Page 56 of Ethereally Redeemed

Grey

It makes perfect sensenow—how Emilio Ricci and Arthur could find us so easily the night we tried to escape from the dollhouse, hiding away in that cabin in the midst of a freezing winter. It struck me as odd how they could find us, but I never had the time to contemplate more about it before our lives were turned upside down once again.

It also makes perfect sense how Emilio could have found us now. Not a mere hallucination, as I first thought, but a reality. All those times I thought Naya hallucinated, was he truly there? The notes we found, was that his way of scaring us?

Just thinking about it makes my skin crawl with the need to scowl myself.

“Do you remember if they ever chipped you at Grimhill Manor?” I ask with urgency, eyes flaring with unkempt rage.

For a moment, she appears lost in thought, memories flooding her mind. She inhales sharply, a shudder running through her as dread coils within. “Before I came to Dankworth Institute. I think…I think Frederick chipped a few other children along with me.” She closes her eyes, rubbing them as if to rid herself from the images piling up behind her eyes. “I didn’t know what it was back then.”

It’s hard to focus on anything, the room spinning in a dizzying whirlwind.

“We have to get it out somehow,” I say, looking at her with a grave expression. “It’s risky as fuck. We need medical help.”

“But if we do that, then we risk being recognized and caught,” she murmurs.

Then she takes a deep breath, as if a thought hits her. She stalks out of the bathroom, toward the desk full of unknown papers, and roams the drawers until she finds something. A landline. She works the digits, picking up the phone with ease, as if she has memorized the number by now.

Who is she trying to call?

She looks impatient, and all I can do is stare at her in wonder while waiting for whoever she’s calling.

“Come on, come on,” she murmurs. “Pick up.”

She’s pale with fear and dread, her body trembling from the realization that there’s been a fucking tracking chip inside her all along. My stomach churns with nausea, wanting to spill out all over the floor.

I hear the distinct sound of the phone ringing, but no one picks up the call. She slams it back in place, eyes glazing over with frustration, exhaustion, and fear. It’s a beautiful concoction making her lethal, but I hate seeing her this distressed.

“Of course he doesn’t pick up,” she says.

“Who?”

“Daxton. Of fucking course, he’d leave me all alone after leaving us entirely by ourselves.”

There’s rage and sadness in her voice, making my chest clench, that bit of hatred filling my heart for my brother who dared hurt her like this. I fucking hate him for abandoning us—her—even if I’m glad he did.

“The only other option we have is to cut it out ourselves,” I say, feeling the color drain from my face and a wave of nausea washing over me at the thought of what must be done.

Bile washes up in my mouth as I look at her equally horror-struck expression.

Love itself turns into a bittersweet poison in my heart, intertwining with fragile threads, knowing I can never intentionally hurt someone I love, but also knowing I have to inorder to protect her.

“How?”

My hands pull through my hair as I fist it in a tight grip, gritting out the idea. “There should be some equipment in the medical box inside the bathroom.”

Without waiting for her, I stride back to the bathroom, with a dirty toilet to one side, a small shower on the other, and a faucet with a drawer. I turn on the tap, ensuring it’s flowing smoothly with fresh, clean water, before I reach for the emergency kit I saw in the corner.

To my relief, there’s a small sterile scalpel, a small mirror, a few antiseptic wipes and gauzes in the kit. I set it all up in the dimly lit bathroom, the only place that gives some semblance of privacy. Even if nothing of this feels safe.

We have no other choice. It’s this, or we will never be truly freed—always on the run for our lives, even if we did manage to flee the country with the passports I got. That tracking chip complicates everything we’ve worked for.

“Are you sure?” I ask her, meeting her nervous gaze.

Her eyes widen for a second before she nods in determination. It takes several seconds before she replies. “Okay.”

I look up at her. “Okay?” She nods again. “Are you sure?”

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