Liberation (Den of Deception #5)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Daisy

‘You have to take them. You know you do, Marguerite.’

The Blank raises a brow at me as he holds out the little paper cup.

I don’t know this one’s name. I take in the wiry brown hair and the heavily hooded eyes, the square jaw that doesn’t quite look right with the hook nose.

I don’t know him at all. I’m sure of it.

Not his face, nor his voice. But he’s speaking to me as if we’ve done this a hundred times before.

It makes my head spin.

This isn’t right. None of this is right.

‘I'm not going to tell you again,’ he huffs, and even I can tell he’s getting impatient.

I’ll get a demerit if I don’t take the pills. The thought of getting into trouble makes my gut twist and my hands shake a little.

I stare at his white uniform that's half buttoned up the front, showing a slightly yellowing vest underneath. The lapel on the left side of the outer jacket has a brown mark on it. His name tag shines beside it. Philip in bold, black lettering. New. Pristine. It doesn’t fit if he’s not new here.

But maybe he lost his old one and Dorothy in the office had to make him a new one.

It’s just not conclusive evidence that I’m being lied to.

I wrinkle my nose at the nametag, but I already know what I’m going to do.

Because I know what he'll do if I continue to be a problem.

While the Stinger that's currently wrapped around my leg is nowhere near as nasty as the one Joe Banderville put on me, it still delivers quite the zap.

Plus, the mere thought of being punished is enough to make me break out in a cold sweat.

So, I take the small paper cup, careful not to touch his fingers, and I eye the pills in the bottom, the same ones they’ve given me every morning for God only knows how many days now. They'll subdue me, quiet my mind, make everything cloudy, and make me feel sick. I hate them.

Looking past Philip, I tip the pills into my mouth and I take a drink from the plastic cup by my bedside.

The water is stale and makes me gag, but I force myself to swallow them.

The Blank doesn't move.

‘Let me check,' he orders with raised brows, leaning forward a little.

Still not looking at him, I open my mouth and move my tongue up so he can see that the pills aren’t there any longer. He makes a small noise of satisfaction.

‘There, now,’ he says kindly, as if he hasn’t just drugged me on doctor’s orders. ‘Was that really worth wasting the past five minutes, Marguerite?’

He pats my head and I force myself not to react by pushing his hand away.

That will get me a demerit, and it’ll get back to Stoke or the other one…Lansdon.

I glance at the digital clock by my bed.

I have about twenty minutes before my mind starts to go fuzzy.

How long have I been here? I have no idea.

I haven't been outside in days. I think it's days, but it might be weeks.

I was trying to keep track at first, but I'm not in Stoke's office often enough to see the date on his calendar.

I suppose that's a good thing.

'Stoke wanted to see you,' Philip says slowly, enunciating every word as if he really thinks I can’t understand him properly. 'Can you find it by yourself?'

No matter how long you’ve had this job, I’ve been here longer, I want to say, but I just nod and plaster that practiced, pleasant smile on my face.

He turns away and leaves my room without another word.

I stand up and shuffle out of my bedroom, making my way down the corridors to Stoke's office. I stand outside and knock. He leaves me waiting for at least five minutes in one of his little power plays, no doubt. Less than fifteen left before I won’t be able to string a sentence together.

They keep telling me I was in a psychosis, that nothing from the past few months is real. I try not to think about it because it makes my heart beat very fast and I start to panic.

Everything feels wrong. Upside down. Untethered.

Is anything real? Are Blake and Mav? Is the Shade I came to know over the past months? Or did my brain conjure them up?

The thought of them not existing makes my brain stutter. I can’t get past that fear.

A part of me is so sure that I went to America, and that I was enrolled in Richmond U. All the things that happened…the good and the bad… They can’t be a dream, can they? I couldn’t have made up the formula for Envy, the people I know and care about…right?

But there's this other deep, tiny, insidious part of me that wonders if I did make everything up, if I was in some kind of delusion for over four months like Stoke says I was. I haven't mentioned anything about it directly in the mandatory meetings, the circle of chairs that I'm forced to attend with the other residents twice a week, mostly because I’m afraid they’ll provide me with some kind of irrefutable evidence that I never left The Heath at all, but I’m beginning to unravel just the same.

I can’t trust my brain anymore and it’s horrifying me.

The hallway swirls around me a little and I try to get it together.

Mercifully, I hear Stoke say, 'Enter,' at that moment.

I walk slowly into his office where he gestures for me to sit in the uncomfortable plastic chair in front of his desk.

I do so carefully, keeping my back straight and crossing my ankles, following all the rules.

I look at him expectantly, right between the eyes. He regards me impassively.

'How are you feeling, Marguerite?' he asks.

'Very well. Thank you,' I say, trying not to sound monotone because he'll mark it down in my notes that I've regressed.

I offer a small smile. ‘Pudding today is treacle tart, one of my favorites.’

As if that’s all I’m worried about, as if my world has always been this tiny, that my only problems are what I’m eating at mealtimes.

He gives me a smile, sedate and calm. Eerie. I want to smack it off his pompous face as I scream at the top of my lungs.

'You've been responsive for several days now,' he begins.

'Several?' I ask.

His lips turn downward. I notice because I’m looking for it. It’s not concern for my mental wellbeing, it’s because I interrupted him. He doesn’t like that.

'You don't remember?'

I almost shrug, but it’s considered rude and I’ll get a demerit, so I don’t do it. Instead, I refresh the pleasant smile.

‘I’m given medicine in the mornings,' I remind him, so he doesn’t start writing notes about me that aren’t true. 'Sometimes I'm not sure what day it is. What day is it, if you don’t mind me asking?'

'Tuesday,' he says.

'And I got here…' I trail off.

'Eleven years ago at the end of March.'

Did his eyes just narrow?

'Of course,' I say.

I should have known I wouldn’t be able to trip him up. The deeper part whispers that he’s not lying because I’ve always been here and my stomach clenches unpleasantly.

‘How are you feeling, Marguerite?’ he asks again. ‘You know where you are?'

'I’m very well, thank you,’ I answer. ‘I'm at The Heath where I live.'

'Very good,' he says condescendingly, and I have to resist the urge to roll my eyes.

It’s very hard not to do it.

'You'll be seeing the OBGYN later on today.'

'What for?' I ask, shivering a little.

I don’t like the OBGYN. She’s even more condescending than Stoke, and that’s saying something, and she’s invasive in practically every way.

He shakes his head a little and shrugs.

He’s allowed to shrug.

'Just your annual checkup,' he says noncommittally.

I don't let my face betray me. I don’t have annual checkups with the OBGYN.

'Of course,' I say, although my skin crawls and I hope the pills they've given me numb me enough that I barely remember it.

Stoke’s eyes bore into me as if he's trying to figure something out, catch me out.

'Was there anything else?' I ask.

He shakes his head. 'No, Marguerite. I just wanted to let you know about the appointment.'

Bullshit. He doesn’t usually tell me in person. This is just an excuse to bring me in here so he can observe me closely. This is recon.

He gestures for me to leave, and I stand up.

'Is it possible for me to go out for a run today?’ I blurt out as an afterthought.

He stares at me as if he has no idea what I’m talking about.

‘I used to go out every day,’ I elaborate, ‘but every time I ask, the answer is no.'

He gives me another patronizing smile. 'Well, you haven’t been very well, remember, Marguerite? We couldn't let you out alone. It wouldn't have been safe for you.'

'Well, I'm feeling much better,' I reply quietly. 'And, as you know, exercise is important.'

‘We’ll see,’ he murmurs, already looking down at his notes.

He picks up a pen to write and doesn’t actually give me a proper answer. I let out a low breath and turn around to leave his office.

'Close the door, won't you?'

'Of course, Dr. Stoke.'

I enter the hallway and swallow hard, feeling like I’m in freefall. But maybe that’s the drugs starting to work. Sometimes they make me dizzy first.

I try not to think about my time at Richmond anymore today because I’ll start to get upset.

What's real, and what's not?

What's true, and what's false?

I haven't seen Dr. Lansdon since the first day. When I asked about him, I was told that he's on holiday for a couple of weeks, and that he'll be returning soon. He’s not here, so I suppose that means I’ve been here for less than two weeks…if the past four months actually happened, that is.

I walk back towards my room slowly, my mind already beginning to waver, but, on the way, one of the Blanks tells me it's time to go into the sitting room.

I almost snap and tell her that I'll do what I like, but I know that not only will I get a demerit, but also a zap for it because I already gave Philip a hard time about the meds earlier.

That means that Stoke will want to speak to me about my behavior, and then I will lose privileges.