Chapter 30
I’m watching every inch of every step of this trek through the stark and sterile hallways. There’s got to be a way out and with Chase and Maverick locked away in the cell, it’s up to me to find it. And I will.
We’ve gone further on the same floor. I know the entrance to the emergency stairwells is behind us, but as they take me deeper into the bowels of this building, I understand why they tossed us in a cell down here.
Because the large office on the other end belongs to the Doctor.
If he has a name, I don’t know it. The nameplate on the door was removed, and when the two agents march me into his office, he doesn’t introduce himself. He accepts their monotone greetings—“Doctor”, “Doctor”—as his due, then takes the clipboard from the shorter of the two men.
The female technician had scrawled on the print-out in pen before passing it over to the agent.
The two men were instructed to bring me to the Doctor while she disappeared through the white door this time.
The agents had warned Maverick and Chase to stay put as they led me out, and only the door slamming in Chase’s face kept him from coming after me.
Now, alone with a stranger for the first time in a month, I’m afraid.
Scratch that.
I’m terrified.
The Doctor could be Winston’s twin. A man of indeterminate age, he has the same soulless face.
The same dark hair. The same pale skin. The same black eyes.
Unlike the other residents of the NRI building, he doesn’t wear the shades.
It’s like he wants you to see the unnaturalness of his gaze while he looks you over.
Like the technician, he has on a lab coat.
One word—Doctor—is embroidered over the pocket of his white coat. A scalpel, an injection, and a pen poke out through the top.
Under his lab coat, he has on a suit. His tie isn’t red or grey.
It’s black.
“Take a seat.”
His voice is as deep as a canyon. Still no emotion in it, but the rumble leaves me uncomfortable. Though I want to shoot my middle finger up at him—and there aren’t any agents around to stop me—that thought gives me pause.
Is the Doctor so dangerous that he doesn’t need any backup?
Fuck.
I take a seat.
Unlike Winston’s desk, he has a sterile folding table set up between us. Plastic chairs are placed on each side. On top of the table, I see a weird-looking machine. It has wires and paper, a moving part and something like an oxygen monitor… holy shit. It looks like a lie detector test.
If that doesn’t freak me out enough, the large black collar he pulls out of his pocket does. It reminds me of the collar I bought for the orange cat that I tried to tame in the before times, only without a jingling bell.
Oh, and the fact that it’s human-sized.
Once I’m seated, the Doctor zips over to me.
I’m still marveling over his speed—especially since lurkers go half as fast as humans—when he quickly puts the collar on me.
It’s not tight enough that I can’t breathe, but it’s definitely not loose enough for me to breathe easily.
As I gape at him, he hooks me up to the possible lie detector thing.
“What…” I tug at it, panic rising. “What’s this?”
He doesn’t answer me. Instead, he takes out a small silver button that looks like it could be a car starter, then places it on the table. He flicks another button on the side of the contraption, then stares at me.
He reminds me of the younglings in a weird way. When he stares at me, I freeze.
“What is your name?” he asks.
Stupid question. He has that print-out in front of him, plus the note from the technician. He knows who I am.
Maybe this is one of those initial questions that help tell a polygraph proctor when the person attached to it is lying.
“Xandra— what the fuck!”
I was zapped. A low grade pulse around my neck, coming from the collar he put on me. I told him my name, he pressed the button on the table, and he zapped me.
He ignores my outburst.
“Your full name?”
“Alexandra Holden—Jesus fucking Christ! Stop that!”
It was even worse that time. Another shock that made my throat constrict, trying to get away from the pain.
He looks down his nose at me. “You will be shocked every time you tell a lie. You don’t want to feel pain? Tell me who you are.”
“I did!”
He presses the button.
I scream.
The Doctor waits until I’ve stopped screaming and I’m only panting in the aftershocks of another jolt.
And then—
“Who is the most important person in your life?”
“My twin.”
After glancing at the polygraph, he doesn’t press the button. Looks like I finally got one right.
“What is her name?”
“Hallie—God fucking damn it!”
Stars exploded behind my eyes. I taste blood in my mouth.
He really upped the voltage on that one.
His expression is a flat mask, though I see disdain in his eyes as he says, “You know why you’re getting shocked, don’t you, Hallie?”
I grit my teeth. “My name is Xandra.” That time, when the shock comes, I don’t give the bastard the satisfaction of crying out. Even if I do almost bite the tip of my tongue off when I spasm in response to it.
“We are very good at what we do at the NRI, Hallie.” Hallie.
He keeps calling me Hallie. “Identical twins do not share an identical DNA make-up. There are genetic mutations that go beneath the skin. We also took your fingerprints from the urine sample jar you provided Elissa. Yours belong to Hallie Holden.”
I don’t know how they got my prints, but I don’t care.
“She’s dead.”
“Your sister might be dead. Alexandra is dead. You are Hallie.”
“Fuck you!”
He presses the button.
I howl.
For the next ten minutes, he insists that I can’t be Xandra. He goes between asking questions that I answer with the truth—that he doesn’t shock me for—and then he askes me my name. Every time I answer “Xandra”, the pain is almost impossible to stand.
And then I break.
“What is your name?”
I’m crying now. I don’t even remember when that started. My nose bled, too; I wiped it with the sleeve of Rory’s jacket. My head aches. I want to die.
But I can’t.
Not yet.
However, I answer him. I tell him what he wants to hear because, after the trauma he put me through, I don’t even know who I am anymore.
“I’m Hallie. Me. My sister Xandra is dead. I’m alive. I’m Hallie.” I swallow a sob. “I’m Hallie.”
The Doctor leans over and peers at his damned machine.
“And the polygraph says that that is the truth.”
Maybe the Doctor isn’t as big a heartless bastard as I thought.
He opens the door, gesturing for one of the agents that is waiting just outside of it.
He comes back with a glass of water and a box of tissues for me.
While jotting down notes on his clipboard, he lets me sit and get a hold of myself.
I wipe my eyes, blow my nose, and hope like hell that this is another one of my nightmares that I just haven’t woken up from yet.
When it becomes obvious that it isn’t, I shut down. I go as emotionless as the Doctor. I don’t want him to have the satisfaction that he broke me down to nothing, and I just sit there until he finishes what he’s doing and tells Hallie that she can go.
That I can go.
The last thing he says is that he looks forward to our next session, and I decide then and there to survive this just so I can get the opportunity to snatch the scalpel from his pocket and slit his fucking throat.
As I walk out the door, I ask myself: How can I be Hallie? Hallie was the sweet one. The gentle one. She would never have murderous thoughts… unless the Turning and her beloved sister’s death broke her even more than the Doctor did.
I’ll kill him. Sure, lurkers are invulnerable. What about the monster that the Doctor is?
I don’t know, but it’s worth a try.
Another pair of agents, nearly indistinguishable from the others, returns me to the cell. I plod inside, with one of them following right on my heel.
He points at Chase. “You. Come with me. The Doctor will see you now.”
My soul cries out. In that moment, looking at him, seeing his blue eyes and his sandy-brown hair and that crooked smile…
maybe I am Hallie because I love him so much that I ache with it.
I want to run to him. To grab him. To hold him close, to cleave him to me, to keep that goon from getting anywhere near him.
My fingers fly up to my face, my bottom lip wavering as I whisper, “No,” under my breath. I don’t want Chase going anywhere near that bastard. What the Doctor did to me… I can’t let him hurt Chase.
I can’t let him experiment on him or try to reverse the antidote.
But what can I do?
“Chase, no—”
Maverick gets up off the cot. He looks at me, looks at Chase, then glares at the agent.
“I’m supposed to be next.”
What?
The dick in shades seems just as confused as I am. Is Maverick volunteering to go before Chase?
“The bitch who took my blood. She said I was going next. You want to ask her? Or do you want to keep the Doctor waiting?”
Holy shit. He… he is. I know Maverick. I know it when he bluffs; he did that in East Jersey before I could tell the difference. Now… he’s buying Chase a little time—and we all know it.
The agent isn’t about to question it. I think he must be more afraid of the Doctor than Elissa because he just nods, grabs Maverick’s arm, and drags the cop out of the cell.
The moment the door slams shut, Chase is moving. His arms are wrapped around me, pulling me toward him, squeezing me close.
“What did they do to you? Are you okay? Tell me you’re okay. God, I love you so fucking much. You have to be okay.”
He’s careful not to use any name right now. I don’t know why that stands out to me, but as he holds me close, his arms a possessive brand around my back, I hear everything he wants to say… and that I want to hear.
What did they do to me? He doesn’t need to know exactly, and I can’t tell him. Not exactly. It’ll hurt Chase even more to hear how I was tortured, especially since I’m—
I’m—
I press my head against his chest and whisper one word: “Baby.”