Page 9 of Revenant

I have been approved to move into new living quarters and granted more freedom than being locked away in a padded cellfor twenty-three hours a day. While I should be thrilled, I’m not stupid. Being allowed out of my room isn’t freedom, and I refuse to be grateful for basic human decency.

As I am led to a different wing of the hospital, I glance around me with new eyes. This section of the building has been renovated and updated with the latest security, not like a hospital or prison, but more like a vault. I’m suddenly more suspicious of the legitimacy of the hospital and the doctors. One thing is for certain—I can no longer delay working on an escape plan.

For the last few months, I have been throwing myself the biggest pity party on the planet. While mourning the loss of my freedom, I used the time to train with the spirits and enjoy the reprieve from my father.

And, if I’m being truthful, moping about the guys.

I wasn’t anything more than a distraction to them, one of their many flings.

It’s a tough pill to swallow.

We were barely even friends, not even knowing each other for a week, but the loss of them feels worse than any physical wound I’ve suffered over the years. I wasn’t sure how to deal with the hole they left in my life, especially the way we left things.

My mind shies away from what is most likely the truth—that they were relieved to see the last of me. That’s the way most people feel when they meet me. I don’t know why I was expecting things to be different with them.

Fucking hope.

I thought I banished that stupid emotion, but it keeps returning like a damn cockroach. No matter how many times I try to crush it, a tiny kernel remains. Though foolhardy, I can’t rid myself of the insidious idea that the guys genuinely care for me.

I mentally snort and roll my eyes at my own stupidity.

If my time with my father has taught me anything, it’s that people will always want something in exchange for friendship. I don’t know why I thought he was lying…or that the guys were different.

As we head down the hallway, my steps slow when I see the waiting elevator. The sleek metal surface reminds me of a giant maw ready to swallow me whole. When the hand on my arm tightens painfully, I realize that I’m balking.

I glance at the man holding me, his blindingly white scrubs suddenly striking me as sinister. He’s either super anal about his uniform…or he’s not a nurse but a hired thug to keep people like me in line by any means necessary.

He’s older than me, maybe mid-thirties. His spine is straight, his hair short and meticulously groomed, his face harsh as he watches everything around him. From the width of his shoulders and the scars on his hands, I postulate he’s a soldier, but why would the hospital employ military personnel?

Unless I’m correct and the facility is more than what it seems.

As he hauls me toward the elevator, he slaps his hand on a digital screen mounted on the wall. A green light scans his palm, and not a second later, the door seamlessly opens. As much as I want to dig in my heels and fight him, I know it’s not a battle I can win.

Deciding I would rather be conscious and memorize the route to where I’m being led, I remain compliant and dutifully enter the elevator. It’s only when the doors close that a panel in the wall becomes visible. Instead of buttons, he presses his thumb to the screen, then the elevator moves without him even selecting a floor. In fact, there are no numbers at all, like the elevator is only programmed to stop at one location. The metalcoffin is so smooth, I can’t even tell if we’re going up or down, and I purse my lips in annoyance.

The steel interior is so new and shiny that I can see our reflection. Never once does the guard look at me or break formation—the perfect robot. Because it wouldn’t do for an underling like him to notice something wrong and do something about it.

I nearly snort at my cynical thoughts, but I’m not wrong either.

My reflection startles me the most.

I expected to appear run-down and haggard—that’s how I feel most days. Instead, my hair is lush, the strands shiny, the curls even wilder. What’s strange is that though my hair is a couple of inches longer, the cotton candy color hasn’t faded in the least.

Even the roots remain a dark pink.

My pale skin has a golden sheen, glowing much like an aura. I tilt my head to the side, wondering if it’s the metal, but no, when I peer at the soldier, he appears normal.

That’s when I notice my teal eyes are brighter than usual, and I wonder if it’s a side effect of working with the spirits over the last couple of months. If this is what I look like to ghosts, no wonder they can see me from the great abyss of death.

I’m like a fucking glow stick.

Before I can examine myself further, the wall behind us slides open in an almost silent whoosh. I whirl, and my eyes widen when it looks like we were transported to a luxurious five-star hotel. The stark difference from the clinical hospital is so glaring that it’s jarring, as if they’re trying to convince me that I’m free and not being locked away in a new prison.

Once again, the soldier tightens his grip on my arms and drags me stumbling from the elevator. I want to glare up at theinconsiderate prick, but I know better than to get mouthy with people like him.

No, as we walk down the plush carpeting and fancy papered walls decorated with pricey artwork, I realize my situation is worse than I first anticipated. Someone put a lot of money into Dr. Hershamn’s work. No one invests this much money in a project without expecting something in return.

I glance back at the elevator, needing the reassurance of a nearby exit…and swallow hard when the doors blend in so well that I don’t see anything but a blank wall.

---