Chapter Forty-Three
Declan
The massive metal door to the room flings open and crashes with a thud. Somehow, I’m naked and strapped to the breeding post again, and I have no idea how or when I got here.
How does this keep happening?
Miss Paxon approaches with a large nozzle in her hands and a long hose dragging on the ground behind her. She looks cute in a yellow rain poncho and winter boots, but I’m apprehensive about what this means for me.
“Let her rip,” she hollers, and second later I hear the roar of what must be water coming my way.
The hose kicks and spurs in her hands as it spits with monsoon-like force.
The blast of water thrashes against me, scraping bits of skin and hair, along with whatever dirt, spit, come and other things that are stuck to me.
I’d object, but the fear of having the bottom half of my jaw ripped off by the pressure renders me silent.
Finally, the aquatic lashing ceases. Miss Paxon drops the hose and picks up a tin bucket I neglected to see through the tsunami.
She grabs the bottom of the pail with one hand, keeping the other firmly gripping the top, and then swings both in my direction.
A large puff of powdered soap clings to my body, leaving me feeling like a sugar-coated donut.
Soon thereafter, the hose fires another burst of haymakers that punch and pound my flesh until I’m clean.
“The doctor is waiting for you, Missster Roberts,” she says, turning to watch the granite wall retract once more.
Water’s still dripping from my cold exterior when Dr. Campos enters his secure little office. He immediately notices that I’m not only soaked but chapped.
“Declan,” he says. “What happened to you? Why are you so red?”
I laugh aloud.
“You’re kidding, right?” I ask rhetorically. “You expect me to believe this wasn’t your idea?”
“I do apologize,” he says, concern clear in his voice, “I did not realize—”
“Save it, Doc,” I interrupt him. “After everything you’ve done to me, I’m not about to believe anyone here has done anything other than what you requested.”
“I assure you—”
“Just stop it, Doc.” I cut him off again, leaning into my disobedience. “Enough with the lies, okay?”
Dr. Campos scratches his head before turning his attention to Miss Paxon.
“From now on,” he says, “Declan is to be treated with the utmost respect. The order to treat him as hostile is hereby revoked.”
“As you wish, Doctor.” Miss Paxon acknowledges his words.
“Again, I do apologize,” he says, returning his focus to me.
“Sure,” I reply. “Whatever you say, Doc. I take it you wanted to see me. Well, here I am.”
“Right you are,” he says. “I am going to play you another recording, and—”
“Again with the recording, Doc,” I interrupt, my tone rising. “When will we get to the point of all this?”
“Declan,” Dr. Campos says, “I need you to be patient. The recording I want you to hear is important. However, you may find it disturbing. I cannot yet divulge the history of the recording. Not until you’ve heard it.
What I can tell you is that the authorities believe, just as I do, that the person in the recording is Daphne Brooks. ”
“What does that mean?” I ask sarcastically. “The authorities believe? It’s nothing but tricks with you.”
Dr. Campos walks back to his desk and opens his file on Daphne Brooks. This time, he removes a disc of some sort. He fiddles with some concoction I can’t see, and soon enough, a recording begins to play.