The Hollow (Rose of the Dawn Series Book 2)

by Maguire, Ily

  “Who are you?”

  “I am Delia.”

  “I don’t feel well.” I reach my hands up to cover my mouth, but only one hand moves. One arm. I look at the other, but don’t see it. I don’t see my other arm. It’s there, I can feel it. Can’t I?

  I lean over the bed and throw up. I heave and heave. I won’t open my eyes. My throat burns and I taste residue on my tongue. The back of my teeth are covered with a grimy film even after I’m done retching. Supporting myself on one hand, I raise my other one to wipe my cheek, but nothing happens. Nothing’s there.

  “My arm!” I shriek. “Where’s my arm!” My arm! My arm! What’s happened? Where’s my arm?

  Delia hands me a small, light green tablet. I won’t take it. I won’t extend my arm if I can’t extend both of them.

  “Open your mouth,” the softness of her voice soothes me. I do as she says. She puts the tab in my mouth. It fizzes, foams, and then dissolves in my mouth. She leans down on my shoulder, the pressure feeling good. My arm isn’t there. I can’t look again.

  “They’ve taken my arm! They want to take out my brain and replace it with a chip! Have they chipped my brain? Where’s my arm?”

  “Yes, they’ve taken your arm,” Delia begins. I’m going to be sick again. I want to scratch at it. Scratch until it grows back. Will it grow back?

  I lean over the bed and retch again.

  When I lean back up, Delia hands me my washcloth to wipe my mouth. She takes my hand and squeezes it tight. “Think about something happy. Find your center.”

  Center? What is she talking about? I can’t think.

  “Is there something or someone that made you feel safe? Feel whole?”

  Pike.

  “I-I don’t know.”

  “Is there someone in your heart that you love or care about?”

  Pike.

  “A memory, perhaps?”

  Our kiss.

  I’m less sick.

  “Then you still have your memories. No one has taken your brain.”

  “What happened to my arm?” The entirety of it is gone. There’s nothing beyond my shoulder.

  “My guess is that it was taken to keep you in line. In your place.” Delia frowns. “It’s also my guess that once you adhere to the rules of The Hollow, they will give you something to make you feel better.”

  I look at her arms. Whiter than snow.

  “Have they chipped your brain? Have you been AR’d?” I ask. I’m calm.

  “I have my brain,” she looks at me. “But most of my organs have been replaced. I’m regenerative, though and my skin is the only thing left worth harvesting. The Hollow is using me to regrow ageless and flawless skin for cosmetic purposes. The chip will be my fate, too, at some point.”

  “You’ve been here long, then.” I try to ignore the throbbing in my arm. The arm that isn’t there.

  “Longer than I look.” Eyes downcast, Delia looks sad. The tone of her voice has sunk and so have her shoulders. “But I am here, now, to help you get through the steps of cocktail withdrawal.”

  Is that what this is? This sick feeling? No. Something has been taken from me. Stolen and I’ll never have it back.

  “Why did they do this to me? What are they going to do next?”

  “They have ways of getting what they want.” Delia pats my only hand, it’s as soft as Evie when she was a baby.

  “Why are you helping me? Why do you care?”

  “Because you’re one of us. I’m one of you. And I’m a mother – I was once a mother. And you look like someone who could use someone to watch out for you. Someone you could trust. That’s all.”

  “Where’s Tithonus?”

  “He’ll be back.” Delia pulls the sheets up closer to my neck. “We’re going to think positive. In the meantime, take deep breaths in through your nose and out through your mouth. It will help clear the rest of the toxins from your body.”

  I do as she says. “I feel better,” I admit.

  “Good.” Delia pats my legs before walking toward the tile.

  “My arm isn’t going to grow back, is it?”

  She stops and turns back.

  “I’m not that regenerative, am I?”

  Delia shrugs. “Anything is possible. Get some rest.”

  “You won’t leave me, will you?”

  She walks back and sits down. “I won’t. I’ll be right here. Now close your eyes.”

  I smile and comply. For the first time I sleep, feeling safe.

  10

  “Pike, is that you?” I’m out of bed. I’m out of The Hollow. I’m outside.

  His back to me, Pike doesn’t turn around.

  “Pike, it’s me, Rose!” I call and run up to him. He’s staring into the distance and I can’t tell at what. All I see is him and nothing more.

  “Pike, please,” I touch his back and he turns. He doesn’t recognize me. “It’s me! Rose!”

  His eyes move from my face to my mangled shoulder. Skin and muscle hanging off in strips. I look down and then back up.

  Pike runs. He runs away from me.

  I run after him, chasing him, but I can’t pump my arms and I fall to the ground. He’s gone.

  My eyes dart open. I’m back in my room, tangled in my sheets.

  “Delia? Delia?” Where is she? “Delia!”

  “Shh, shh, Rose. I’m here,” from across the room, Delia gets up. She’s moved the chair against the wall, tucked into the shadow of this already-dark room.

  Beside my bed, she dabs at the sweat on my forehead. It reminds me of Dory and being sick in the hospital.

  “Shh, be calm. You were having a dream,” she soothes, though her face looks sad.

  “A nightmare!” I correct. My face is wet with tears. I don’t want to have to tell her what it was about. She doesn’t ask. Did I call out?

  “My arm!” I scream. The pain is unbearable. “It hurts! Oh God, help me!”

  Delia rushes somewhere away from me. I can’t see anything other than bright dots of white in my blackened vision. My arm automatically moves toward the missing limb, my hand pressing against my armpit.

  “Please help me! It hurts!”

  Pain sears the flesh and it’s on fire. Going from hot to hotter. Wet.

  “You will be okay, Rose, find your center.” Delia takes my head and gently pushes it back on the pillow. Footsteps behind her are sharp and quick. They echo in my head. I can’t see anything. I can’t catch my breath. My eyes open, the pain excruciating. I stare up at the ceiling.

  Tiles fall and shatter on the floor around my bed. The walls crumble plaster, exposing brick that falls to the ground, too.

  “Let me die,” I cry. “Please let me die.” My head splits open.

  When I don’t think I can stand the pain any longer, I don’t have to. The pain is gone.

  I remove my hand from my shoulder. It’s covered in blood. I rub it between my fingers in slow motion. “What’s going on?” My voice trails. Colors become vivid.

  I look up. The ceiling is intact.

  A nurse pulls away another syringe. She wraps my arm in gauze.

  I stare up and into her face and all I see is Jenny. My Jenny. My friend, Jenny.

  “Jenneee,” I slur.

  Her eyes widen, but she gives no other indication of recognition.

  “It’s meee,” My eyes are closing.

  “Relax, Rose, please,” Delia’s voice breaks into the space between me and the nurse who looks just like Jenny. “The nurse is going to take care of you.”

  “My Jenneee,” I squeal. My eyes shut, they’re too heavy to hold open.

  “I may not be here when you wake up, but I will be back.” Delia bends over and kisses my forehead. Like a mother. Just not like my mother.

  And then Jenny leans down. “Be strong,” she whispers as she wheels me out into the hallway.

  11

  “Wake her!” Dr. Flint orders. The nurse injects me with something. My eyes flutter open.

  “Jenny,�
�� I cough. My voice is low and scratches my throat.

  I get a short head shake ‘no’. It is Jenny. I’m just not supposed to acknowledge her. Why is she here? How come she isn’t at home with my family? Does Dr. Flint know who she is?

  “Now leave,” Dr. Flint points to her office door and Jenny pockets the needle, closing the door behind her.

  “How are you feeling, Miss Campbell?” The doctor paces in front of the window. Very little light comes in. It’s raining outside.

  “What-Have-You-Done-To-Me?” I glare at Dr. Flint without looking down at my arm. I’m propped up on this gurney and while I’m angry, I also know that I’m helpless. She knows it, too.

  “What have I done to you? You mean what have you done to yourself. I’m glad you asked.”

  She crosses her arms over her chest and looks out the window.

  “Acid rain. Gets worse and worse,” she mutters under her breath. “You want to know why I’ve taken your arm.”

  I do.

  My shoulder twinges. Sharp bursts of pain stab my heart.

  “I had your arm removed for two reasons—”

  “Only two?” I ask.

  “Do not be insolent!” She points a long, bony finger at me and I recoil.

  “What are the reasons?” I regulate my delivery. I’m more afraid than I was before because now I know this woman has the power to take my other arm as well. I look down at my arm and gasp. My arm is back. What’s going on?

  “Rejuvenation Industries is a business. One invested in taking the science of organ regeneration to the next level. Making it more successful. Failsafe.”

  I stare at my arm, but it isn’t my arm.

  “What is it?” I ask, still looking down. Made of light grey plastic, it’s just a bit bigger than my arm, than my hand. Silver bolts hold the wrist to the arm, the fingers to the hand.

  “A three-dimensional printed prosthetic. State of the art. With all of the mechanisms and motions of a real arm, but better. Efficient. Like nothing you would get with the Imperial Bead.”

  “The Imperial Bead wouldn’t have taken my arm.” I argue.

  She laughs. It makes me cringe.

  Voluntarily, I am able to pick the arm up and put it down, move it side to side.

  It moves!

  If I can move the arm, then I can—

  My fake fingers wiggle!

  One after the other, finger joints connected by a series of small, interlocking links at the knuckles. Thin wiring over the back of my hand weaves in and out of the arm. There are black rubber pads with fingerprints at the tips of my hand.

  “When did – how–” There isn’t any feeling other than a dull numbness in my shoulder.

  “We’ve connected the nerve endings in your shoulder to the internal wiring of the prosthetic. All you have to do is think the motion and your arm will do it. It is bionic.”

  I have the same, full motion my real arm did. Only I can’t feel it.

  “Why did you do this to me?” I put my arm down. My other hand instinctively covers it, protecting it.

  “If I am correct, your arm will regrow in time and it will change the future.”

  “For you. But where’s my arm?”

  “It is being tested.” Dr. Flint stares me down.

  “She’s going to take me apart piece by piece.” I don’t ask. I know the answer.

  “The second reason for taking your arm was to prove to you that I can take your arm. You have no control or say. But if you cooperate, you may get things in return. Rewards, like your new arm. So you better be nice, Miss Campbell.”

  She approaches me and grabs my wrist. My good wrist. She pinches it. I have to control my thoughts so I don’t swipe her with my other arm. I don’t want to risk losing that one, too.

  “Just think of it as a donation. A scientific donation.” Her tablet pings and then her phone rings. She walks to her desk. She picks it up.

  “What is it?” she barks.

  “Aegis has been taken. They’re gone,” a male voice on the other end is loud enough for me to hear across the room.

  Once again, Dr. Flint flips over the tablet and hangs up the phone. She storms around the desk at me.

  “Take her away!” She yells. She is angry.

  The door opens and someone pulls me backward out of the room and then pushes me down the hallway. My mind flashes. I see papers strewn on the floor. We roll over medical records of patients long gone and forgotten. The walls are back to being moldy and stained. Discolored.

  The nurse puts a hand on my good shoulder.

  “Jenny?” I whisper, hoping it’s her.

  “You can’t let on that you know me,” she whispers back. I don’t turn around. I would know her voice anywhere.

  “How come you’re here?”

  She doesn’t answer immediately, but pushes me past the patient rooms, through a metal gate, down another hallway. We’re not going the same way we came.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  She pushes me into an elevator and the door closes behind her. She presses a button and I can’t tell if we’re going up or down.

  “We can talk in here, but only for a few minutes. Another attendant has turned off the monitors for me,” she speaks quickly.

  “But what about my palm?” I look down, but the implant was in the other hand. The hand that has been replaced. The tracer must be somewhere in or on my new arm.

  “I was moved from your house here to attend to Tithonus and spy on Rejuvenation Industries. I was hired as his personal nurse, though I suspect Dr. Flint has some idea who I am by now.”

  “If you’re with the Imperial Bead, then were you spying on my family?”

  “No. Not at all. I am with the Imperial Bead, but your father knew what I really was. He knew I had been awaiting an assignment.”

  “Does he know that I’m here?” Maybe he knows I’m alive.

  She shakes her head. “That isn’t important now. You just have to get out of here.”

  “Me? What about you?”

  “I can take care of myself. You need to go.”

  “But how?”

  “Can you move your legs?” She pulls the canvas straps restraining my ankles.

  “I can.” I can, but they’re heavy.

  She takes my clothes out from somewhere beneath the gurney. As fast as she talks, she pulls the pants on up over my legs and peels the gown away from my body.

  My arms instinctively cross my chest. I’m naked. The coldness of the elevator gives me goosebumps. My bionic arm is surprisingly warm. It presses awkwardly against my skin.

  Jenny pulls the shirt on over my head, but rips the sleeve off the one arm so it can fit without me having to coordinate its movement.

  The doors open. We’re in the basement. I think we’re near the tunnels. It smells like sulfur and it’s damp.

  “You need to follow the tunnels to Leland,” Jenny orders. “You have to tell him the time to leave will be soon so they need to finish digging.”

  Finish digging? What is she talking about? She helps me to my feet.

  “Finish digging? Digging what? How do you know he’s down there now? Why can’t you come with me?” She holds me up until I can hold up myself.

  “I brought Tithonus down, but I have to check into my station. Just tell Leland.”

  “About the digging.”

  “Yes.” She pushes me out of the elevator. My legs shake, but hold me up.

  “Digging to where? Has he found a way out?” My mind races with possibility.

  Jenny doesn’t answer before letting the elevator doors close behind her and I have to figure out which way to go.

  Which way do I go and what did she mean about the digging?

  To the right is a faded blue sign with rusty white letters that says MORGUE.

  I go left.

  My feet are still bare and there’s no avoiding the puddles. The entire tunnel is wet.

  Something scurries in front of me and I freeze. A rat. It’s m
angy black fur and long pink tail, even in this darkness, a dead giveaway. It reaches the wall and blends into it. It echoes off into the distance.

  A yellowish glow emanates from somewhere up ahead. I don’t want to go back toward the morgue. I know what’s back there. I won’t go back there. I walk slowly, careful of my steps. Aware of what might be down here with me. Who might be down here with me.

  A squeak, not a rat, a gurney being wheeled. Behind me? I look back, but don’t see anything. It’s way too dark. Then above me, banging on pipes. Was that a moan? Did someone just moan?

  The gurney gets closer.

  A scream pierces the tunnel and my body flees without me thinking or commanding it to do so, adrenaline coursing through my veins, forcing me forward. I run toward the glow.

  And then I’m stopped: pulled over, against the wall, against my will.

  “Shh, don’t scream,” the voice says.

  I couldn’t if I wanted to, their hand is covering my mouth. The person is much bigger and taller than me. Stronger.

  My arms attack my captor, scratching with the only five nails I have. My new arm is much stronger and more coordinated. I barely have to think about its movement.

  “Rose, Rose, please. Stop. I’ll let you go.”

  Immediately I’m released. I run up the middle of the tunnel, but then I stop. Do I know him? I turn around.

  Stepping out of the shadows, I’ve hurt him, his hand presses against his neck.

  “I-I know you,” I stammer. But how?

  “I’m Christophe.”

  He was there. In my room. I was sick. My arm.

  “Why are you down here? Are you following me?” It seems a lot lighter than before.

  “The question is: why are you down here? Do you even know where you’re going?”

  I shake my head. No, that’s not right. I’ve been down here and I am down here for a reason. But what was it?

  My good arm holds my other arm. It’s lightweight, but so heavy on my shoulder.

  “Do you know where you are?” Christophe asks stepping closer.

  I shake my head again.

  “You’re in a tunnel known as the body chute. It’s where the bodies were taken from the morgue to the incinerator. You were heading straight for it.”