Page 91 of Fighting for Brielle
When they reached the lab, Anderson peered at them. The blank expression on Brielle’s face mirrored Carson’s.
“You put up quite a fight yesterday, Miss McAdams. I trust you’ve learned your lesson.”
If she suddenly turned meek, she’d arouse his suspicion. “Is that all you’ve got?” she flung. The challenge hung in the air between them.
Anderson clenched his fist, and Carson straightened his body, staring at her as if she’d lost her damn mind.
“I’ve never hit a woman, but I’ll gladly make an exception in your case,” Anderson threatened.
“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Carson interjected, feigning a mild interest in the conversation. “McAdams knows a bunch of kung fu shit. She’ll knock you on your ass before you’re able to strike her.”
An angry muscle leapt along Anderson’s jawline. “Just get on with it!” he ordered Dr. Schow.
Brielle glanced back at Carson as she followed Dr. Schow into the virtual reality room, but he ignored her.
This time she was instructed to sit in an uncomfortable armchair as he hooked her up to more electrodes. A shiver ran down her spine.
Noting her reaction, Dr. Schow said, “Just watch the screen. That’s all you have to do to avoid punishment.”
She didn’t respond.Fake it. Fake it. Fake it.
A kaleidoscope of images appeared on all the screens around her. Narration accompanied each set of images, designed to perpetuate the propaganda Anderson wanted everyone to accept as truth. Brielle listened and watched for a while and grew disgusted by the blatant distortions of reality. Aware of subliminal messages affecting her brain, she closed her eyes, but a tiny shock caused her to open them.
Time to use techniques Trey taught her.
Her eyes focused on a spot above the screen. Then she allowed her mind to take her away from this time and place and back to her childhood spent in both Rutherford, Maine, and Boulder, Colorado. Blocking out the hate speech, she heard only the soulful sound of the Atlantic as it rushed to shore while she rode her pony on the beach. Shrieks of laughter filled her ears as she tussled with her brothers in the great room of their parents’ Victorian overlooking the beach. She smiled as her prissy sister refused to get down and dirty and wrestle with the boys.
Flashforward to the Triple B. At fifteen she sat at the kitchen table, her hands propping up her head as she discussed boys with Brianna and watched her mother bake one of her famous peach cobblers.
“What was it like falling in love with Dad?” she wanted to know.
“Like freefalling over a cliff,” Brianna responded with a smile.
“Was it really that easy?”
“No. You know your father was hiding from the Morales cartel.”
“If he had told you the truth, what would you have done?”
“Stayed with him in spite of the danger.”
“And Brendan Stewart might still be alive.”
Brianna winced. “Yes.”
“Brendan hates his name. He thinks you named him after the other Brendan out of guilt.”
“No, Brielle, I didn’t. I named him after Brendan out of love. I wanted to honor his memory.”
“Because he was there for you when Dad couldn’t be.”
“That’s true.” Brianna placed the cobbler in the oven.
“Mom, can I please,pretty please, start reading your novels? I’m fifteen, and all my friends have read them already!”
Brianna offered an indulgent smile. “All right, sweetheart. Go getEmerald Fury.”
Brielle jumped up and hugged her mother. “Thanks! I’ll let you know what I think!”
