years.
Don’t care. Stop. Have to make it stop.
I’ll do whatever he wants. I’ll sign with Myriad.
Stop, stop, stop.
If I change my mind about my future later on, I can go to court. Bow mentioned the possibility for the coerced. Yes, yes. Too many lose, she’d said, but I’m willing to take the chance.
Stop!
“I—” My mind breaks, disconnected with me, disassociating with reality—a memory becoming my new truth. I’m seven years old. My dad is home, but he’s pacing in his office, worried about money. How are we going to pay this, Grace? We’re tapped out.
My mom is painting in her studio, preparing to sell one of her pieces earlier rather than later, leaving me in Aunt Lina’s care. She’s come for a visit. We’re alone in my bedroom, and she’s twirling. She’s Loony Lina today, the personality that is blind. Blind and yet, somehow she manages to avoid bumping into my furniture.
“I’m sorry the poison hurt you so bad,” she says in a little-girl voice, despite the fact that she’s twenty-seven, like my dad. “But I’m glad the doctor died.”
“Poison?” I ask, confused. “Doctor?”
“You escaped!”
Loony Lina always says crazy things.
Now I’m baffled. Ten years ago she mentioned poison and escape? But...but...back then, she couldn’t have known this would happen. Right?
Vans pinches my chin between his fingers, jerking me from my thoughts, forcing me to face him. I’m unable to focus, my vision too cloudy.
“You know what to say to make the pain stop.”
Stop...stop...yes, that’s exactly what I want. Will do anything! Panting breaths wheeze through my mouth as I try to tell him—
What?
My parents’ dream...or mine?
“No,” I manage to croak.
Rage contorts his features. He snaps his fingers in Nurse Ratched’s direction. “Give her another injection.”
Another? No, no, no. I struggle to contain my whimpers of protest.
“You kill her?” Nurse Ratched asks. “That is what happens next.”
“Give her another injection!”
No! Bow, I try to scream. She said she would rescue me. She promised. I just... What do I have to do? Say the word—what word? Troika?
Nurse Ratched hurries to the tray and, after rooting through the utensils scattered across the top, returns to my side. Another sting. Another wash of cold followed by intense heat. The terrible sensations in my head magnify a million degrees, and I release a bloodcurdling scream that springs from the depths of my soul.
Over and over Vans tells me to sign with Myriad, and over and over I somehow find the strength to deny him. My dream...dream... He pokes and prods at me. He hits me with a closed fist, backhands me with an open palm. He slices at my arms and legs with a scalpel but through it all...dream, dream, dream... I resist.
Finally he has two choices. Stop, or watch me die.
“Let her down.” His disgust is clear.
Nurse Ratched adds slack to the chains until my feet touch the floor. My legs are the consistency of jelly, and I can’t hold myself up. I sag, my head falling forward, my chin pressing in my sternum as my arms continue to bear the bulk of my weight. Then the fetters are removed, and I crash, knocking out what little air I managed to collect in my lungs.
Vans is right about one thing. I really, really want to die.
“You damaged her.” An all-too-familiar voice slashes through the silence. A male voice with a slight Irish lilt.
Killian is here?
My relief is boundless. A savior! I don’t even care that I’m a damsel in distress.
I can’t lift my head, but I find the strength to pry open my eyes. A cascade of blood obstructs my vision. All I see are two shadows standing face-to-face.
“This is a restricted area,” Vans barks. “Leave. Now.”
“Unfortunately for you, you aren’t the one who pulls my strings,” Killian says. “Do you know who you are? The bastard who used my actions against the girl. Oh yes, I heard about that.”
A third shadow appears. “Your services aren’t necessary, Killian.” Bow’s voice! She’s come for me, too. “You can leave. I’ve got this.”
A menacing growl from Killian. “I’m not going anywhere without Ten.”
“You’ll get her over my dead body.”
“Agreed. But first I’m going to dispose of the trash.”
“Now wait just a—” Vans begins.
“Don’t kill—” Bow says.
Both go silent.
Different sounds hit my awareness. Rustling clothes. The whoosh of air. Gurgling. A loud snap. A louder thump. A whisper.
“Things will be better now, lass.” A soft brush of fingertips through my hair as Killian’s scent fills my nose.
My whimper is barely audible.
“Get your filthy hands off her,” Bow