Chapter Thirty-Four
Declan
Still in a tremendous amount of pain, I crumble to the ground next to the glass wall separating me from the doctor. Moving is a chore. My face and ass just finished taking twelve rounds of punches from a world champion.
"Miss Paxon," the doctor asks over his intercom. "Why does my guest look like he's been beaten to a pulp?"
Ten seconds of silence follow before a reply comes back through the speakers.
"It was a sample day, sir,” she answers. “I chose some impact and rope play for the demonstration before collecting.”
"Sample, haha." I laugh and then mumble quietly, "You raped and beat me."
"Declan," says the doctor, staggering toward the glass partition on drunken legs. "I do hope you'll accept my apologies for my prior outburst."
"Outburst?" I ask. "Is that the special label for your class torture? And are you really going to ignore what I just said? She tied me up like a prize pig and decimated my ass. I can still feel her in my kidneys."
"Oh, now, now, Declan," the doctor replies. "The effects of all this—my experiment—Miss Paxon’s methods—are hardly permanent. You should feel much improved within another day or so."
Physically, maybe.
"Yeah," I snap. "I'm holding my breath in anticipation. What the hell happened, Doc? Why the change of tune?"
"What, um." The doctor shows difficulty forming his thoughts. "Whatever do you, uh, mean?"
"You look like shit," I spew.
"My state—" The doctor stops for a moment and looks like he's going to puke, but it subsides. "My state is not of any concern to you. Now, tell me about this dream of yours."
"Oh," I say, "I get it. You've found something. Well, doc, let's have it. What's going on?"
"I have not yet–" This time hurries to a cylindrical can beside his desk and expels the contents of his stomach into its plastic lining. The bile and booze pour out from his insides like water from a broken fire hydrant.
"Great," I say sarcastically. "How about you let me the fuck out of here?"
The doctor continues to eject his innards for a few minutes, until the heaving stops producing anything other than entertainment for me.
"Declan," the doctor continues, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his lab coat.
"I have not made any conclusions, but I am presently interested in a note I found from one of your former doctors.
" He spits onto the pile of what was formerly in his stomach several times, trying to get the taste out of his mouth.
"There is a dream—a dream from which you have suffered many sleepless nights. I want to know about this dream."
“Unbelievable doc,” I say. “You kidnap me, hold me against my will, torture me, and now you act like you want to do your job. Why should I tell you anything?” I’m livid. This is the conversation he wanted to have back in his home, not in this maximum-security facility from Hell.
“I made a mistake,” the doctor answers. “I misjudged you, and I shouldn’t have.
Daphne’s case is one I’ve never been able to shake, and all my old frustration returned when I thought you had something to do with her disappearance.
I have suspected, incorrectly, that you killed her.
However, there was another, before you. Before her.
So, Declan, if you’ll indulge me, I may be able to make some sense out of this whole situation. I need to know about the dream.”
I’m hesitant to say the least. All I want is to go home. I don’t trust the doctor. But my curiosity also has a hold on me. I too continue wondering what happened to Daphne. And if he can help solve that mystery, then, as much as it pains me to do so, I must cooperate.
“It started when I was a kid,” I begin. “Eight, maybe nine years old.” I carry on through the entire story.
Walking down a random street. The giant castle-like building.
The maze-filled fortress inside. And the doctor doesn’t say a word the entire time.
Not even when I get to the end. When I’m murdered by the mysterious dark figure.
All the doctor can do is watch and listen in astonishment, and try not to spew.
The story concludes, and everything is so quiet, I could hear a mosquito orgasm.
“Say something, Doc,” I shout and snap my fingers at him.
“I need to tell you a story, Declan,” he says, staring at an empty corner of my room. “I’m not sure how you’re going to feel about it, but it’s the only logical step from here.”
“Well then, let’s have it doc,” I say.
Doctor Campos grabs Daphne’s file, removes the tape he played for Declan previously, puts it back in the player built into his desk, and presses play.