Page 49 of Ravage

“What do you want to know?” he grunts, thrashing his head side to side in an attempt to dislodge the electrodes.

Even the most confident men can fall when their own life is resting in the hands of another. It’s very fitting–I bet Avery felt helpless too. Now, he has scored himself a first-class ticket to the experience.

I play innocent though, letting him believe he might get his way. “You’re open to having a peaceful conversation? Good.”

His eyes flash, annoyed, then relieved. “Yes. I’ll tell you what you want to know then you let me go.”

Grabbing a stool from against the wall, I bring it to the side of the chair, sitting down. “Okay,” I say happily. “Did you experiment on patients down here?”

“Yes,” he growls out.

I nod, showing I’m pleased with his honesty. “And Avery White?”

“I believe she might have been down here.”

Wrong answer.

Turning to the screen, I press some keys. “Which one starts the machine?”

“Okay!” He yells, words slurring. “Yes, Avery was down here. But I don’t control who they send.”

Pausing, I keep my finger above the keyboard in a warning. “Who decides that?”

“The Lilydale board presents to us a list of potential candidates. They are numbered in order of interest based on their diagnoses and background. Our in-house team then gives recommendations relating to which conditions may be best suited to our research methods. After that, it’s up to Lilydale who they send down.”

“Lilydale makes the final decision?” I reaffirm. “And why were you interested in Avery?”

His eyes dart to my hovering hand. “Her traumatic background and experience with abuse. Earlier candidates weren’t able to properly adjust to our methods. So, our in-house team decided that someone with that level of mental injury might be better equipped for longer testing to allow us adequate time to draw conclusions.”

I nod, keeping my face blank despite the burning rage that grips me. “And how did she handle yourmethods?”

He scoffs, remembering back. It pisses me off because he’s given himself away–he did touch her.

“She’s verystrong-willed,” he says with a hint of sarcasm. “It surprised us. But certain methods were more effective than others.”

“Like this one?” I ask, waving my hand over the keyboard.

“This one was more catatonic than anything–” he stops himself, pressing his lips firmly together. I watch as his body tenses, regretting his words.

I remove my hand away from the machine, giving him a false sense of security. “And what one worked best?”

The question makes me feel sick. Understanding on a descriptive level what she went through is just as bad as seeing her struggle with it. Knowing and seeing what they did makes it even more real. I could see her trauma in her face the night she returned, but looking at this machine and chair, imagining her strapped down, paints a picture I’ll never get out of my nightmares.

“We studied her brain waves while showing her various forms of media.”

“What kind of media?” I ask him. “How do I turn this back off?” It’s a lie, my finger pressing the screen carelessly like I’m confused. But in reality, I'm hitting the right-pointed arrow—underneath the wordvoltage.

He breathes a sigh of relief, slurring together words quickly. “Lilydale mentioned that she had become attached to an individual. They provided us footage of him with another former patient.”

It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together. My jaw clenches as I place my hand back on my lap.

“Thank you, Doctor–?”

“West,” he mutters.

“Always a pleasure, Dr. West,” I say calmly, hitting thestartbutton on the screen and standing up.

His screams follow me out of the room, the sound of buzzing electricity entangling around them. But by the time I get to the end of the corridor back to the entrance, I can’t help but smile.

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