I try to pull back. “What are you doing?”
“Cutting it off.”
“My hand?”
“Your cast, Miss Thorne.”
“Why?”
“Because your bones are not broken.”
Twenty-Four
I don’t believe her.
“You’re insane. Of course my bones are broken.”
She holds the X-rays up to the light. “They aren’t now, and they never were. Not a single fracture, not a single scar in the bone.”
“But I’m telling you, they were.”
“And I’m telling you you’re wrong. Whoever did this is either deranged or has a sick sense of humor.”
Rapidly, brutally, she severs the fiberglass. The saw whines. The cast screeches in protest. Then, carefully, she peels the hard cocoons from my arms and legs.
Limb by limb, she frees me from a prison of lies.
I perch naked apart from my gown. I’m too terrified to move lest my arms and legs come unhinged—flop at inhuman angles. A few feet away, the doctor disposes the remains of my fiberglass incarceration. It hits the bottom of the metal trash can with a resounding clang.
“I’m telling you, you mixed up my X-rays.”
“We did not mix up your X-rays.” She takes my right arm and moves her hands up and down its length, squeezing here and there.
“Any pain here? No? How about here?”
“Maybe we should do the X-rays one more time.”
Head bent, she gives me this look that says Drop it already. From her frizzy hair to the blue smudges beneath her eyes, it’s obvious she’s overworked and annoyed. Clearly she has other patients to get to. More important ones. Patients without fake injuries or orders from investigative agencies. She slips me into a pair of disposable green booties.
“Stand for me, please. Careful.”
Suddenly I want to laugh. I want to scream. I don’t know what I want, really. Answers, I guess. Yes, that’s what I need. I won’t get them from her, though.
The recovery table paper crinkles under me as I slip gingerly forward. My toes touch the ground. It’s icy through the thin coverings. She takes my hands and helps me wobble to my feet. Nothing happens. Nothing snaps. I stand there feeling like an idiot.
“You’ll be a little stiff. That’s expected.”
I nod.
“The front desk can arrange some rehab sessions. An aide will take you back to your room.”
She opens the door to the bustle outside. I’m helped into a wheelchair. Eyes seem to fasten on me from every direction. The nurses’ station. The other hospital workers. I guess gossip moves quick. I’m the patient some agency is investigating. The one with four broken limbs that aren’t really broken. I scan the sea of pitying eyes.
Look at her. She’s not even hurt. Poor thing. So obviously naive.
I’ve known audiences like this before. Sure, most people wish you the best, yet what about those who long to see you squirm? If I were feeling daring, I’d shout, It’s a miracle, I can walk! Like someone on a religious TV show. Instead, I raise my chin and focus my attention on the elevator doors, willing them to hurry up and open.
Upstairs, Gage’s jaw drops, and he stares at my limbs in amazement.
“Don’t even ask. You were right,” I tell him.
He doesn’t say I told you so. He doesn’t need to. It’s in the curl of his lip when he closes his mouth. In the shine of his eyes.
“Let me get dressed. Then we can go.”
To his credit, all he says is, “I’ll be outside. Shout when you’re ready.”
Alone, I sink onto the bed.
Hunter lied.
Gage was right.
He lied to me.
My heart constricts as my faith in Hunter’s goodness topples. He left me trapped with no explanation. I trusted him. And Victoria, Edward, Lucy, too. Acting like they cared about me. All along it was a lie.
Why?
There’s a phone beside the bed. I pick it up and ask the hospital operator to connect me with the Phoenix Research Lab. It takes a few minutes, and then Victoria comes on the line.
“I’m at St. Mary’s General Hospital,” I say, foregoing any greeting. She knows my voice. “We need to talk. Come to my dad’s house. One hour. Show up or I’m calling the police.”
Before she can answer, I slam down the receiver.
I recall what Ella said about my smooth skin. I yank up the hem of the hospital gown and stare at my newly exposed thighs. Then my arms. They’re flawless. I can’t find a single scar. Not even the faded gash from the ice skating accident. Every tiny blemish is gone as though airbrushed away. So my bones were fine, yet they fixed my skin?
My mind spins, seeking purchase, seeking steady ground. Were they fine or not?
The digital clock on the bedside table clicks from 11:59 to 12:00. Shaking, I pull the leather satchel from its hiding place and heft it into my lap. Dizzy flutters twirl in my stomach. What do I do? What the hell am I supposed to do? Take the silver pill? If I don’t, it’s clear what will happen.
If I do?
Hunter, what did you do to me? How do I reconcile this with the caring man who held me in his arms and sang to me? The man with the cocky, warm smile and the rumbling laugh. The one with eyes that I could drown in. Yet he’s a scoundrel of the worst sort. Once again I’m in his grip, yet this time it’s not the kind of grip a girl dreams of.
Fingers shaking, I pry the lid from the bottle.
A lukewarm glass of water sits on the table. With a swift gulp, I swallow it down. Then I pull on the long white nightshirt with the music notes from yesterday, haul the satchel over my shoulder, and climb into the waiting wheelchair.
Banging on the door. Gage calls, “Aeris? Come on, we need to go.”
“Ready!” I call, sounding more confident than I feel.
Gage is strangely nervous as he wheels me out to his truck. He must still be embarrassed about our kiss. I tune him out, lost in my own bubble of fear. No one can help me. No one can pull me out of this mess. My bones are well, but I’m not.
I need to get up and move.
“I want to walk,” I tell him.
“You’re too weak. Let’s just get out of here.”
“Gage, I want to stand, stop pushing.”
“Okay, okay.”
Before I can move he comes around and props me on my two legs, holding me as if I were a newborn foal in danger of tumbling over. “There. Good?”
“Yes, if you let go.”
He raises both hands, palms up.
My nightshirt flaps loosely against my bare legs, making me feel exposed and naked. I expect my knees to shake and wobble. Oddly, they don’t. I take a deep breath and a wondrous strength surges through my freed limbs. My muscles ache with the need to run. Away. Hard and far from my fear.
“Put this on. You must be freezing.” Gage hands me his heavy Gore-Tex jacket. This time, unlike outside the Zenith Club, I do.
“Now can we leave?” he asks, impatient.
I nod and climb in.
He hands me my bag and I clutch at the horrible thing. What happens when the meds run out? Will I have to take them for the rest of my life? I stare into my lap as he abandons the chair and climbs in. Another thought strikes. Something even worse.
What happens if I can’t get more?
Gage speaks first. “What the hell was Cayman doing?” He wrenches the car into gear and roars out of the lot. “Sticking you in those casts? I thought he was a freak, but the guy’s a sadistic psycho.”
I hate it. Hearing Hunter and psycho in the same sentence. I hate it more than anything. How could I have fallen for him? At the same time, dread prickles all over me. Never have I felt so alone. So isolated in this horrible reality. My mouth is nearly numb with terror.
What’s in those pills? And why did he put me in those useless casts? What did he do to my body?
I dig my fists deep into Gage’s pockets, pulling his coat tight around me. My knu
ckles bump up against several small, tubular shapes. I fish them out and stare at a wrapped syringe and an unused blood-collection tube.
“What are these?” I ask, holding them away as Gage swipes at me.
“They’re nothing.”
“You stole these from the hospital? Or do you just carry needles around with you?” I stare at him as color floods his cheeks. “Wait, were you going to take my blood?”
“No! No, of course not.”
“You’re a horrible liar, Gage. You were when we were kids, and you still are.”
“Fine. It’s because I care about you, okay? I wanted to make sure you were really all right.”
“So, what? You were just going to take my blood without even asking me? Don’t you think I’ve had enough of that from Hunter? And what about the hospital? You think you’re going to find stuff they didn’t? You’re no doctor. What the hell?”
“No—I was going to ask you first. Of course. And yeah, I’m not a doctor, but I have a scientist friend who knows stuff, and I thought he might be able to run tests the hospital couldn’t. That’s all. That’s it. Like I said, there must be some reason Cayman put you in those casts. Don’t you want to find out?”
I stare down at my bare feet. Wiggle my toes. They’re blue with cold.
“Obviously he wanted to keep you trapped,” Gage says.
“Trapped? If he wanted me trapped, he would have kept me at the research lab.” Although Victoria did try to make me come back. “Anyway, Hunter left. He couldn’t care less about me.”
Gage keeps checking the rearview mirror. I twist in my seat. The traffic is light.
“What’s wrong, is someone following us?”
“No, we’re fine.” His fingers wring the steering wheel. “And even if he left and you went home, you were still trapped. Why?”
“I don’t know.”
He scoffs. “So if it wasn’t about keeping you under control, then what? He lied and said your arms and legs were broken for fun? That’s almost worse.”
“My bones were broken.” And as I said the words, I knew it.
“I’m sure it seemed that way to you.”
It didn’t just seem that way. In the operating room at the PRL—when the police came—the researchers were afraid. Ian claimed they’d suspect I should be dead. That I was too damaged.
“I was crushed,” I insist.
“A lot was happening; you were being chased. Obviously it was confusing.”
“I was thrown against a huge iron gate and the ATV hit me. Square on. I watched it. I heard my bones break. Don’t tell me what did or didn’t happen. You weren’t there.” I pull my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them. They feel bare and thin without their thick fiberglass shell.
“Okay,” he concedes. “You were hurt. And probably needed stitches. Which you got.”
“My bones were broken!”
“Not according to the X-rays.”
I put my forehead to the glass and stare out at a cluster of dilapidated houses. On one tiny front yard, weeds sprout through the remains of a rusted-out bed frame.
I lick my dry lips. “I don’t know what’s real anymore.”
“What’s real is that someone triggered that alert. Why else would the authorities order those tests?”
“But what authorities? You sure you didn’t call anyone?”
“No.” He slams his fist on the dash. “But like I said, I’m glad someone did. I thought Cayman performed the same operation on you as they performed on my unit.”
“Maybe they did.”
“Nope.”
“How can you tell?”
“The X-rays would show it.” His voice is grim.
“Wait, what operation did they perform on your unit?” They’d been operated on? I thought they’d been exposed to some deadly infectious agent. I dry swallow. “What would your X-rays show?”
He’s silent, his dark pupils fastened to the road.
“Gage? What would they show?”
The run-down houses have given way to open pasture. Birds huddle on the wires, watching us pass.
“We don’t talk about it.”
“Who’s we? You and the other soldiers they experimented on?”
His shoulders are hunched forward. He nods.
“You and the guys living down at your compound?”
“Yep.”
I’m stunned by his weighty tone, by the meaning in that tiny word. The blacktop snakes out in front of us, snakes up the wild coast, snakes toward home. Toward a place that seems on the surface so peaceful. It’s not. Gage’s jaw is tense. I know suddenly that hidden along the ocean bluffs, a war is gathering.
“Please tell me what’s going on. Please tell me what happened during that experiment.”
I can see the decision battling in his mind. He wrenches the steering wheel, slamming the brakes at the same time. We skid onto the shoulder, fishtailing and kicking up dust. When the truck comes to a stop, he thrusts open his door. Salt air rushes in, along with the sound of distant waves.
“What are you doing?”
“Showing you.”
I open my door. The blacktop sends blinding rays of hot sunshine blasting upward, radiating warmth along my legs. Gage lopes along the gravel edge, heading toward a signpost that warns of dangerous curves ahead. He shoots me a backward glance. Then, casually, like a runner grabbing a baton in a relay race, he lifts the sign from the ground, taking the poured concrete base as he goes. He keeps jogging; it’s effortless.
I watch in disbelief as he stops and tosses the thing into the air. It whirls skyward, flipping end over end, flying at least thirty feet high. Bits of dirt rain down from the weighty lump of concrete stuck to the bottom. Reaching its full arc, it slows, stops, and comes plummeting down.
“Watch out,” I gasp, even though I know he can’t hear me.
With one hand, he catches the pole and proceeds to wrap the metal into easy knots. He could be tying his shoe for all the effort on his face. There’s none. Literally none.
My jaw is hanging open.
Witnessing Hunter fight those men in my half-conscious, shocked state was one thing. This is real. This is happening. Gage is bending a giant metal signpost into a pretzel. His face flashes red as I gape at him. There’s pride, though, too. For all his anger, he’s almost smug.
He saunters toward the truck. “Probably shouldn’t destroy public property like this, huh.”
“No. Probably not.”
Unwinding the knots takes a little more work. “Guess I tied them a little tight.”
Finally, he replants it in the dirt. I’m so shaken when he climbs back into the driver’s seat I can’t find my voice. When I do, I squeak, “How?”
After starting the car and guiding it onto the road, he holds out his forearm. “Feel it.”
“I’m not sure I want to.”
“Just feel it, Aeris.”
I do. “Seems pretty normal.”
“Squeeze it. Harder.”
Suddenly I know something’s off. It’s like earlier, when I pressed against his chest to push him off me. His chest had felt like skin wrapped over armor.
“Is it—is there metal under there?”
“Metal and Kevlar and a whole lot of stuff I don’t understand.”
“And you thought they did that to me? That’s what the doctors were looking for in the X-rays? Why, because I was Dr. Cayman’s patient?”
“That and the convulsions, your high temperature, a lot of things. It happened to us. The body doesn’t take kindly to having that much metal shoved inside. Ask my brother. Oh right. You can’t. He’s dead.”
“And they did that to you without your consent?”
“Oh, we gave our consent. We just had no idea what we were consenting to when we signed ourselves over to Blackbird, to Brewster King and his Franken-doctors. They called it an unfortunate program gone wrong. The doctors were arrested, of course. And the military was pressured to release us with decent pensio
ns. Basically, they bought our silence. Works for me. I don’t want people knowing I’m a freak.”
“And this guy, Brewster King, why wasn’t he arrested?”
“The worm wriggled clear. People like King know how to get out of things.”
“So that’s it? He’s just carrying on?”
“For now. Believe me. Justice will be served.”
I press my forehead to the side window and stare out at the blue sky. All I’m seeing, though, is Hunter lifting the ATV off me and flinging it through the air.
Pieces start falling together. Flying together. Slamming into place.
I recall Gage and Hunter facing off in the Foggy Joe—seeing Gage’s stiff, brutish frame matched against Hunter’s own powerful, fluid body. A bionic man against a mortal beast.
Hunter didn’t make me into a metal soldier.
Oh, he did something to me. Of that I’m sure. Hunter’s not normal; I see that now. Yet he isn’t like Gage, either. Whatever he did, he made me more like him. And Victoria. And Ian. Lucy and Edward.
I picture the ceiling in their operating room. The caterpillars, the cocoons, the butterflies. I see my broken body on the table. Hunter bending over me, begging me to come back to him. I feel the needle stab my heart, the strange electric pulse, the flames rushing through my limbs, the burning fire melting my muscles. Melting my bones.
He saved me. He saved my broken body on a molecular level.
I know why Gage saw Blackbird’s CEO visiting the PRL. King’s company designs military weapons—be those guns or futuristic soldiers like Gage. Blackbird took the brute-force approach. But Brewster King knows there’s a better way, a technique to rebuild a human from the inside, with his or her own blood, muscles, and bones. A way to make them healthier, stronger. Strong enough to throw an eight-hundred-pound ATV through the windshield of a truck.
I grab the door handle and squeeze. Nothing happens. It doesn’t crush between my fingers. Feeling self-conscious, I glance at Gage. He has no idea what I’m thinking. At least the awkwardness of our kiss is gone. We’re friends again. Closer than friends. We’re both hiding horrible secrets. Although he’s still not privy to mine.
“Shit,” Gage says, eyes narrowed on the rearview mirror. “Shit!”
The Butterfly Code Page 20