Chapter 3
For some reason, Nate felt better than he had in a long time.
He was able to crawl to his mattress and sit.
His head didn’t feel as foggy. He was even able to stand for a few minutes.
It was weird. The guards were still coming in for his shots, but they didn’t have their usual effect.
Of course, he had pretended to pass out, but the drugs hadn’t made him sleepy.
There was something in them; he could feel it hit him when they had injected him.
But whatever it was, it wasn’t the usual cocktail—either that, or he had built such a tolerance that it wasn’t affecting him anymore.
It had been eight injections of this series of drugs.
Nate couldn’t count days because there weren’t any windows.
Meals came sporadically, so those were out.
He knew it was because Sims was fucking with him.
However, he could count injections, which came like clockwork, and he had been feeling better and better with each one. He wondered what the fuck was going on.
Nate attempted to stand and was amazed that he was successful. His muscles felt weak. His head felt dizzy, but he was up. It was a small miracle.
After a few minutes of being on his feet again, he tried walking. He hobbled at first, but after a bit, he was back in business. Perhaps now he had a fighting chance of getting out of this place? Or was this some cruel joke being played on him? Some kind of mind game?
He wasn’t sure how long he had been in his padded cell.
The room was all-white with a bed bolted to the floor and a rounded toilet.
From what he was told, the room was soundproofed, so his screams wouldn’t be heard.
It was the perfect little psych ward prison, but Nate swore to himself that since he was feeling better, he would make his escape. There was no other option.
It was later that Nate saw movement from the tiny window at his door. He shifted to the corner nearest to the door, where it would be harder to see him. The door opened just a crack and then stopped.
Odd.
“Nathan Slade, I swear if you try to jump me, we’re going to have problems,” an unfamiliar voice said. “I’m trying to help you, so I need you to calm the fuck down. I know you’re in the corner, waiting to pounce.”
Nate froze, not sure what to do. This guy certainly wasn’t Sims. He could be a guard, but the guards never talked to him other than the obligatory, “Stay the fuck down.” No one else had come into the room before, and certainly no one had offered help.
The door opened a bit more, light from the hallway streaking across the floor. Nate kept himself in the corner like a damned savage dog.
“I’m a friend,” the man continued. “I’m the one responsible for your new, more conscious and…upright state. You’ve noticed a difference in your meds, right?”
You’re being a dumbass, Slade, Nate told himself. This might be your only chance to get out of here.
Still, he stood there, frozen.
“I figured as much,” the guy continued. “Here.” Something small and shiny rolled into the room toward Nate. “I hope this will convince you.”
Nate stared at the object and blinked. It was a ring—an ornate antique silver ring with an oval-cut ruby in the center and two smaller diamonds to the side of it.
Nate knew that ring well; he had stolen it from his mother when he had run away from home at eighteen and pawned it.
Then, after he had joined the Conglomerate, he had used a considerable amount of his free time tracking down all the jewelry he had sold for drugs.
It took him years, but he had finally been able to send every piece back.
The fact that this man had one of his mother’s rings terrified him. Had he done something to his parents? He still hated them but had returned the jewelry because it was the right thing. Still, Nate didn’t want to see them suffer because of his mistakes.
“H—how did you get this?” Nate asked, his voice sounding raspy from disuse.
A man in a pair of black guard’s scrubs cautiously stepped into the room, his hands held in the air.
It was hard to tell the man’s age. He could be in his late forties or early fifties.
His short, dark brown hair was in a classic Caesar cut that made him look younger than he probably was, and though he wasn’t super bulky, he had a decent build.
It was his serious, dark brown eyes that had Nate questioning everything.
The man meant business but also looked…sincere.
He shook his head. Everything was fucked up.
“I borrowed it from my daughter,” the man began, “and she was given it as a wedding gift from your mother.”
“Why would my mother give her antique ring for somebody’s wedding present?” Nate spat, suddenly mad.
The guy had to be lying. His mother had gotten that from her mother. There’s no way she would give that up.
“Because my daughter is married to your brother,” the man said with a slight smile. “I suppose that makes me your in-law.”
Nate stared at the man, wondering if maybe the Conglomerate had given him some heavy drugs, and he was hallucinating. It felt real, though. But who could tell when you’ve been locked up in a psych ward for who knows how long?
“What’s her name? Your supposed daughter?” Nate asked.
“Keira.”
Damn. But anyone could get that information. Then it dawned on him.
“Keira’s father is dead,” he told the man. “He was a psychopathic millionaire. Try again.”
The man scratched his jaw and shook his head.
“I had an affair with her mother. I’m her real father. My name is John, by the way. John Stratton.”
This was unreal. This had to be a dream, right? First, he had been tortured, and now this guy comes in acting like his savior, spouting off some soap opera shit.
When Nate stayed silent, John continued, “Look, we don’t have time. You can either come with me or stay and rot. Your choice.”
Nate had decided he was done fucking around. This was his only chance, and the situation was too bizarre to be something Sims or the Conglomerate would orchestrate. He would use this guy to get the hell out of here. Then, he would reevaluate his options.
“Fine,” he said, standing shakily. “Get me the fuck out of here.”
“That’s my boy,” John said, nodding. “Come outside. I have things for you, but hurry, this is your one chance. I bought some time with the guards, but they’ll be back from break soon. We’ve already been dicking around enough.”
Nate shakily got to his feet. John offered his hand, but Nate waved it away. It wasn’t because he didn’t trust John—he didn’t. He needed time on his feet to steady himself, and if he wanted to get out of here, the more time, the better.
The lights in the hallway were dim, but to Nate, they were blinding compared to what he was used to.
He squinted until his eyes readjusted. John was standing by a cart.
Nate figured it was used to administer medication.
He had heard squeaky wheels a few times when the door was open during injection times.
There was a large box on it, instead. Nate cocked his head as John began pulling out objects.
“Here,” John said, pulling out a card with a lanyard and passing it to Nate.
Palming the smooth plastic, Nate stared down at it, realizing what it was: freedom.
“That’s a universal keycard for this place.
It’ll get you through any door, but you’re going out the delivery doors in the back.
” He then pulled two syringes from the box.
“Diazepam. A hefty dose in case you need to take someone out quietly.” Then, a Glock 19 appeared.
“Try not to use it if you don’t have to. ”
“Thanks,” Nate breathed, his heart rate increasing with each survival tool John pulled out.
“You don’t have pockets, but I’ve got those rubber bands they use for shots. You can strap the capped syringes around your arm. That’s the best that I can do.”
Nate nodded and said, “Good enough.”
He got to work getting himself armed and ready. Once he was done, John tucked a piece of paper into Nate’s armband.
“Directions you need to follow once you get outside and lift a car,” he said. “I’m assuming you have the skills for that?”
Nate snorted and said, “Of course.”
“Great. Now get your ass in gear before everyone comes back.” John pointed to a hallway toward the back. “That way.”
Nate nodded and then looked down at his mother’s ring. He had stuck it halfway down on his pinky finger.
“What do I do about this?” he asked.
“Keep it until the time is right,” John said. “But don’t tell anyone who you are yet, and whatever you do, don’t go running off to Gray Tower. That’ll get you killed.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m not stupid. But…won’t Keira miss this?” Nate wiggled his pinky.
John laughed.
“Her fingers are too swollen to get it on. We’re both safe for a bit.”
“Swollen?”
“You’re going to be an uncle, Mr. Slade. Now, get your ass in gear.”
Nate took off toward the back hallway. It was only a few turns before he found a security door. With trembling fingers, he swiped the keycard and held his breath. When the door unlocked, he almost cried. Was this happening? Was he going to leave after all?
The area after the security door was much darker, and boxes were stacked along the hallway. There was a sign on a set of double doors, denoting the kitchen, while there was another for the delivery entrance. Nate headed that way.
It was surprising he didn’t run into anyone.
He assumed John had something to do with it.
However, when he saw the delivery doors, he didn’t give a shit.
He was almost home. Swiping his keycard one last time, he felt like the Marine from the videogame Doom—one last door and he could escape the demons from hell.
He used to play with Logan constantly when they were young.
The only problem with Nate’s analogy was that the Doom Marine continued onto another level of hell when he got to the final door. With his luck, that would be the case.