Page 130 of Bloom: Part 2

Dr. Simms got in the front seat, started the engine, and drove away.

“Can you enhance this part so we can get the license plate number?” Uncle Mickey pointed at the screen.

“I’ll try.” Bay brought up a new tool on his computer. He worked quickly, and though the footage was grainy and taken from a distance, he managed to zoom in and enhance it enough so the license plate was visible.

“We have a license plate number.”

“I’ll call Alan and have him do his thing. The guy’s a genius in hacking into databases.”

“Fuck, I almost forgot,” Bay said. “Crowe has a tracker on Bloom’s phone. I’ll call him. Maybe we can use that to find their location.”

So that was where Bloom got the idea to track my phone. I should have known. If we could use it to find Bloom, he could track me anytime he wanted. I just needed him to be safe.

Please, dear god, don’t let it be too late.

38

BLOOM

Iwas floating. Or falling. I couldn’t tell which.

Everything was hazy, my mind a fog where nothing was clear. I wasn’t awake. I couldn’t be. The world around me shimmered and danced, the edges blurred and wavering like heat waves rising off asphalt. The pounding of my heart was dramatically slow, as though time was barely moving.

A boy stood in front of me. Small, frail, his torn clothes hanging off his bony shoulders. His face was hidden, but I didn’t need to see it to know who he was. It was years since I’d looked anything like this, but it was unmistakably me.

I tried to call out to him, to speak, but my throat was paralyzed, my tongue heavy and useless. My body wouldn’t listen, wouldn’t respond. I was trapped, a prisoner in my own mind, forced to watch as the boy cowered, his small hands trembling as a shadow loomed over him.

“No,” I whispered, but the sound didn’t reach my lips.

The shadow moved closer, its outline shifting and warping like something out of a nightmare. It bent down, faceless and menacing, grabbing the boy, shoving him against the wall. Hescreamed, a sound so raw and broken it shattered something deep inside me. My chest burned as if I were the one being crushed, and I tried to fight, to thrash, to dosomething, but I couldn’t do anything.

I wanted to close my eyes and block the image out, but even that was stolen from me. I had to watch. I had to see the boy—me—cry and plead as the shadow hurt him, tearing at him until his cries faded into nothing and he was a crumpled, naked heap on the ground, eyes soulless, longing for death but too ignorant to know it.

A chime sounded, just a tiny sound that pulled me out of the hole I’d fallen into. My whole body jerked as reality slammed into me. My heart was still racing, my chest heaving as I sucked in air like I’d been drowning. The room was dim, sterile. I was sure I’d never been here, and yet it was somehow familiar.

I tried to move, but my arms didn’t respond. Panic surged. They were tied, bound tightly to the arms of the chair I was in.

I was naked. Completely exposed.

A choked sound escaped me, half a whimper, half a gasp, and I looked around the room. In front of me sat a man.

Dr. Simms.

Next to him was a camera, mounted, the red recording light blinking on and off. He was filming me. I struggled against the ropes binding me to the chair.

Dr. Simms smiled, his face calm and composed, but something glimmered behind his eyes—something cruel. My stomach twisted into knots, and bile rose in my throat as his gaze swept over me. I wanted to barf.

“Good,” he said softly, almost soothingly, as if we were having a normal conversation. “You’re back. You’re one of the most responsive patients I’ve ever had under hypnotherapy. Did you know only ten to fifteen percent of people are responsive to hypnosis?”

“Stop… please.” My voice came out hoarse, trembling. “Where are my clothes?”

“Stop?” His smile widened, a mockery of kindness. “Why would I do that, Bloom? We’ve only just started. I tried to ease you into it gently with our previous sessions, gaining your trust, but then you started acting out, refusing to come to your appointments. You left me with no choice.”

“What are you talking about? What are you doing to me?”

“When I’m finished with you, the very touch of Dr. Collier’s hands on your body will make you violently sick. That sex you enjoy so much will be the most horrific thing you will ever experience. It’s already started, hasn’t it?” He got up from his chair and came over to me. He ran his hand down my chest, and I recoiled from his touch.

“I see why he’s taken with you,” Dr. Simms murmured. “Your body’s a work of art. But as much as I would have loved to spread you out beneath me and take you over and over until you forget about him, the only thing I care about is the science of your mind, so your virtue is safe with me, sweetheart.”

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