Slumping, I slid down into a seated position and rested my head on my knees. I couldn’t leave yet. But I wanted nothing more than to get away.
Away from the refrigerator from Hell, the bloodstained basement hall and zombie Fred and Jeremy.
Away from all of Pecan Place.
Maybe from Junction itself.
Curled in on myself, I stayed there until my breath no longer steamed as brightly from my mouth and my body threatened to shake apart with cold. Finally I rose and went to the door, opening it slowly—partly because my joints were stiff and partly to retrieve the papers I’d used to stop the lock.
I grabbed the clipboard and shouldered the door open, slipping out and crawling to the room’s door, beneath the view of the single window. The papers on the clipboard rustled and I clamped them down with my fingers.
Peeking out the window I noticed the hall was scrubbed clean—absent of doctors, nurses, dogs, zombies, body parts, and blood. No noise echoed in the clean white space, nothing to alarm me and keep me in the room.
Carefully I opened the door and stepped into the hall. The overpowering scent of disinfectant spray hung in the air.
It was as if there had been no experiment performed on a patient. No murder—no bodies in the basement. Like everything was normal and scented with lavender.
It seemed healthy.
And that’s how I had to appear, too.
Healthy. Normal. Unrattled.
Straightening my back, I squared my shoulders and set off down the hall in search of the laundry cart.
And there it was. Like a beacon of hope and normalcy, stacked high with pants and shirts.
“You can do this.” I grabbed the cart and headed to the elevator. I swiped the key and thrust the cart inside. “Normal. You wanted normal, right?” I was babbling. But I was willing to excuse myself this time. Extenuating circumstances. “What’s that philosophy? Act like you already have something and the universe will provide it for you? Yeah. Go normal.”
Deciding whistling a cheerful tune would be pushing it—especially since I was nearly tone deaf—I waited for the elevator to open and shoved the cart into the hall with a grunt.
I set the clipboard on top of the stack, hurried to the first room, and laid the change of clothes on the patient’s bed.
In.
Out.
I could almost forget what I’d just witnessed.… Besides, I was untouchable, they’d said.
As long as I didn’t screw up.
I reached for the clipboard to put down my customary check mark showing successful delivery.
The page was missing.
Out of order?
I flipped through the stack.
The page I needed wasn’t there.
My gaze skated over the cart.
No.
Not there, either.
I glanced toward the elevator, stomach churning. I could—
“Miss Gillmansen!”
The substitute nurse had spotted me.
I waved. “Sorry. Moving slowly this morning.”
“Just hurry up.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said. Fear sped my steps.
Finishing quickly I tucked the swipe key and lanyard in my bra. Maybe I could sneak down and retrieve the missing paper.…
I handed over the clipboard and cart and shuffled away—right into Fred. Or Jeremy. “Oh. Hey.” I glanced over broad shoulders at the clock hanging on the wall. “Lunchtime, isn’t it?” Looking down I noticed dark red speckling their shoes. I tried to swallow the rock in my throat. “I’m not—really—hungry. Home,” I said, wanting it more than ever. They, of course, led me to my room.
“Miss Gillmansen,” the substitute nurse called. “I think you forgot something.…” She hurried toward me.
I gave her a blank look.
“The key.”
“Oh. Ohhh. Sorry.” Damn it. I snaked a hand down my shirt and pulled out the lanyard. “Must’ve—gotten caught in—”
“Your ample bosom?” the sub asked, scoffing.
Crap. People were just mean here. Mean. And murderous. Priorities, Jess. Priorities. Murderous was worse than mean. “Boobs,” I confided. “They get us all in so much trouble.”
She snorted and took the key—and my hope at recovering the paper—away.
I spent the rest of my day seated on my bed, doing what so many patients did.
Rocking and muttering to myself I realized the person I wanted closest was the one in the most danger from Jones’s desired experiments and the nightly patrols of killer dogs.
I wouldn’t risk Pietr’s safety any longer.
Jessie
He was at the window, tapping for my attention. One heartbeat before the dogs caught his scent, a moment beyond the rush of the guards.
They might catch him. Hurt him worse than the day he failed to keep his promise, or hold him long enough to restrain him, cage him … tie him down and shoot him up like Harmony.…
Beat the wildness from his eyes …
I’d love to get my hands on a full-blood, Jones had said. The Rusakova alpha. Now he would be a prize specimen.
They’d make him think even his brief life was far too long.
I kept my back to the window. There was nothing Pietr could do for me right now and at least seven ways I risked him by encouraging his presence. It was better this way—me on the inside, caged, him with a hope of freedom.
Even if it meant freedom without me.
The noise of the dogs rang out, turning on the night’s breeze, my stomach twisting in echo.
Pietr slammed his fist on the glass; even his power, his anger, resulted in only a dull thud.
Like my heart made in my chest.
I stared at my useless hands, my fingers knotting.
Another insistent thud.
Why didn’t he run?
Please. Please … run…, I begged, squeezing my eyes tight against the sound of the approaching dogs.
Down the hall from my room a door slammed. I wanted to shriek, “They’re coming!” But I didn’t react in case it gave him one more heartbeat’s worth of hesitation.…
I needed Pietr safe. And that meant far from here. From me. I hardened my heart against the glowing eyes cutting into my back.
And when I heard the approaching dogs turn and race off, following their retreating prey, I fell to the floor and cried my heart out at my betrayal.
Jessie
“Jessie,” Dad greeted me.
Fred—or Jeremy—stood, followed by his mute companion. They lumbered away from the table, giving Dad and me some privacy. We hugged, me holding on a little bit longer this time and definitely a little tighter.