Page 8 of Revenant

“Hmmm…” I’m not sure if he’s pleased or annoyed. “Maybe, if this session goes well, we can work on granting you more freedom.”

My heart leaps, but I don’t mistake his offer for anything but a way to ensnare me in whatever game he’s playing. I turn my head toward him, my eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Daddy dearest won’t take kindly if you show me any favors.”

The corner of his lips curl into a smug smile, like I fell perfectly into his trap. He leans back into his chair, a touch of humor lingering around him…almost overshadowing the gleam of avarice sharpening his green eyes. “But your father is not here, is he?”

It almost sounds like an offer of protection.

If I were a normal teen, I would probably leap at the chance to escape my father. But if my sperm donor taught me anything, it was to never trust anyone.

Especially doctors.

I push up from the couch, not once looking away from the doctor. To discover his goal, I need to lure him in carefully. If he even suspects I’m playing him, my stay at his hospital will take a drastic turn.

With a careful concoction of meds, my mental well-being will slowly crumble. I’ll become an unstable psychopath with violent tendencies, very much like my mother. I’ll become a sad statistic—someone lost in the system with no hope of rehabilitation.

After some time, my death will be reported. Greatly exaggerated, of course. I’ll be moved to different accommodations—a dungeon-like basement from which I will never emerge until I’ve been studied and eventually dissected.

How do I know?

A single ghost passes through the wall behind the good doctor, a young girl no more than fifteen. She is dressed in a nightgown so threadbare that it’s nothing more than rags. Her body is so emaciated, she couldn’t be more than seventy pounds soaking wet, nothing more than skin and bones, and I would bevery surprised if she could even hold herself up when she was alive.

Her skin is gray from being locked away from the sun, discolored like mold had been growing on her in a few spots. Her black hair is thin and limp, hanging off her scalp in clumps, the strands dripping with water that pools around her feet.

The slight golden glow around her disturbs me the most.

She’s special like me.

Gifted.

Her blue eyes are a milky white, purposefully blinded so she would be vulnerable, forced to see nothing but her visions. The white orbs are haunted by memories that will no doubt become my future.

Her mouth is stitched shut with thick sutures. A Y-incision is brutally carved across her chest and slashed down her torso, the edges of her skin pulled together cruelly with black sutures that stand out starkly against her delicate skin. The edges of her flesh are tinged an angry red, which means her dissection happened while she was still alive.

Nearly every inch of her body is marred with scars. Two-inch thin lines cover her from head to toe, done with such precision, it could only be achieved with a scalpel and the skill of a medical professional. No two lines touch or intersect. Either her abilities are triggered by stress or pain…or the sadistic bastard did it just for the fun of terrorizing her.

Dr. Hershamn has obviously been hunting for people like me.

For how long or why, I have no idea.

One thing is abundantly clear—he has no intention of ever letting me go.

Fuck if I didn’t jump out of the pan, skip the fire completely, and land in my own personal hell.

Chapter Three

RUE

My session with Dr. Hershamn was very illuminating. I’ve been treating my stay at the asylum as a reprieve from my father, a place to hide from the world.

That has clearly been a huge mistake.

The doctor implied that if I worked with him, he would be able to keep me safe. But it leaves me to wonder…who will keep me safe from him?

And work with him on what?

Though he didn’t outright imply he knew about my abilities, it was pretty damn obvious he suspected something. I didn’t confirm or deny anything, which seemed to please him. I’m too cautious to outright piss off a man who has power over my future. What’s even more ominous is that he seems even more excited that I recognize the status quo from the start.

Apparently, Dr. Hershamn likes to play the carrot or the stick.

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