeves dragged across the floor as he brought it over to her. Her toes curled against the floor as he approached, a shiver of dread running down her spine.
“So, why don’t you tell me about yourself, Portia,” he said as he passed the jacket through the bars to her.
“There’s not much to tell,” she answered. She took the jacket from him, immediately feeling how heavy it was.
“Why don’t you put on your jacket, Portia,” he ordered. “And tell us what you think about it while you do.”
“I hate it,” she said softly as she turned it and then slipped her arms into it in front of her. The canvas was firm as
