Chapter 6 Real Cages Are Chemical
REAL CAGES ARE CHEMICAL
Drown Me Out - Andy Black
Bones
The alarms have been off for twelve minutes.
That’s what interests me most. Not the chaos before – the shrieking sirens, the flashing red lights that made everyone scatter like insects – but the sudden, deliberate quiet. That kind of silence doesn’t happen by accident. It’s someone’s decision.
I sit on the edge of the cot, rolling a scalpel between my fingers.
My search was futile. Kayla’s gone. She’s not hiding somewhere.
She’s off the island. If she’d been injured or hiding, I would have found her before anyone else.
I know the inside of this place better than anyone. No matter what they like to think.
Judging by the silent alarms ringing in my head, whoever authorised its deactivation knows she’s gone too.
The blade catches the low light like a taunting smile. Around me, the room is clean to the point of mockery: white walls, one steel table, one shelf, one mirror. But the order is deceptive. I’ve hidden what matters.
A collapsible knife taped behind the vent. A small burner phone wrapped in plastic and wedged into the foam of the mattress. A drawer that rattles because the false bottom hides a strip of skin and a gold wedding band.
They don’t lock us in anymore. They don’t need to. The real cages are chemical, procedural, psychological.
When the door bursts open, I don’t flinch. I’ve been waiting.
Nightshade enters first, a thunderhead in human form. Honey’s behind him, blood on his hands. Ghost limps between them, pale and trembling.
“Beckett,” Nightshade snaps. “You still have a line to the mainland?”
I let the scalpel rest in my lap. “You make it sound like a social call.”
“Doctor and Kayla are gone,” Honey says before Nightshade can answer. “The med wing was wiped clean.”
My brain pauses. Then restarts, slower. “Gone,” I repeat slowly, testing my own reaction to this new snippet of news. “As in escaped, or removed?”
Nightshade’s voice is low and precise. “Removed. Files purged. Surveillance scrubbed. The place was trashed. Helicopter’s been taken. But I think Callaway had something to do with it. Why else take her?”
He’s not exaggerating. The twitch at his jaw means he’s fighting for control, and Nightshade only fights for control when the world stops making sense. Interesting.
“You think my contacts can find her,” I say. Not a question.
“I think the Order of the Snaidhm still owes you,” he replies.
That pulls a small smile from me. “You’ve been reading the wrong reports. They don’t owe anyone. They collect.”
Not to mention, Nightshade shouldn’t even know that name. What’s the point in a secret society if it’s not even a secret?
“I don’t care what they collect,” he snaps. “You’re coming with us. You make the call once we’re off this rock.”
Honey paces, shoulders tight. “They took her right out from under us. No way someone in this place didn’t help or have something to do with it.”
I stand, slip the scalpel into my sleeve. “There’s a burner phone under my mattress. It won’t work here – too much interference, too many jammers. But if we get clear air on the mainland, I can reach my contact within The Order. They’ll find her if anyone can.”
Honey spins on me, face flushed. “Then what the fuck are we waiting for?”
“Information,” I say mildly. “Precision before violence, Honey. You’re all noise and no aim.”
He takes a step toward me, but Ghost speaks first, voice thin and ragged. “It’s worse than you think.”
Nightshade glances over his shoulder, warning him to shut up, but Ghost keeps talking. “She’s pregnant.”
For the first time ever, the scalpel slips from my sleeve and clatters to the floor.
“What?”
Ghost looks away, voice small. “She’s carrying.”
My mouth goes dry. “And you’re sure—”
Nightshade meets my eyes, a slow burning challenge behind his gaze. “It’s mine.”
That lands heavier than the alarms ever could. A thousand images slice through me – Kayla’s laughter, her scent, her hands – and I realise the air in the room has gone thin.
Honey mutters something sharp under his breath. Ghost stares at the floor. I force myself to move, crouch, pick up the scalpel like I didn’t just falter.
“Well,” I say softly, sliding it back into my sleeve, “that complicates things.”
Nightshade’s tone leaves no room for argument. “We’re leaving in ten. Valentine’s prepping the chopper. We find her, we get her back, and we erase whoever thought she was theirs.”
He turns to go, but I stop him. “The Order will want something in return.”
“They can have the whole damn asylum,” he says, and strides out. “Anything.”
I watch him go, then glance at Honey. “We’ll need Hatchet.”
“Two floors down,” he says, already moving. “Haven’t seen Snow.”
“Good,” I murmur. “The fewer witnesses, the better.”
I grab the burner from its hiding place, tucking it inside my coat. The plastic crinkles softly – the sound of promises I wish I hadn’t made.
When I step into the corridor, the silence is still there, heavy and wrong. But underneath it, faint and steady, I can hear the asylum breathing.
And tonight, we’re going to cut it open.