Chapter 39
thirty-nine
I hate being here alone.
Even with the gun in the bedroom. The radio murmuring soft classical to drown out the upstairs neighbors. The dishwasher humming.
I still hear things. Or maybe I don’t. Maybe my brain is just…filling the silence.
Footsteps. Possibly a door shutting.
Worse? I sense eyes on me constantly.
With a flick of my gaze to the vent in the far corner, something catches. A glint. I stare too long…and it doesn’t disappear.
Against the lamplight, a reflection where it shouldn’t be. One camera lens. More probably hidden in other spots I haven’t caught yet. I blink and attempt to ignore it. Try to pretend I didn’t see. That I don’t know they’re watching me.
I get up for the third time this hour to check out the front window.
No one.
A bang from the parking lot makes me flinch. The backfire of an engine. A car door slams. Then another.
My heart leaps into my throat. I’m flipping down the blinds again. A loud rap on the front door has me screaming, clutching my chest.
I press my palms to the wood, forehead dropping to it, and force a breath in.
“Y-Yes?”
I pause for only a moment before a familiar sound of rattling keys makes me relax.
“Sorry, I’ve got it. Hang on.” Apollo’s deep bass rings through, soothing my discomfort. When he enters, wild-eyed and forcing a smile, he grabs my arms and pulls me in for a warm hug. His lips press to my temple as he whispers, “I love you. I do.”
But his voice is all wrong.
“I love—”
“Mrs. Griffin?”
And that’s when they enter. Uninvited.
Three large men in white scrubs barrel into our apartment behind my husband. When I look back at Apollo with a question on my face, a line of tears fills his lower lashes. He pinches his nose.
“What’s this about?” I ask shakily.
“Mrs. Griffin, you’ll be coming with us. Don’t make a scene.”
I back up toward the bedroom, hands searching for anything to hold on to. But I only meet air. “Who are you? Going where? Apollo?”
“Baby, I’m so… I’m so sorry.”
“Come with us, miss.” The men approach like lions circling prey.
I hold up my fists, ready to strike, ready to unleash as I let the expression of betrayal settle on my face. “I’m not going anywhere with you!”
They pounce, and I scratch. I hiss. I claw. Just like on Thriller Thursday when Apollo grabbed me. I go fucking feral.
But it’s absolutely no use.
One of them has me locked tight, as the others fit me into a straitjacket. The Velcro rips tight across my chest, stealing the next breath before I can take it. But I continue to wiggle in their grips.
“Either this, or you take a shot of medicine. Which do you want?”
“Neither!” I scream.
“Okay, then you’ll get both.”
But as one pulls out a syringe, I shake my head. “I’ll be good. I’ll stop.”
Besides…I’m exhausted. Muscles can’t even function any longer. Two of the men pick me up and haul me toward the open door.
Apollo’s face looks crushed as we pass him. Tears spill over onto his cheeks. I can hardly look at him. But I do. Enough to scream, “How could you do this to me?”
He flips around and faces the wall, shoulders shaking. His head drops into his hands.
Panic sets in as the image of my husband slips away from me. Especially as the night takes over my sight. And everything grows dark. Even darker when I’m tossed onto the back bench seat of a van with one of the men next to me.
The other two get in front. Muttering low, they curse and complain about their duty, but mainly ignore me. And I’m grateful for that.
My pulse races as we approach the hospital. The lights of the main tower glow like an ominous hellscape. I’ve never thought of this place, which was meant for healing, to be so evil.
But now? I see it for what it is.
The place where lies are grown in agar.
And they spread like fungus.
Doling out the disease to the masses with a promise of safety.
Before selling them the cure.
The guy next to me, the one with a brown mullet and a stuffy nose, exits the back and waves me forward. “You going to cause us issues?”
“No,” I say honestly. If I can just get upstairs, I may be safer. At least I’d be away from these three.
My only concern now is that someone I know could see me. But fortunately, the Wellness Center elevator is at the back. Private and secluded.
As soon as the doors ding and we’re buzzed onto the unit, they guide me down a narrow hallway that smells like antiseptic and something faintly sweet underneath.
Rotting fruit, almost. The lights flicker overhead before one gives out, and every surface gleams like it’s been scrubbed raw. And it still manages to feel stained.
In a small side area, they stop.
“Have a seat,” one of them says, pointing at a chair bolted to the floor.
I don’t sit. “I’m fine.”
They exchange a look. One of annoyance. As if I’m now a problem.
“Of course you are,” the stuffy-nosed guy says. “We just need a baseline.”
Baseline. Like I’m an object to be measured and calibrated. I lower myself into the chair slowly, testing it. It doesn’t budge. Nothing in here moves unless they want it to.
A tablet on a rolling stand across from me clicks on. On the screen, a man with a big mole on his cheek appears—no, not appears. He’s already been there. Watching. His eyes flick up like he’s just noticed me, but the timing is too clean.
“Scout Griffin,” he says. Not a question.
“Yes.”
“You understand why you’re here tonight?” He’s bored. And going through a checklist.
My mouth opens. Closes. A dozen answers swim through my brain, but none of them feel safe.
“They think I’m—” I stop. Adjust. “There’s been a misunderstanding.”
His stylus taps once against the screen. “They?” he repeats. One of his black eyebrows quirks. A beat too long passes. “You said they. Can you clarify who you’re referring to?”
My breath stutters. “I just meant—people. The administration. Whoever made the call.”
Tap. “Paranoid ideation,” he murmurs, but not to me. To the tablet. Logging it.
“No— That’s not what I meant.”
“Of course,” he says with a condescending grin.
The man to my left shifts. Close enough that I feel the heat of him. Close enough that if I run, I won’t make it past him.
“Have you experienced any hallucinations in the last forty-eight hours?”
“No.”
“Visual distortions? Auditory irregularities? Seeing cameras in vents or thinking you’re being recorded? Things like that.”
The glint. The sounds. I hesitate.
And that’s all it takes.
Tap. “Patient hallucinating.”
“I didn’t— I just— There was a camera,” I say quickly. “In the vent. You can check. It’s there.”
The man’s expression doesn’t change.
“Scout,” he says, like he’s explaining something to a child. “There are no cameras in your private residence.”
Shaking my head, my skin prickles. “That’s not true.”
“Can you prove that?”
“Yes— I saw—”
“Did you retrieve it?”
No.
“Did you record it?”
No.
“Did anyone else witness it?”
No.
Tap. “Fixed visual delusion. Iron studies and EEG. Possible candidate for ECT.”
My chest tightens. “I’m not delusional.”
The word tastes wrong in my mouth. Like something they’ve already decided belongs to me.
“Okay.” He says it with the same tone as everything. Reassuring. Dismissive.
Final.
“Have you harmed yourself recently?”
“No.”
“Your medical records indicate a self-inflicted wound on your arm.”
“I was attacked.”
“By whom?”
“A man. He—he had a needle—”
“Oh. I see.” Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
For a second, my vision blurs. This is wrong.
“Stop writing that,” I snap. “You’re twisting what I’m saying.”
The man on my right places a hand lightly on my shoulder with a warning.
“Let’s keep our tone calm, okay?” he grits out like he cares.
I try to take another deep breath, but my lungs won’t fill all the way. “He’s lying,” I say, staring at the tablet. “You’re lying.”
He smiles. And it’s not cruel. It’s worse.
It’s professional.
“We’re trying to help you, Scout.”
One of the men digs around in his pocket, and I snap my gaze over toward him.
“What’s that?”
“Just something to help you relax.”
I shake my head. “I don’t need that.”
“It’s standard for sleep. It’s almost night.”
“I said I don’t—”
“You can take it willingly,” the man on the screen says, voice still soft, still patient. “Or we can assist you.”
Assist. Like I’m a malfunctioning robot. Something broken.
My pulse pounds in my ears. Too loud. Too fast.
If I fight, they win.
If I comply…they still win.
My hands curl into fists in my lap.
“I’ll take it,” I say. The word scrapes on the way out.
A cup is held in front of my face. Two small white pills take up more space inside than I like. The end of something in two tiny capsules. My throat tightens.
They lift them to my lips. Then pause. Just long enough for me to wonder if this is the moment I disappear.
“I’ve got it from here. Thanks, guys,” a nurse with a braided beehive says. She grabs the straps on my back, lifting me from the chair.
The men surrounding me startle for a moment, then relax.
“You sure, Quincy? She’s a fighter.” He holds out the cup of medicine, but she doesn’t take it.
The screen with the man on it is rolled away, and I stumble to keep up with the woman beside me.
“This little thing?” she tosses over her shoulder as she leads me back down the hall. “I’ve seen worse!” Pausing, she throws a hand on her hip and lifts her chin as if to provoke me. “You going to fight me, darlin’?”
“No, ma’am.” My smile is saccharine.
One of the men grumbles under his breath, but they all turn back toward the elevators.
The nurse leads me to a little room on the side of the entry that states Intake on the sign. “Got a new one! Buzz us in!” she yells to the nurses at their station behind the glass.
We enter a little room. All that’s in it is a medical bed, a trash can, one tall cabinet, and a tablet glued to the wall beneath a plastic protector.
As soon as the door shuts, Quincy grabs me in a tight squeeze. “Oh, darlin’! It’s been too long. How’s your mama? I miss her.” She hurriedly undoes the straps along my back.
“She’s good. I thought she called you.”