Chapter Eighty-Seven
Asher
Hands. Before the room, before the harsh light, before the concrete and the chair and the table come into focus, hands yank at the cuffs. Metal scrapes, and my body jolts to awareness whether it wants to or not.
It doesn’t.
My back slams into the chair. Ribs explode in pain. The grunt tears from my lips before I can stop it.
Three vague shapes. People. Phil. Jay. A third man I don’t recognize. He has a small case in his hand.
He sets it on the table, unzips it, and removes a syringe.
Great. I was looking forward to the idea of passing out. Should have known they wouldn’t let that happen.
I track the needle. Until I can’t. Jay holds my head still, tilted slightly. The sting hits along the side of my neck.
I wait for the room—for anything—to sharpen.
It doesn’t.
My vision blurs. Footsteps fade away. The door closes. There’s only the room and the paper still clutched in my hand.
My chin hits my chest. Not worth fighting gravity. Not yet.
The door opens. More footsteps. Jay and Phil, I think. And…Voss.
I force my head up. Everything is far away and too close at the same time.
The camera goes on the table.
I’m not here.
Not gone. Just not…here.
Voss steps closer.
The red light turns on.
“Say hello, Mr. Locke,” Voss says.
I take a breath. My lips form the word, “No,” but there’s only silence where my voice should be.
My body goes cold.
I try again. No rasp. No whisper. Nothing but air.
Not possible. This—no one can—
The thought collapses into panic.
Voss watches me. Studies me the way he studies everything. His expression doesn’t change. Then he turns to the camera.
“Agent Calder, as you can see, Mr. Locke is alive. However, I want to be transparent with you about his current condition.” He pauses for a moment.
Almost smiles. “The accelerated protocol he’s been subjected to has resulted in significant cognitive decline.
His capacity for complex thought, for recognition, for—”
I try to follow the words. They keep sliding through my fingers.
“—sustained connection to reality has been compromised. Mr. Locke is present in his physical body. Whether he remains present in any meaningful sense is, I’m afraid, up to you.”
He’s wrong. He’s lying. Telling Raine I’m gone.
She’ll believe him. She’ll watch this and think—
Do something.
I have to show her I’m still here. Something small. Something they can’t take from me. Something only—
The camera angle is wider this time. Wide enough for her to see my hands.
I brush my left index finger with my thumb.
Once.
Twice.
I’m here, Raine. I’m still here. Please understand, I’m still here.
Voss is still talking. I’ve lost the words again. I don’t care.
She’ll see it. She has to see it.