Page 94 of Unnatural
“If we decide? There’s nothing for us to decide.” He stepped away from her, grabbed his duffel bag, and then moved toward the door. “Let me go, Autumn. You deserve far more than what I have to offer.”Nothing. You deserve far more than nothing.
He heard his name fall from her lips, pleading, as he stormed out the door, and his stomach muscles clenched in agony. But he kept walking anyway, because Sam had saved her once, and he intended on doing it again, only this time would be far more permanent. This time, Sam would save her from himself.
Chapter Forty-One
There was only one possible person to turn to now, and he stood in front of the man’s house, staring bleakly at it, the lastglimmer of hope barely glowing in his chest.
Sam had nothing except a few items in a duffel bag. But Dr. Heathrow would help him, wouldn’t he? He was the only father Sam had ever known. Maybe it was Dr. Swift and others like him who pulled all the strings. Maybe Dr. Heathrow was like Autumn’s Salma, caught up in an endeavor he thought was good and just and was tricked like Sam. Like all of them.Please, please, please.
Despite the sense of desperation, he managed to keep putting one foot in front of the other. The doctor would help him find a place to go at least. Sam hadn’t asked him for help when he’d dismissed him from the program, because he’d planned on ending his life. But that had been delayed and then delayed again. He’d probably go through with it now in one manner or another. Perhaps it was time. All their programming hadn’t compelled him to do it, but his weakness, the probability that he would never be able to fully let Autumn go, might very well be the reason he needed.The monster inside would always claw for her, reaching, reaching, and he simply couldn’t let it happen. Refused to hurt her more than he already had. Didn’t want to live a life of never-ending misery.
Let me go.The words had come from his mouth, but inside he’d been screaming,Keep me. And maybe she would, for a time, but not forever, and that would kill him just as much as a bullet to the head or a knife to the heart, onlyworse.He’d left so he wouldn’t suffer more than he already had. And because he loved her and he wanted her to have her dreams. Because he’d left, now she was safe.
He walked slowly up the steps. The house was massive, with a white brick facade and black shutters, the landscaping as groomed and pristine as the hospital gardens. Not a leaf dotted the expanse of fall-faded lawn.
He pressed his finger to the doorbell and heard that distant chime within. Footsteps sounded, and a moment later, the door was pulled open. Dr. Heathrow stood there, the color draining from his face as he stumbled back. A small gasp emerged, and his hand came up as though warding Sam away.
Sam stepped inside, reaching out to the doctor who continued backward. “Please,” Sam said. “I need help.”
Dr. Heathrow stumbled into the room next to the foyer, pointing a finger at the phone and then back at Sam. “Stay back, monster!” he said, tripping on a chair leg, almost falling but catching himself. He came to stand against a wall, cowering, as Sam advanced.
Sam’s throat closed. Devastation. The thing he’d known but hadn’t wanted to confront was staring him dead in the eyes. This man had not been tricked or mislead by a pharmaceutical company or by others who had misdiagnosed Samand then asked the doctor to perform surgeries he didn’t know were unnecessary. He’d done it all knowingly and then profited from the missions he sent his creations on.You created me. You made me what I am.
Sam stopped, that hollow feeling inside opening impossibly wider. He stood for a moment, staring blankly at the man he’d once thought…loved him? No, no, he hadn’t felt that. But he’d thought he cared. He’d thought hetried. He’d thought he’d felt sadness to see Sam go.
“You knew,” he said. “You knew I was never sick. Were any of us?”
Dr. Heathrow’s gaze darted around the room and then back to Sam. He swallowed, straightening. “Not in the traditional sense of the word. But you needed saving.”
Sam’s blood slowed, a part of him dying, though he couldn’t say what. “Saving,” he repeated.
“Saving from an existence of uselessness,” Dr. Heathrow spit out. The man stood taller, as though remembering his own importance. He straightened his shirt. “I did that. I made you what you are. I gave you purpose, an ability toprovidesomething to the world few others can.What would you have been otherwise, Sam? A bottom-feeder. A drain on society just like your mother and your father.Nothing.”
“I would have been free,” Sam said, and his voice sounded as dead as his soul.My body would have been mine.
“Free? Ha! Like your mother who was probably a slave to drugs? Just another whore who spread her legs for pocket change? Like your father who must have begged strangers for any measly scraps they were generous enough to throw his way? Free likethat? All you damaged mistakes born from low-IQ addicts and thieves. I shouldn’t have expected more from you, Sam, but I did. I did.”
“You had no right,” he said, and his voice sounded less dead this time, his breath a mingled growl. The monster was coming to life. “No one gave you permission to do what you did to me.”
“Who had a right then? Who was going to give permission? Your parents? They couldn’t have cared less that you were alive. Your mother threw you in a dumpster! Did you know that, Sam? Some bum found you naked in a reeking pile of trash! She didn’t even put a blanket around you.”
Dr. Heathrow laughed then, high-pitched and dripping with cruelty, and Sam withered inside. He’d never let himself hope that his mother had loved him, or he hadn’t thought he had. But in that moment, he knew that he’d lied to himself. Because deep inside, he’d held the silent, secret wish that someone out there loved him from afar.Remembered him.He knew the hope had existed because he felt it shatter, and he suffered as the shards of the dying dream cut his inner flesh.
How many more of his own lies, his own miscalculations would he have to confront? It was too painful to consider.
“The program rescued you. Do you have any idea how much money was put into you? Each surgery, even the ones we thought would surely fail, you survived. You were made stronger. You should be grateful! What a disappointment you are. You couldn’t be trained. Always daydreaming. Seldom paying attention.” Dr. Heathrow made a sound of disgust in his throat. His face was regaining color as though his own righteousness was boosting his vigor. “Even so, we put you in the field, ever hopeful you’d take to the work once you got your feet wet.” That same sound of utter disdain. “But you proved a disaster. Even worse, here you are, having failed your final command. The one drilled into you since birth.”
The part of Sam that might have kept control bent and surrendered to the reeling, spinning, sickness and rage swirling inside him. It was the monster, and it was clawing for release. Everyone, all his life, hadliedto him. Vicious, unthinkable lies. And then they’d stolen his body and twisted his soul. He was a freak and a monster. Because of them. A growl emanated in his chest, rising. He took a step toward the doctor, then two. Dr. Heathrow had grown confident with his words, but now he faltered, his eyes flashing fear.
“Whatever you’re thinking, I’d tread carefully,” the doctor ordered, attempting to sound commanding and failing miserably. “We gave you some time. But your time is up. We know where you’ve been. There was a tracking device on one of your ribs. It was damaged in the shooting, but even you should know we have methods of finding anyone, Sam.”
There was a tracking device on one of your ribs.The news hit him like a blow. They’d known where he was all along, every moment of his life, even the places he’d found a moment of freedom—or so he’d thought. But that too had been a lie. They’d tracked him like a dog. They could have swooped in and killed him at any moment. And they probably would have if he hadn’t disappeared—into New York City first and then to the cottage with Autumn.
“We know where you’re living, Sam,” the doctor said, his voice high-pitched and squeaky. “And we know with whom.”
With whom.
Autumn.
