Deadliest Psychos (The Asylum #2)

His Aftercare Is Top Notch

Kookaburra

The strangest whirring noise pulls me from my dreams. I’m glad, because they were taking a dark and sinister turn, but I can’t place the source of the disturbance when I blink open my heavy eyelids.

I feel like I’m floating, or bobbing on a boat, but at the same time, something in the back of my mind tells me that those options aren’t quite right. There’s a familiarity to the sound, but I’m too tired to place it and my eyes close of their own accord once more.

As I drift off, the whirring noise seems to grow louder and more insistent. It’s definitely not the sound of a boat. I try to sit up and look around, but my body feels cumbersome and unresponsive.

The whirring noise grows louder and I realise with a jolt that I’m no longer in my bedroom.

Panic hits me as I try to remember how I got here, wherever ’here’ is.

I frantically try to look around, trying to make out anything in the darkness, but my head will barely move.

My limbs won’t move! My breathing quickens, and I let out a muffled scream.

That’s when something cold and metallic clamps around my neck.

“Shh, shh,” a voice whispers in my ear. Is it alien or familiar? I can’t tell. “Don’t be afraid. You’re safe.”

I struggle against the restraints, but they hold fast. I am not comforted. I don’t feel safe. The whirring noise gets louder still, and I feel a sudden jolt as if something has shifted around me.

“That’s it,” the same voice says. “You’re doing fine. Just relax.”

Relax? How can I relax when I’m strapped to something in the dark? When I don’t know where I am or who I’m with?

The whirring noise starts to fade and then there’s silence. Only, my ears are ringing.

Then, a blinding light floods the space. I squeeze my eyes shut, but the brightness seeps through my eyelids. Footsteps approach, and then the voice speaks again.

“Welcome home, little sis,” the voice says. “Won’t be long now. We just need to take care of that tracker first.”

My heart rate triples, beating so fast I’m convinced it’s going to tear itself right from my chest as terror and something close to hysteria bubbles up from my chest.

No! Not the chip! They won’t find me if it’s removed. My psychos won’t know where to look for me.

“Kayla, relax,” a soothing voice says, a warm, comforting hand rests on top of mine and squeezes gently. I know that voice. It’s female.

“D-doctor?” My speech is slurred, clumsy. I don’t feel right.

“Yes, Kayla. It’s me. We did it. We got you off the island. You’re safe now. Just one small procedure to remove your chip and you can be free of the asylum.”

“N-no…n-need…”

“What’s wrong with her?” The doctor asks sharply. I don’t know who she’s talking to, she’s never spoken to me like that before.

A deep, masculine voice responds, “She’s been heavily sedated for the trip. Her mind is clouded and confused right now.”

The doctor lets out a sigh of relief. “Good. That’s good. So long as you used the drugs I prescribed. We can’t risk anything happening to the baby. Let’s get started then.”

The cold metal of a surgical instrument brushes against my neck. I thrash and try to scream, but my weakened body is no match for the restraints.

“Hold her still,” the doctor orders, sounding a lot less comforting and reassuring.

Hands grab onto my limbs, pinning me down, and the restraints around my body are loosened.

Rather than being able to make a break for freedom, rough hands flip me over and slam me face down onto a cold metal table.

Holy shit. Is that an operating table?

The restraints are replaced, tighter than before and I can’t move a muscle.

Tears stream down my face as the instrument digs into my flesh.

A sharp pain shoots through my neck, and then everything goes numb.

I’m awake. But not. Present. But so far away.

Sounds seem to be coming from underwater, and echoes of my past, or my childhood, ring in my ears.

I don’t want to get lost, trapped in those hellish memories.

I watch with cool detachment as medical instruments – a lethal looking scalpel and wicked long nose pliers – pass before my face into gloved hands.

There's pressure, then release, and hot liquid runs from the back of my neck, down to my shoulders and chest, dripping onto the table. It’s an alien sensation, like wearing gloves in hot water. I think it’s my blood, but I can’t move to see.

Even though I’m petrified, my heart beats steadily. A machine counting out the beats, tormenting me with its calmness.

I’m not calm! I’m not steady. I’m raging on the inside, absolutely convinced that I’ve fucked up. I put my trust in the wrong person, and I’ve exchanged one prison for another. Only this time I don’t have the love of six psychos to keep me strong.

That’s when it hits me.

I love them.

And I’m sure they care for me too. Maybe even love me, if they’re capable.

But my love for them is irrefutable.

More tears seep from my eyes, but they’re not just tears of fear. They’re tears of regret, of longing, of despair. I think about the psychos and how they must be feeling right now. Do they know I’m gone? Do they miss me? Do they even care? I think they would.

Will they look for me? Raise the alarm that I’m gone? Implore Seytan to track my chip and find me?

Maybe they already have. Maybe they’re on their way already.

Hope, like a fledgling bird, flutters in my chest, but I don’t have the conviction, the belief in their love, to make it fly.

My thoughts are interrupted by a sharp tug on the back of my neck, and the pressure becomes unbearable. I cry out. The machine counting my heartbeats beeps faster, and there’s a rush of heat in my neck. Blood. It’s definitely blood.

“Got it,” the doctor says, relief evident in her voice. The pressure breaks. I can breathe. The machine slows back to a steady rhythm.

“She’ll be disoriented for a while, but the sedation should keep her calm. Let’s get her to her room.”

I’m lifted onto a stretcher, still on my front, but they carefully manipulate my neck so that my head is facing to the side and I’m lying on my uncut cheek. Then I’m wheeled out of the operating room.

My body is limp and heavy, but my mind is racing. What have I done? What have I lost?

As I’m rolled down the hallway, I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror. My hair is matted to my head, all that hard work combing it, wasted, and my skin is ashen. I look like a zombie.

The door to a tiny room is opened, and I’m deposited onto the bed.

It’s more like a cot or a slab than a bed, and I long for the comforts of the asylum in more ways than one.

The restraints are removed, but I don’t have the energy to move or fight.

A threadbare blanket is haphazardly tossed over me.

My body feels like it’s made of lead, but it isn’t as heavy as my heart.

The doctor approaches me, no longer a friendly face or a beacon of hope. She’s holding a syringe filled with a clear liquid. I can’t even fight her as she injects it into my arm, and a cold sensation travels through my veins.

“Sleep now,” she says softly. “You’ll feel better when you wake up. This is for the best. You’ll see.”

The doctor turns away from me and speaks again, in a much firmer, colder voice, but I can’t see anyone in the shadows.

“Do not touch her. I mean it. She needs to heal. You’re only here to watch over her tonight.”

And with that, darkness engulfs me.