running away? Were you planning on devolving to the Emmalynn of two months ago? Sad but without purpose? Hating herself, just for the sake of it?”
Emma was rocking back and forth in place, her fingers still holding a two in Dr. Richardson’s face.
“Or did you think you were going to get better, somehow? Magically? People always seem to be so afraid when they get that close to themselves. And I understand; the closer the mirror, the more you can see the flaws—the pores in the skin, the hopelessness. But I knew eventually you’d figure it out, whether I had to explain it to you or not—”
Dr. Richardson flipped another switch, and the ARC behind them began to glow blue, rumbling to life with a low-frequency hum. “You can’t escape the person that you are. You can only feed it. That’s how you grow.
“And whether you know it or not, that’s why you’re back. We were getting closer to who you really are, and I don’t think you fully appreciated how important that work was.” Dr. Richardson turned around to reach behind the computer monitor. “You’re our savior, Emma. You just don’t know it yet.”
“There’s only one savior,” Emma proclaimed boldly—too boldly, her voice loud enough to hear its cracks—and her two fingers became one. That was it, the signal. With Dr. Richardson’s head bent over a monitor, Neesha tossed the camera down, into Emma’s hands. Emma caught it and hid it quickly in her jacket.
Dr. Richardson turned in time to see Emma’s hand go flying back up to her face. “Who’s that?”
Emma swallowed. “Jesus Christ.”
Dr. Richardson almost laughed. “Right. Whatever you want to call them.” She moved slowly to the ARC, running her fingers along its side. “While it warms up, what do you say we try a little therapy, huh? I suppose you can come too, Mr. Andrews.”
Her hands on their backs, she led them out of the room, sliding the bookshelf shut until it closed with a thud, leaving Neesha alone in the soft blue glow of the ARC.
Aiden.
“YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND,” Aiden said, standing tall in front of the group of maintenance men outside Dr. Richardson’s office. “I need to speak to her now.”
“We’re in the middle of a maintenance sweep—”
“—this is why there’s a sweep, dumbass.”
“Excuse me?”
“I guarantee you, if you lean your head in there, tell her ‘Aiden Mallet wants to talk to you,’ she’s gonna say, ‘What the fuck took you so long to let him in.’ I swear to God.”
There were nine maintenance workers milling in the Human Lounge and Dr. Richardson’s lobby, one stationed at each of the diverging hallways. The tallest one, with shaggy black hair and a thick beard, was standing over Aiden. RICK, according to his name tag. “It’s not happening.”
Aiden looked from guard to guard around the room, all of them turned and focused on him. “You guys know what you’re protecting in there?”
None of them said anything.
“Oh, you’re all a part of it? You all believe in this torture shit?” He turned back to the bearded man. “Or just you?”
They all turned away to ignore him. Aiden wandered back to the middle of the room, his chest heaving noticeably. None of the guards were checking on him; if he wanted to turn and go, admit that his plan was a flawed one, he could. But Emma was behind that door.
He took one more deep breath.
He turned and ran straight for the bearded man, catching him off guard with a huge right hook to his earlobe. The man buckled to his knees and then to the ground, clutching his head. Three guards from the room rushed over, lunging toward Aiden, but he used the fallen man’s body to shield himself.
Instructors came rushing down the stairs behind him. “What are you doing?” one of them screamed, but Aiden didn’t hear it. He edged around two chairs toward the fireplaces, flames dancing on his face.
“No!” one of the maintenance workers who entered the room shouted to the instructors. “Continue the sweep. Reece and I will handle this.” They edged around the perimeter, trapping Aiden in the corner, his back to the fire.
Without waiting, Aiden launched at the nearest worker, but the man was ready, receiving his fist with a shoulder and curling Aiden over with a punch to the gut. He swung his left leg as Aiden fell, driving him back, stumbling, toward the fire. Aiden caught himself against the bottom of the fireplace just in time.
“Stop! He’s a student,” an