9. Delilah
Chapter nine
Breakfast on the first Saturday of every month is a bittersweet treat.
It’s one of the few days we get freshly cooked food instead of whatever microwaved eggs and frozen waffle or pancake combination we normally get.
Some of my fellow patients are talking more openly today, not realizing what’s going to happen in just a few hours.
“Is it someone’s birthday or something?” King asks from beside me.
He’s been here for a few days now, following me around wherever I go, only leaving my side when he’s forced to by the staff.
At first, I didn’t quite understand it, but now, I’m almost excited to get up in the morning and see him waiting for me just outside the secure door separating my residential wing from the rest of the facility.
I could do without his constant stream of questions at times, but he’s good about sensing my moods and being quiet when I really need him to be.
I look up and sigh, taking in everything around us. There are too many nurses around for me to speak openly.
“Or something,” I repeat pointedly, looking around at the staff members.
I’m afraid he’s going to push, but thankfully he drops the subject. As I finish most of my meal, Claire comes over with a smile.
“It’s time for your morning session, my dear. We’ll see if you’ve made any progress since last time,” she says brightly.
King looks at me with the most serious expression I’ve seen on him, half out of his chair to follow me as I get to my feet. I hold up a hand to stop him.
“I’ll catch up with you later, okay?” I say, hoping he’ll actually listen this time.
“I can at least walk you to the door. I am a gentleman, after all,” he says, the attempt at a joke undermined by the seriousness of his frown.
“That won’t be necessary, Mr. King. You have your first individual session soon, too,” Cindy says, approaching now that she knows he won’t snap at her again.
Looking at him with pleading eyes, I try to get King to read what I can’t say out loud in my face. Today is not the day to piss off the staff.
“Meet you at our spot, beautiful?” King asks, nodding toward the windows that overlook the courtyard.
I give him a relieved smile. “Sure thing. Have a good session.”
Before I stop him, he leans in and kisses my cheek, winking at me as he pulls away. “You, too.”
Claire’s hand on my lower back leads me away from the dining hall, but I’m hardly aware of where my feet are taking me.
I can still feel the brush of his lips, the scratch of his stubble, smell the honey-sweet trace of his scent on my clothes.
So when Claire opens the door to the treatment room, I’m startled by the half dozen people standing inside.
Dr. Stuart is chief among them, his assistant close by with a laptop poised on a rolling desk.
Two technicians I recognize are setting up a machine, but there are two men in suits talking with Dr. Stuart that I don’t recognize.
At the sound of our approach, Dr. Stuart looks up, a cold smile spreading across his face.
“Omega Montgomery, excellent! Right on time!” he says, a glint in his eyes I don’t like.
I sniff the air surreptitiously but instantly regret it. The alpha pheromones in the air turn my stomach, and I flinch back. Even with the state-of-the-art air filtering system, I can smell the distinct notes of peanuts, dust, and ink emanating off the men in suits, making me wrinkle my nose.
“We’re going to try something a little different. Let me introduce you to our guests,” Dr. Stuart says, his false charm sweet enough to make my teeth hurt.
He motions me closer, and Claire stays with me as I approach, my guard up. My instincts are running wild, my fight or flight response making my heart pound and my muscles twitch, ready to sprint away at the first possible opportunity.
“I don’t know if you remember him, but this is Detective Barnes, the one handling your case,” Dr. Stuart starts, motioning to the shorter of the two strangers.
Now that I’m closer, my blood runs cold as I recognize his face.
The world-weary droop to his jowls is worse now than the last time I saw him, but his deep brown eyes are just as bloodshot, his dyed-brown hair fading to show hints of gray hairs.
His suit jacket hangs off of him while his belt cuts a harsh line through his gut.
“Ms. Montgomery,” he grunts, the distinct rasp of a chain smoker in his words.
“And this is Dr. Richards. He’s going to assist in a new treatment program to help you recover your memories,” Dr. Stuart goes on.
I look at the tall, lanky man, my nose wrinkling as I realize he’s the source of the raw peanut smell.
His bald head shines in the bright lights of the room, though he has enough flaxen-colored eyebrow and mustache hair to make up for what’s missing on his scalp.
His dark brown eyes are bright, looking down at me with a fascination bordering on manic.
“I’m very excited to work with you, Omega. I won’t make any guarantees, but I’ve had multiple successful recoveries before,” he says, his voice reedy and thin.
“And there’s no time like the present to begin. If you please,” Dr. Stuart interjects, a hand going to my arm to guide me toward the center of the room.
A reclining exam chair sits directly under a massive spotlight, everything sterile and bright, almost like I’m about to have dental work done. I’m guided to sit down and lay back, the technicians swooping in with electrodes in hand.
“What’s happening? What are you doing?” I ask before I can stop myself.
“This is an EEG machine. We’re just going to be monitoring your brain activity during the treatment,” Dr. Stuart explains.
“What’s the treatment?” I ask, capitalizing on the burst of defiance in my chest.
“We’re going to get you into a state of deep mental relaxation, and then we’re going to see if you can access any memories that your conscious mind might be trying to block,” Dr. Richards explains, his tone suggesting an attempt to soothe me, but his face is far too intense for it to be effective.
“Hypnosis?” I ask flatly.
Dr. Richards scoffs. “I wouldn’t use such a crude term.”
I raise one eyebrow at him skeptically. Of all the wild things we’ve tried before, this has got to be the weirdest.
“Please relax so we can prepare you for the treatment,” Dr. Stuart says, a bit of his bark coming through to force my hand.
I lay back and try to breathe, closing my eyes against the bright lights. It doesn’t take long for the techs to attach what feels like a hundred sticky nodes to my head and neck, and I hear the scrape of wheels on the floor.
“Now, let’s just do some breathing exercises, Omega. Follow my counts, in and out,” Dr. Richards says, his pitch dropping almost an entire octave.
A shiver runs down my spine, like an ice cube has been slipped down the back of my shirt.
My body responds to his commands even as my mind doesn’t recognize the instructions.
Dr. Richards keeps talking, and my body gets heavier and heavier.
After only a few minutes I can’t open my eyes, even if I wanted to.
“Don’t fight it, Omega. Just let go, that’s a good girl.”
There’s a subaudible hum behind his words that makes my skin crawl, but I can’t resist his instructions. Distantly, I hear one of the techs calling out a reading, but it doesn’t make any sense to me.
“Now, let’s go back. I want you to go back to your old home. Imagine how it looked, how it smelled, your favorite places in it, picture it as clearly as you can. Once you have that in your head, say ‘yes, Alpha.’”
Behind my closed eyes, I can see every detail of my pack’s home.
The one we built together, decorated together, the place we were going to build a family together.
The cedar walls of the log cabin always made it smell amazing, and our scents seeped into the wood, letting me smell my alphas when they were gone.
I remember the way the wall clock would tick above the fireplace, a stunning piece of metal work Isaac welded together for us, his mating present to the pack.
The way the stuffing in our well-worn couch would create the perfect cocoon around me when I curled up on it.
“Yes, Alpha.”
The words come out of my mouth, robotic and entirely against my will.
“Very good. Now just relax. I’m going to ask you questions and you’re going to just say whatever crosses your mind. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Alpha.”
“Then let’s begin.”
~~Transcript of Omega D. Montgomery Advanced Memory Recovery Program - Session 1~~
Dr. Lawrence Richards: In your mind, return to the day of the incident. You were coming home from grocery shopping. What did you do?
Omega Montgomery: I parked in the driveway, and I saw their cars were there. All four of them.
LR: Four cars?
Omega shows signs of mental distress, increased heart rate, brain activity spike in the amygdala.
LR: Relax, Omega. Let’s move from outside to inside. Imagine you have a remote control in your hand. You can fast forward and rewind and pause what you see whenever you want. When you enter the house, let’s press pause in the living room. What do you see?
OM: There’s a pan on the stove, still turned on. It’s burning. Why would they leave it unattended? That’s not like them.
LR: Anything else out of the ordinary? Any detail at all.
OM: The table is knocked over. There’s a broken chair, a knife on the floor.
Further spikes of activity across the limbic system noted. Hippocampus activity is normal.
LR: Picture your remote, and press play. Where did you go next?
OM: I heard a noise upstairs. I tried to call out to them, and—
Omega displaying signs of physical pain, brain activity in amygdala spiking beyond normal ranges. Thalamus activation noted, as well as a drop in activity in the hippocampus
LR: Focus, Omega. What happened next?
OM: They were in my nest. My nest. Ruined. So much blood. Too much blood. Their faces. Oh, God. No! No! NO! They’re dead.
LR: Who else was there, Omega? Remember!
Notes reflect use of designation-specific persuasion method
OM: No! I can’t! I can’t! I won’t! Please! Don’t! Why? Why would you do this to them? We loved you! I love you! Why? Please–
LR: Tell me his name! What is his name!
Omega unresponsive to further questioning. Session suspended due to dangerous levels of brain activity.
~~End Of Session~~
The moment I have control over my body, I turn over the side of the chair and vomit my breakfast all over the pristine floor.
There are groans and sighs from around me, but I don’t care.
I can still see them behind my eyes, my head pounding with the new images forced back into my head against my will.
The acrid smell of burning onions and garlic haunt me even as someone comes along with a warm washcloth to wipe away the remaining dribble on my chin.
“That was more than we’ve gotten before,” Dr. Stuart is saying over me.
“Not enough for us to use. With no foreign DNA, no unusual trace evidence, no other witnesses, we’ve got nothing. And we can’t rule her out as a suspect without evidence. We need her to remember or she’s going to have to be charged,” Detective Barnes mumbles.
I lay back down and close my eyes as the techs remove the electrodes, accepting the small plastic cup of water Claire hands me, judging by the person’s scent.
“I understand that, Derrick. But we have shown progress. The last few sessions have shown the memories are there. Something’s just blocking them. We need more time,” Dr. Stuart growls back, making me flinch even though it’s not directed at me.
“All free. Let’s get you out of here, dear,” Claire says from beside me, her arm sliding under my shoulders.
I accept the help, walking slowly out of the room as the others continue to argue. But I don’t have the energy to give a single flying fuck about anything they want. Not when it feels like someone took a chopstick to my brain and poked a thousand holes into it.
Once we’re in the hallway, Claire starts to lead me back to the sleeping quarters but I stop at an exit to the courtyard.
“I want some fresh air,” I say softly.
Claire gives me a pitying look, her soft heart bleeding for me. She lets me out and walks with me to the bench under the big tree. King isn’t here yet, but that’s fine with me. It’ll give me a minute to compose myself.
“I’ve got a few rounds to make. Are you okay alone for a little bit?” Claire asks kindly.
I nod, giving her a little smile. I like her the most out of the nurses, and she’s never had a reason to distrust me on my own.
Is she complicit in the shit that this place puts me through in the name of “therapy”?
Sure, but it’s not like she’s the one hypnotizing me or electrocuting me.
She walks away after giving my shoulder a quick squeeze, leaving me to my thoughts.
I focus on my breathing, trying to get my heart to calm down as I look up at the swaying branches.
I understand, objectively, why they need me to remember the night I lost my pack, most of which I agree with.
Selfishly, I would love to help them rule me out as a suspect once and for all.
Because while this place sucks, being an unbonded omega in prison sounds infinitely worse.
And of course, I want to help catch the killer who ruined my life.
But there are much scarier things waiting for me if I disobey my last command than getting put under hypnosis and barked at.
“There’s my beautiful little wisp!”
I look up at King’s shout, an involuntary smile pulling the corners of my mouth up. He struts across the courtyard as if he owns the place, ruffling his ginger hair and smiling at me like I’ve hung the stars.
“How was your session?” I ask once he’s beside me.
King stretches his arms up with a groan, relaxing with a sigh and a conveniently placed arm across the back of the bench, touching my shoulders.
“Nothing too wild. Just a quack trying to figure out how to herd the cats in my brain. How about you, gorgeous?” he asks, looking at me intently.
The gold around his pupils is less pronounced today, the turquoise green muted to a pine color. It doesn’t make his stare any less intense and my heart skips a beat for a moment.
“It was…a lot,” I say, settling on the most honest answer I can give without reliving the events of the last hour.
“I bet. You look paler than usual. But, hey, do you know what’s going on with the pop-up beauty salon in the rec room?” he asks, bouncing from one topic to another with his signature grace.
My stomach drops. I’d almost forgotten about that.
“That’s for the graduation mixer,” I whisper, glancing around for anyone else who might be watching.
King leans in, and the honey scent of him drapes over me like a warm blanket, though I can detect something almost metallic on the edges of it that I don’t quite understand.
“What the bloody hell are you talking about?” he whispers back, taking my hint.
I sigh, looking around one more time before I explain.