Chapter 9
Chapter
Nine
The next day, I find Barnes waiting in the break room. I try to be patient as I get my coffee, waiting for him to finish a conversation so I can approach him alone.
“So?” I ask, unable to help myself.
“Director Wright is still looking over the recordings and my notes, but we’ll proceed with another test today,” Barnes says.
He runs a hand through his messy hair. He looks tired, harried, but he gives me his full attention anyway.
“X-16 is scheduled to have a physical examination by one of our doctors. It’s our standard protocol after a new physical change.
We’ll have you administer the sedative and stay with him during the exam. ”
He takes me to X-16’s room and hands over the syringe containing the sedative cocktail.
“It’s the same thing that knocked him out during his episode,” he explains.
“It won’t hurt him, just knock him out for a while.
” He shows me how to safely administer it while I chew my lip and try to fight back a strange sense of guilt.
He holds out the syringe but pauses at my expression. “If you’re not confident, I can do it myself.”
“No, no.” I take it quickly, before he can change his mind. “I’ve got this.”
He nods. “I’ll be right there if you need help.”
Remembering the way he was affected last time he was in the cell, I offer, “You don’t have to come in with me.”
His brow furrows. “Willow…”
“Consider it another test. He’ll be knocked out in a minute anyway, right?”
He considers for a moment and then nods. “I’ll be watching through the window.”
Barnes swipes his key card and I enter the cell by myself. Alone with X-16 for the first time.
He’s sitting on the edge of his bed when I enter and does a double take when he sees me at the door.
His posture straightens, eyes widening. He’s wearing only a medical robe and a pair of shoes, making him look especially thin and wan.
It’s easy to imagine him as a hospital patient instead of a monstrous prisoner.
“Willow?” His tone makes it more of a question than a greeting.
I hold the syringe out in my palm. “For your doctor’s appointment.”
He glances at it and holds his arm out without needing to be asked. It’s hard to tell if it’s a gesture of trust or simply resignation to something that’s been done to him a hundred times before.
He winces, ever so slightly, as the needle sinks into the muscle of his upper arm, just where Barnes instructed me to inject him. Without thinking about it, I place a hand on his shoulder to steady him. He abruptly stiffens at the contact.
“Sorry,” I say.
“It’s…” His eyelids flutter, the third eye on his forehead sliding shut, and the tight muscles under my palm loosen.
“Fine,” he finishes in a mumble, struggling to keep his eyes open.
That sedative hit him hard and fast. But—even after I wait a few seconds—his eyes don’t fully shut, and he remains sitting up in bed instead of slumping over.
“X-16?” I ask, brow furrowing. I put away the empty syringe.
“Hmm?” His drooping head rises at my voice. His third eye cracks open again, ever so slightly.
I keep my hand on his back to support him as he sways and look toward the observation window. It’s strange, seeing only my reflection staring back at me; this must be what X-16 sees when he talks with me through the window. “Barnes? He’s still conscious.”
There’s a pause on the other side, and over the intercom, I hear papers shuffling. “I guess we need to up the dosage. Again.” Frustration is woven through his tone. “That was enough to take down a goddamn horse.”
I look at the empty syringe. Then at X-16, whose head is slumped, chin on his chest. He looks so helpless, and part of me hates the idea of pumping him full of more drugs than necessary. “Does he need to be fully out for the doctor if I’m there to assist?”
“It’s a risk, Hawkins. Physical pain is a trigger, and she needs to take tissue samples. The sedative tends to wear off quickly for X-16 as it is.”
“So this might wear off by the time you bring more of it?”
Barnes sighs, a crackle of static over the intercom. I can tell Barnes doesn’t like deviating from the plan this much—but also that he’s hesitant about giving X-16 more sedative than he can handle, just like I am.
“All right,” he says, after a moment. “We’ll try using a local anesthetic, and I’ll have a tech bring over another syringe of the sedative in case we need it.”
A few minutes later, I’m rolling a handcuffed X-16 down the hallway in a wheelchair, Barnes following behind us. His head is lolling, limbs limp, but his eyes keep blinking open and shut. When we’re almost there, his head swivels to focus on me again like he’s surprised to find me there.
“It’s okay,” I reassure him. “We’re going to see the doctor.”
He lets his head fall toward his chest again, dozing in and out as we enter the exam room.
I’m relieved he’s not awake when I look around at the room.
The walls and floor are padded, and there’s only a metal table with straps.
The whole arrangement looks very…outdated.
Like a Victorian mental hospital. The table of scalpels and needles and other medical tools does little to banish the comparison in my mind.
“Still feeling all right around X-16?” Barnes asks.
“No problems here.” I eye him, noting the sheen of sweat on his forehead. “Are you feeling all right?”
His brows rise. “I can handle it. You don’t need to check in on me, Willow.”
I shrug, looking away. “Stubborn,” I mutter.
“Oh, I’m stubborn?” he asks, his lips curving upward despite the circumstances.
To my surprise, I find myself fighting a smile of my own.
The more time I spend with Barnes, the more our bickering feels like an almost comforting familiarity, as though he’s an older brother instead of an occasionally assholish boss.
Dr. Sullivan takes me by surprise when she joins us in the room. She’s younger than I thought, and quite pretty, with long red hair and an elegant but aloof demeanor. She gives me a perfunctory and surprisingly firm handshake.
“Security Officer Hawkins, is that correct? Pleasure to work with you.”
“Same here, Dr. Sullivan.”
She sighs. “Not officially a doctor, yet, but I suppose that’s what everyone calls me.” She steps over to the counter, rolls up her sleeves, and washes her hands before pulling on a pair of medical gloves. “You’re familiar with Subject X-16?”
I hesitate for a moment, unsure how to answer that. “I’m a new hire, but I’ve started working with him more closely recently.”
“You’ve been through at least one of his episodes, I’ve heard. And escaped unscathed.”
I glance at Barnes, who only shrugs at me. Word gets around fast. “That’s right.”
“Good. I’ll trust both of you to handle the situation if that occurs. I’ve only seen the aftermath of his episodes, and I’d rather keep it that way.”
“If that happens, we’ll let you know and I’ll escort you out,” Barnes says.
My chest warms at the realization he means he’ll leave me to handle X-16. He’s starting to trust me, after all.
“And you?” Dr. Sullivan turns to me as she pulls on her medical mask.
“I’ll handle myself.”
She gives me a curious once-over, but before she can ask anything further, X-16 stirs, his head rising.
“Shit, it’s wearing off fast. Let’s get him onto the table,” Barnes says.
I unstrap X-16—who blinks at me blearily with all three eyes—from the wheelchair, and Barnes grabs him under the armpits and lifts him up.
It isn’t until Barnes is struggling with his weight that I realize, once more, just how big he is.
All sprawling limbs and pointy elbows, and Barnes seems to be having one hell of a time getting him up onto the table. I step in to assist as best as I can.
By the time X-16 is laid out on the table, Barnes is sweating and pale, a little shaky on his feet as he steps back. My brow furrows. It couldn’t have taken that much effort for a big, strong guy like Barnes, and yet…
It clicks after a moment. It isn’t physical strain, it’s the effect of being too close to X-16, of touching him. I look down at my own hands, which remain steady.
“I can handle the rest,” I assure Barnes.
He steps back, wiping his forehead with a wobbly hand, and I strap X-16 to the table.
One wrist, and then the other; I catch a glimpse of the scar I felt before on his right palm, pink flesh in the form of two perpendicular lines.
A burn scar, maybe? He stirs again as I lead his hand into the leather strap, and I brace myself for resistance, but after blinking at me he lets himself be led, perfectly pliable as I adjust his arms and legs.
“He’s not unconscious this time,” Dr. Sullivan notes.
“Nah, not today,” Barnes answers without offering further information.
“Very well. That’ll help me get more accurate measurements of his heartbeat and breathing to monitor for any health concerns.
” She turns to her bag, muttering to herself as she rummages through various instruments, clearly more intrigued than afraid of the situation.
She’s odd, but I like her immediately—a rarity for me.
I secure X-16’s ankles to the table with leather straps and then reach to undo the cuffs around his wrists.
The room is so silent that there’s an audible click as the key slides in.
I remove the cuffs carefully and guide his hands to his sides so I can restrain them with the cuffs there.
His fingers are so long, his palms so much larger than mine.
When I glance up, he’s watching me through sleepy, half-shut eyes.
I tug the strap tight around his wrist and he breaks eye contact, the slightest flush of color spreading across his face.
There’s an odd swell of warmth in my stomach. A fleeting, intrusive thought about how he might look tied up under very different circumstances.