29. Liath
LIATH
The line for the nightly pills snaked quietly along the corridor. I blinked hard as I neared the head of the queue.
Nurse Murphy wasn’t there as usual. Instead, O’Shea stood behind the trolley, broad-shouldered and grinning, like this was some kind of joke.
A cold flutter opened in my gut. “Where’s Murphy?”
He grinned wider, revealing yellowed teeth. “She’s off. You’ve got me looking after ye tonight. Lucky you.”
Dread crawled down my spine, but I forced my body forward one step, then another, until I stood in front of him.
I held out my hand.
He didn’t hand me the paper cup like Murphy always did. Instead, he dropped the pills straight into my open palm.
Four of them.
The clink of them was too loud in the quiet hallway, sharp enough to make my stomach turn. “Why are you giving me four?”
He shrugged, all casual slime. “That’s wots in ye file. Change a’ dose.”
My fingers curled slightly, not enough to crush the pills but enough to show defiance. “Murphy only ever gives me one.”
His grin tightened into something meaner. “Take them, or you’ll be flagged for noncompliance. I’ll lock you in the Quiet Room myself.”
The Quiet Room.
The nice way of saying isolation.
I hesitated, then lifted the pills to my mouth.
Under the tongue. Wait. Spit it later. Dervla’s instructions echoed in my mind like a prayer.
I tucked them beneath my tongue, careful, practiced. Took the small cup of water and pretended to swallow them, then opened my mouth to show him.
He stared at my mouth, a leer pulling across his face, dark and possessive, like he was imagining things I didn’t want to know.
I snapped my mouth shut, not waiting for him to dismiss me, then turned to go.
His hand snapped around my wrist. “Lift your tongue.”
My pulse thudded hard. I blinked, stalling. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“This is rubbish,” I snapped, my voice lower than I intended.
His grip tightened around my wrist, yanking me a step closer. “Open your mouth and lift your tongue, or I will do it for you.”
Shite. I didn’t want to show him, but even less, I wanted to give him a reason to force his touch on me.
Without a choice, I opened my mouth, barely, and slowly lifted my tongue.
He grabbed my chin and tilted my head up. “Wider.”
Bastard. He was treating me like a disobedient dog, stripping away whatever scrap of dignity I had left in front of the entire ward. I could have slapped his hand away. Told him to “feck off.”
But fear curled tight in my gut as I caught the other orderlies shifting their weight, poised like hounds waiting for a command to pin me down.
The entire line of girls behind me had fallen into a thick hush, their wide eyes on me, a few whimpers of empathy slipping out between their clenched teeth.
With the heat of tears pricking at my eyes and dread searing through my veins, I opened my mouth wider.
He leaned in, close enough that his sour breath clogged my nose, and smirked like a wolf. “Swallow them. All of them.”
His grip tightened on my wrist, his threat clear. If I didn’t swallow them, he’d make me. Or he’d knock me out some other way.
My throat worked, dry and unwilling, but I forced the pills down, gagging slightly.
Then I opened my mouth again and lifted my tongue, wishing I could spit on him instead.
“Attagirl.” He patted my cheek with his palm, like I was a dog who’d finally obeyed.
I yanked my arm back and turned, letting out a shaky breath.
Dervla stood down the hallway, watching, her face pale and haunted.
Our eyes locked, shared dread passing between us. I had no doubt that O’Shea had plans for me later tonight when the pills had me imprisoned in an unnatural slumber.
I reached her side and hissed, “Dervla… what do I do?”
“Throw them up. Now.”
We moved, fast but not running, trying not to draw attention, hands clutched together. Every step echoed. Every shadow was alive.
Inside my room, Dervla slammed the door behind me and followed me into the bathroom where I kneeled at the toilet.
“God,” she blurted out, “Bláthnaid would be so much better at this.”
I shot her a look.
She winced. “Sorry. Dark humor. It’s the nerves. Here…”
Dervla kneeled beside me, gathering my hair and holding it back.
Fuck, this was so off. So wrong. I leaned over the toilet and pushed two shaking fingers past my tongue. I needed to gag. I needed to purge the poison before it melted my muscles and left me paralyzed for whatever sick plans he had for me.
The air shifted behind me and a thick hand yanked my wrist, pulling my fingers out of my mouth.
“Such a bad girl,” O’Shea huffed into my ear. “I knew you’d try something like this.”
Two orderlies were with him, one of them grabbing Dervla, pulling her back as she screamed, reaching for me.
O’Shea and the other one seized me, their hands like iron around my arms.
“Stop! Get off me!” Dervla yelled, her body thrashing, her voice fading as they dragged her into the hall.
My legs kicked out, catching nothing but cold air. The room spun, tipping sideways as they hauled me to the bed.
I bucked and screamed, panic cracking something in my mind. “No, Dervla! Stop! Help! Someone!”
But no one came.
O’Shea grabbed my wrists while the orderly wrestled my ankles down. Their weight pinned me like slabs of stone, each grip ruthless, efficient. The hiss of O’Shea’s breath and the grind of the mattress springs sounded like the lid of a coffin sealing shut.
“Won’t be long now,” O’Shea promised, his voice a threatening coo.
The edges of my vision tunneled into black. My limbs grew impossibly heavy, the fight bleeding out of me as if my veins had been opened. I screamed at my arms to move, to claw, to fight, but I was already a corpse trapped inside a breathing body.
Just before the dark pulled me under, O’Shea leaned in, his sour breath on my cheek.
“See you soon, sleeping beauty.”