by Rysa Walker
Assuming I can do it. Assuming I don’t just start shrieking the minute he shows up.
When I hear the footsteps in the hall, the hand on the doorknob, I sit down—on the stool near the kitchen. Because there’s no way in hell I’m going to be sitting on that bed when he walks in.
Relax. You don’t have to smile, but you can’t act like a scared little girl. This is a business negotiation.
I try to get a look at the hallway when the door opens. It’s dimly lit, like it was last night when the nurse left. Lucas closes the door behind him and stands near the closet for a minute, surveying the room.
“What’s with all the apples? You plannin’ to bake me a pie?”
“No oven, no microwave.” I pick up one of the larger apples. Abner played baseball in high school and spent many hours playing fetch with his dogs. I can picture cocking my arm and letting it fly, but I can’t picture what happens next. I somehow doubt that an apple upside the head would do much more than make Lucas angry.
So I toss it to him instead.
He catches it, then parks on the edge of the bed as he takes a large bite. “So, tell me, Anna. How you liking your stay so far?”
“I’ve seen better,” I say with a shrug. “And you know my name. If we’re going to . . . make any sort of deal . . . maybe you should start by returning the favor?”
“Most people just call me Lucas.” He gives me a sly smile. “Molly used to call me daddy sometimes, since her old man bailed before she could even walk.”
That’s a lie—not the part about Molly’s dad bailing, but the daddy bit, since she never called him anything other than Lucas. He’s clearly trying to rile me up, to see how much I know about Molly. How much I know about what he did. But I’m not taking the bait.
“Only things I know about Molly are what I read in her diary and what she told me in the few days we were at the same shelter. And that was years ago. She didn’t mention a dad or anyone named Lucas. Just Pa and Mimmy. And her Pa was a cheap bastard, wouldn’t even cough up a few hundred bucks for the info I gave him. If I hadn’t apologized to him, I’d have ended up back in juvie. Deo too, most likely.”
I make myself look at him as I speak. I don’t think he’s believing any of it. If he’s on more than chauffeur terms with Dacia, he probably knows everything I’ve said is a lie anyway. But it’s hard to tell if he’s even listening. His eyes keep breaking away from my face and traveling south.
“You said you had information about Deo.”
He nods. “I do. But I need a better idea of what you’re offering up for trade. Maybe you could come over here and let me take that sweater off.”
I give him a tiny smile, like I’m considering his proposal. Force my eyes to take a leisurely sightseeing tour of his body, the way he keeps doing with mine. I linger on his wrist—no bracelet, so he must have used a badge or something to open the door. He wasn’t holding it when he walked in, but I don’t see it. Back pocket?
“Maybe we could . . . compromise?” I pull my sweater slowly over my head and toss it on the ground. I’m still in a camisole and jeans, but I’ve never felt less clothed in my life.
He gives me an appreciative nod. “A step in the right direction.”
I smile again. “So . . . is Deo here? In this same building?”
The question seems to piss him off. “What makes you think our . . . transaction . . . is going to be tit for tat? If you’ll pardon the joke. Your little boyfriend might get turned on by strip poker, but I ain’t got time for games.”
He gives a humorless laugh and rises to his feet. “And since the rest of our party’s due to arrive in about half an hour, and you’re gonna want a little time to . . . clean up . . . you need to decide if we’re gonna do this the fun way or if you’d rather make things difficult.”
By the time Lucas says that last word, he’s directly in front of me. There’s a faint hint of something on his breath. Whiskey? Rum?
My entire body tenses as his hand slides beneath my camisole. “Wondering if maybe you should yell? Go ahead. Like I told you, Timmons took a break. No other guards in this wing this time of night. So the only ones who’ll hear you are locked up in these rooms just . . . like . . . you.” He must be able to hear my heart pounding because he says, “Nothin’ to be afraid of. I can play nice and gentle, Anna. You want us to play gentle, don’t you?”
All I can see is this same face in my dream, holding me down. You’re the reason your mama is dead, you ungrateful little bitch. You think I wanted to kill her?
I somehow manage to nod, and I place my hand on his neck. At the same time, I reach around with my other hand to grab the mangled spork in my back pocket. This will probably get me killed. It will probably mean I can’t help Deo, that he’ll be stuck here, but I can’t do this. The memories from Molly are too strong and I just can’t.
Lucas isn’t fooled even for a second. He realizes what I’m doing, or at least that I’m planning something. As soon as I make my move, his hand tightens around my forearm.
He twists and I scream, kicking out. It’s no use—he grabs my leg and lifts me, by one leg and one arm, and tosses me onto the bed. I land hard, my shoulder connecting with the wooden headboard.
“Looks like you don’t want gen . . . tle.” Lucas pauses. Someone’s tapping on the door.
He curses softly and takes a few steps back from the bed as the door opens.
It’s the nurse from last night. Ashley. Except now she’s carrying a taser like the other employees.
“What’s . . . going on here?”
Lucas doesn’t miss a beat. “Came to fetch her for some additional testing down at the main lab. But she decided to put up a fight.”
Ashley flashes him a teasing grin as she taps the taser on her hip. “And that’s why even you big, burly types should be carrying one of these.” When her gaze shifts to me, the smile vanishes. “Miss Anna here is a handful, isn’t she? She seemed fairly calm last night, but I guess the drugs hadn’t worn off. Fought me like a damned wildcat when I came in during lunch.”
She puts her bag on the counter and pulls out a blood pressure cuff. “A bit late to be taking them for testing, isn’t it?”
Lucas shrugs. “I don’t schedule them. I just fetch when they say fetch.”
“Tell me about it. They hauled me out of bed at midnight last night when they brought her in. That’s why I’m back now. Standard protocol after anesthesia for someone with her medical history. Have to check her vitals every twelve hours for the first two days.”
She approaches the bed, holding out the cuff. “You’re not going to fight me again, are you, Anna? Otherwise, I’ll have to tase you like I did earlier and that wasn’t pleasant at all, was it?”
I don’t have any idea what she’s talking about. In fact, I think it’s almost as likely that she’s crazy as it is that she’s here to help. But I’d rather be tased by a crazy nurse than have Lucas touch me again.
“No, ma’am. I won’t fight.”
“Yeah, well I won’t be turning my back on you again, that’s for sure.” She puts one hand against the side of my neck “Son of a bitch. You had to go and get all pissy with him, didn’t you? Now your heart is racing like a rabbit in a snare.”
She glances over her shoulder at Lucas. “Go tell them I’m gonna need fifteen minutes, maybe twenty. I have to wait until her pulse slows down a bit or my supervisor will want to give the brat a full workup, maybe even postpone the tests for a few days. Which lab? I’ll have someone drop her off as soon as we’re done.”
“Lab 1.” He starts to go, then seems to change his mind. “But leave her here. I’ll come back in twenty.”
Lucas gives me one last look and backs into the hallway. I let out a shaky breath as the door clicks shut behind him.
“Relax, okay?” Ashley says in a softer voice.
“How did you—”
“Stop talking.” Ashley’s eyes flash a quiet warning and flicker almost imperceptibly toward the TV. “S
it here quietly for a few minutes. Take some deep breaths.”
I nod. As much as I’d love to know how she knew to burst in at that exact moment, I’ll have to accept that she did and be grateful. Maybe the medical personnel also have spying privileges?
Either way, I suspect that she’s put herself way out on a limb by lying about me attacking her earlier. That has to be really easy to check, if someone decides to investigate.
“Thank you.”
Ashley pats my knee and goes into the kitchen. “You can thank me by doing what you’re told for a change.” She opens the refrigerator. “Where is your medication?”
“Um . . . in the cabinet?”
She gives her head an exasperated shake and takes the bottle out of the cabinet. “It’s supposed to be kept in the fridge. It should be okay just this once. But when you take your pills tonight, put the bottle back in here.”
I’m leaning back toward the Ashley-is-crazy hypothesis. I’ve been taking those pills for five years now. They’re basic tablets. No refrigeration necessary.
But I nod. “Okay. Will do.”
We sit there . . . quietly . . . for the next five minutes. Then she quickly takes my blood pressure, temp, and draws blood again. I think that’s overdoing it, personally, since this is probably just a dog and pony show, but whatever.
“There. All finished.” She smiles and pulls a cell phone from her pocket. Or, at least, it looks like a phone. It’s in this odd case with an antenna on one side. “This is Swinton. I’m over in Highside. Could I get an escort to the main lab for a 2Alpha? Room 94.”
The person on the other end gives her an affirmative and she stashes the phone back in her pocket.
“Lucas is going to be angry that you didn’t—”
“He told me to have someone take you to Lab 1 in twenty minutes. Get yourself something to drink. Maybe some of that apple juice I saw. Oh . . . and don’t take the medicine out of the fridge.”
“Sure.” I nod to show that I follow what she’s saying. I guess that’s true, even if the only thing I’ve followed is that she’s trying to convey a message that has something to do with the fridge.
She picks up my sweater from the floor and tosses it to me. “Might want to put that back on.”
“Definitely. Thank you.” I emphasize the last two words.
Her pale cheeks flush slightly, and she nods briskly. Then she waves her bracelet in front of the panel. “Be careful. And get something to drink and a snack, like I said. Night testing can be . . . strenuous.”
As soon as she leaves, I go to the fridge. There’s a small note, handwritten in ink on one of the cafeteria napkins, right next to my medicine.
Ashley’s emphasis on the refrigerator now makes perfect sense. They may have cameras in the kitchen, in the main room, even in the bathroom for all I know. But they don’t have a camera in the fridge.
Standing inside the partially closed refrigerator door, I open the apple juice and drink while I read the message. It doesn’t take long.
Deo is safe. Working on getting both of you out. Hang tight. FLUSH THIS.
I cap the juice and scoop the paper into my palm before closing the door. Time for a bathroom break.
The note isn’t signed. Is it from Ashley, or is she simply a courier? I would have guessed the latter, but she’s a pretty good actor. I almost believed the story she was telling Lucas, even though I knew she was lying.
Maybe a minute later, there’s a knock on the door. I tense up instantly, thinking it’s Lucas, but I doubt he’d knock even if he believed Ashley was still in here.
I’ve gotten used to the door opening right after the knock, but when I don’t say anything, there’s a second knock.
“Come in?”
“I’m here to escort you to the lab.”
It’s the guy I saw at lunch, and this time, I get a clear look at his face. His eyes. His very brown eyes that are giving me a warning right now to keep quiet and play along. The name tag reads Corben, but I have no doubt that this is Daniel Quinn. And I’m pretty sure that answers my question about who wrote the message.
“Ready to go?”
I’m not sure if he’s asking if I’m ready to go to the lab, or if I’m ready to go, as in get the hell out of here.
The answer to the first is no, and the answer to the second is only if Deo’s already free. But I can’t ask him any questions to clarify, and I don’t really have much choice either way. “Yeah. Sure.”
“Do I need to cuff you? Your record says you had to be subdued this afternoon . . .”
“Taser’s not nearly as much fun as I thought it would be. I’ll behave.”
His mouth twitches upward slightly. “After you.”
I grab my phone off the counter, half expecting him to tell me to put it back, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He takes my arm right above the elbow, the same as any other time I’ve been escorted in this building, but gives it a brief squeeze as we start walking. His arm is rigid next to me, and he’s walking a bit faster than usual. Not a run, or even a jog. Just a brisk pace that requires me to double step in order to keep up with his longer stride.
We turn the corner and approach Room 81. It’s quiet. No hint of a child crying. But as we move closer to the door, the thumpthump begins again. I stop and look back. Thumpthumpthump. Softer now, but definitely there, and the door—I can’t fully describe it. It kind of shimmers, almost like that section of door is a picture that’s being smudged outward so that it enters the space a few inches in front of it.
And then someone laughs.
Daniel tugs my arm. “Let’s go.”
“Did you hear that? See that?”
“No, Anna. And neither did you. Let’s go.”
I feel the slight sensation of pressure at my temples, and I instinctively whip my head around to look for Dacia. But the hallway is empty, except for the two of us and that door, which I did see do something freaky, no matter what Daniel says. And now that I think about it, this is not exactly the same as the buzzing that I felt with Dacia, more like the feeling when I was at the townhouse—
My mouth falls open. “It was you at the townhouse.”
“Anna!” His voice is low but needle sharp. “We’ve got less than five minutes to get you out of this building. After that, the cameras will be working again. So unless you—”
“Deo,” I hiss. “Where is he?”
“Someone is working on it! Will you just shut up and keep walking?”
I shut up and keep walking.
As we pass the room where I was tested by Bellamy, I hear a mechanical noise up ahead. It’s coming from the hallway where I saw the elevator earlier. Daniel sucks air through his teeth and pivots us around to the closest door. He scans one of the panels with his access badge, but the light blips red.
Daniel mutters a curse below his breath and pulls me closer to him. “Hang tight.” His voice is barely audible—I feel the words against my ear more than actually hear them. “I’ll try again tomorrow.”
“Get Deo out first,” I hiss.
Daniel doesn’t respond, simply whips us back in the other direction to face two men coming toward us. The first, moving at a rapid clip, is Lucas. The second is Graham Cregg, who lags behind, in no apparent rush. He’s pale, with thinning hair, and his expression is relaxed.
Cregg seems small, but then I realize he’s just dwarfed by Lucas’s bulk. He’s nearly as tall as Daniel. As he comes closer, the outside of my left hand begins to throb. I remember the weight of the garden shears in my right hand, fighting hard against the compulsion to pull the handles together. Wanting to throw them at Cregg, who’s sitting cross-legged in the middle of the room, bare from the waist up—a grotesque parody of a yoga instructor, hands raised slightly above his thighs as he focuses all of his energy on me, on controlling me.
No. Not me. Molly. I’m shoving the new memory behind the wall, patching the bricks, raising the shields, when Lucas yanks my arm away from Daniel. His fingers dig into my f
lesh.
“Glad you finally showed up,” Daniel says. “I was about to call for clarification since Room 1 is empty.”
“Who the hell told you to bring her here?”
Daniel shrugs. “Someone from the Med Unit said the 2A in 94 needed to be escorted to Testing Room 1.”
“Lab 1, dipshit.” Lucas says. “And I didn’t say for anyone to es . . . cort . . .” But then he frowns, rubbing his forehead. He looks confused, like he’s thinking now that maybe he did tell Ashley to send me to Testing Room 1.
Daniel’s eyes are still locked on Lucas. It’s a neat little Jedi mind trick: This isn’t the patient you’re looking for. Move along.
Cregg steps forward, taking control of the situation. He doesn’t even glance at me, just flashes his ID at Daniel.
“No need to get overworked, Lucas. There’s no harm done. We’re headed to the lab now, so we’ll take it from here. You may return to your post.”
Cregg’s voice is smooth. It has a soothing quality, kind of like the auditory equivalent of a cough drop.
“Yes, sir.” Daniel shoots me a fleeting look of apology, then heads down the corridor.
We turn the opposite way, back toward my room. Lucas’s hand, which is already like a vise around my arm, squeezes tighter as we change course. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of crying out, but it catches Cregg’s attention anyway.
“You’re disgusting, Lucas.” There’s no emotion in Cregg’s voice, just a straight-up statement of fact. “Let go of her arm. I overlooked your . . . liberties . . . with the others, but that doesn’t mean I would do so with a girl who could be of”—thumpthumpthump—“actual value.”
Room 81 is ahead on the left. The noise is louder than before. Cregg steps slightly to the right as we approach, moving away from the door that seems to bubble out into the hallway.
“So rein it in,” he continues. “She’ll follow without you manhandling her, as long as we have something she wants.”
Lucas releases my arm. I rub the bruised area.
Ouch!
It’s a child’s voice, and it echoes in my head at the exact moment we pass.