Chapter Thirty-Seven
Romy
I ’ve almost got my hand free. Just a little more wriggling and—
Freedom!
I nearly yelp in surprise the moment my hand comes loose from the restraint. I’m unsure how much time I have until someone returns to the room, which means I have to move. Fast.
My fingers feel numb as I fumble with the other restraint. I’m able to free my other wrist without much effort.
Now how do I get my head out of this contraption. Carefully, I feel around the metal device with my hands, searching for a release mechanism. I find something that feels like it might work and tug on it.
Click.
The contraption loosens and I’m able to pull my head and neck out of it. Wires are still attached to every part of me. I’m mostly concerned about freeing my ankles so I can get the hell out of here.
As I bend over to work on those straps, some of the leads pull off my head and neck. It takes considerable effort in my weakened state, but I manage to get my ankles unhooked.
Now what?
I rip the rest of the wires off me and then stand. My knees buckle and my legs shake. Adrenaline, though, keeps me upright. I run toward the door, the cool linoleum on my bare feet sending chills up my body. Slowly, I crack open the door and peek through it.
All I see is a wall across the hallway.
My heart hammers inside my chest. As terrifying as this is, I need to force myself to leave this room. I try to calm my thoughts and push through the doorway.
Whipping my head left and then right, I’m grateful not to run into anyone. I need to get out of here without being seen to buy me some time. Softly, I close the door behind me.
The hallway is sterile. It reminds me of the time I spent under psychiatric care as a child. All the more reason to get out of here.
I see a sign farther down the hall, so I run over to it in order orient myself. “Pediatric” points one direction and “surgery” points the other. Since I know they have Kaitlyn, I start toward the pediatric area. Before I reach a four-way crossroads of hallways, I slow to a stop and listen.
Voices.
I can hear a woman and two men speaking.
Doc Junior’s voice stands out, making my skin crawl.
What now?
The voices sound louder. I backpedal and dart into a room nearest to me. It’s cold inside and I wonder if I can find scrubs to wear since the gown is practically nonexistent. If I plan on escaping outside of this place, I’ll need real clothes.
One thing at a time.
I turn to inspect the room I’ve ducked into. A whimper crawls up my throat as I realize where I’m at.
A morgue?
There’s a single table in the center of the room and a body lies on top, a white sheet covering it to the chin. From my vantage point, I can tell it’s a young woman.
Beyond the body, I spy a cabinet that might hold scrubs or something useful for me. I sprint over to it and fling open one of the cabinet doors. It’s filled with supplies, but nothing I can put on or use for a weapon.
Sighing, I turn and warily look at the body. Something about it calls to me. I creep over to it, curious about the bruising on her face.
Oh my God.
I know her.
I know the body on this table.
LuLu. The failed young woman from the yacht that Solomon beat and raped. She’s dead now.
Who killed her?
How did she die?
A sob escapes me and I tenderly stroke her hair. “I am so sorry, LuLu.”
Her eyes open.
I shriek in terror. Wild brown eyes meet mine and she says, “Shh.”
Am I hallucinating?
Did they give me drugs to make me see things?
I stumble back, knocking into a table, overturning a tray of small metal tools. They hit the floor with a deafening clatter.
The door to the room opens and I know I’m caught.
I scream, thrashing against two men—Doc Junior and Seth—until they’re able to sedate me. Despair drags me under.
“…more before the Stem Lock procedure.”
“I disagree, Seth. I think she’s ready now.”
“Rushing the process could mean failure. We’ve put too much of ourselves into this to fail now. Trust me.”
I blink away my numbing, defeated thoughts and take in my new surroundings. I’m back in my room, strapped in, and staring at the blank wall.
More messed up videos.
My cheeks are still wet after my run-in with what I thought was LuLu’s corpse. But she opened her eyes and hissed for me to be quiet.
She’s alive.
And I’m, once again, unable to help her.
I’m disgusted with my life and how I ended up here.
This is what they want.
For you to give up.
My thoughts drift to the day I found myself in the box on the floor at the Crowne’s lunatic lodge.
I was scared, overwhelmed, and thoroughly confused.
But I got out.
I’ll get out again.
Seth comes into view and smiles at me. I shudder when he brings a tissue to my cheek to dry it. I’m locked into the head device, so I can’t move away from his touch.
The videos begin again, starting with the licking man. With Seth in my way, I can only hear the sounds. It’s easier to think of Caius when it’s just sounds.
He’ll find me.
I’m sure of it.
What’s transpired between us isn’t one-sided. He feels it too. It was supposed to be fake, but we quickly fell into a desperate need for one another. I can’t see in any scenario where Caius would abandon me. Not now.
My heart clenches with hope. I just have to find a way to endure until I see him again. Then the two of us will get LuLu and Kaitlyn out of here. And anyone else we find, for that matter. We’ll shut down this twisted operation.
Until then, I need to store away clues. Learn everything I can. Don’t succumb to their reprogramming.
As filthy images cross the screen and become more and more brutal, I stare without seeing. I block out the sounds as I let my mind categorize everything I’ve learned thus far. Distance in approximate hours to the location. Every detail about the outside and what I know about the inside. Faces of nurses and the doctors. Every prick of medication, sorting out the responses and assuming what type each of them are.
And then there’s what I’ve learned about this mind control.
The Crownes. My family. The president, his son, and his son’s friend.
What about Vivienne and her showing back up in my life all these years later? Her journals, the pictures, the connection with my father. Is her mental illness a coincidence in all this or another link?
There’s Solomon and Ava and LuLu. They all fit in too.
Everyone has given me jagged pieces of a complicated puzzle. It’s all to be stored away until I can piece it together as it was meant to be.
I just have to get through this.
I can’t let them break me.
Something familiar drags me from my safe place, forcing me to comprehend what I’m seeing on the wall. The video is from that night. A hidden camera inside our room caught the entire scene.
I’m forced to watch Gareth overpower me.
I can hear the sounds stabbing at my ear drums and piercing my skull.
The begging. The pleading.
I’m going to throw up.
As if anticipating this, Seth shows up with a plastic tub for me to vomit into. The video continues to obliterate me as I puke up my guts. Since I can’t move my head, it runs down my chin, dripping into the container. Seth strokes my hair.
“I’ll get you cleaned up in a minute. Just get it all out. Doc Junior went to grab you a Sprite.”
I make eye contact with him and spit acidy bile in his face. A flash of irritation is the only response I get. He doesn’t even swipe it away or chide me.
Once I’m done, he leaves my sight. When he returns, he uses a wet cloth to clean off my face, and I note his is no longer covered in my spew.
“What makes you happy?” Seth asks. “I could show you more of that.”
That feels like a trick question, but I give him the truth.
“Freedom,” I tell him. “Love. Puzzles.”
“Good,” he praises. “Let’s show you some of those things.”
The disgusting rape and sex stuff disappears. I watch a couple share vows on a beach and then run into the crashing waves, hand in hand. The video switches to a woman cradling a baby as she sits in her glider, staring at the child as if it’s her whole world. Then it switches to an old man sitting at a table overlooking a placid lake surrounded by tall trees. He’s putting together a puzzle of a lovely wintery scene with deer. Old ’50s music plays in the background and he hums along.
It switches to a video of a farmhouse nestled in front of a belt of trees. A tire swing hangs from the large tree out front. Wind makes the swing move and you can hear the creaking of the branch supporting it. The windows of the farmhouse are open and I hear laughter inside.
Though these are happy, they also make me sad. I think about the ring on my finger, the man who’s probably searching for me, the budding love that’s been stolen from me.
“Interesting,” Seth says. “There’s a discrepancy.”
If these men think they can somehow figure out my brain, they’re sorely mistaken. There are parts buried deep inside, even from me. So close, yet barely out of reach.
“Let’s show you something more familiar to you,” Seth mumbles, mostly to himself. “Ah, this one works.”
The video now shows me and Caius at the event we attended for the president. I drink in all the details, making note of every person I can get my eyes on. When the picture lands on Caius, my stomach tightens and tears form. He’s glaring in that intense way that makes me crazy with need. The camera follows his line of sight.
He’s looking at me.
I’m being bombarded by guys who are clearly interested in me. In my heart, I know I don’t care about any of them. I’ve been enamored with Caius for some time now.
The way he stalks me with purpose and possessive need makes me smile.
My heart races in my chest as he approaches me.
I can almost smell him.
Feel him.
Taste him.
I get lost in the visual that merges with my memory of the event.
He’d proposed. Later, he made love to me. He meant it.
A soon-to-be husband wouldn’t leave his soon-to-be wife in the hands of monsters. Like a dark prince from a wicked fairy tale, he’ll come for me. He’ll shine a light into the shadows and lift every stone.
He. Will. Find. Me.
I can hear voices speaking and they seem pleased. I’m too lost in my momentary thoughts of Caius to be worried about what they’re saying.
They don’t exist to me.
I’m with him .
Dark eyes. Sharp jawline. Decadent scent. Strong, capable fingers all over me.
“She’s ready,” Doc Junior says, cutting through my lovely haze. “Prep her for surgery.”
Surgery?
“No,” I mutter, voice dry and practically useless. “Please.”
They choose not to hear.
This is happening.
“Don’t worry,” Seth assures me, “I’ll make sure everything goes according to plan. You’re safe with me, Romy. Stem Lock is about to change your life.”
“You’re welcome,” Doc Junior states with a chuckle.
I recall what he’d said about the Stem Lock procedure. They’ll attach that miniature device to my brainstem and I’ll be magically healed.
I can’t forget.
No matter what this procedure does to my brain, I refuse to forget.