Page 59 of Girl Lost
“Good to see you awake.” Doc sounded almost cheerful. He tapped at a tablet in his hands, eyes scanning whatever data was displayedthere. “You’ll be pleased to know you’re in excellent health for a man of your age. Quite impressive, really.”
He wasn’t that old—wait. “How do you know my age?”
Doc looked up, a patronizing smile on his face. “Don’t be silly. I have all of my patients’ medical histories. It’s standard procedure.”
“I’m not your patient.”
“Now, now. That’s no way to talk to the physician who’s taking care of you. I am keeping you healthy, after all.”
He knew that tone. It was the same saccharine sweet one Tori used when she was in psychiatrist mode.
“Where’s Trinity?”
A flicker of ... something passed across the doctor’s face. Annoyance? Concern? It was gone too quickly to read. “Don’t worry about Ms. Brown. She’s in good hands now.”
“She was in good hands before.”
Doc’s arms formed an X over his tablet as he held it against his chest. “Was she? If that were true, she wouldn’t be killing herself with drugs, now would she?”
The accusation hit like a liver strike. Painful. Debilitating. The program had failed her. He’d failed her.
“You know, I just don’t understand it.” Doc began to pace. “Youngsters like Trinity. They have their whole lives ahead of them. They could be anything. Astronaut. Doctor. Inventor. Artist. Supreme Court justice.” He ticked them off on his fingers. “The world is their oyster. And what do they do?” Doc glared at him. “They choose death.”
He had a sinking feeling he already knew, but he asked, “What do you mean?”
“They run away from home, chasing after meaningless things. Get lost in promiscuity, alcohol, drugs. Meanwhile, they don’t see that they’re killing themselves.” Doc’s words came faster. “STDs. Liver failure. Irreparable damage to their developing brains. And you know what the real tragedy is?”
He continued, not waiting for a response. “While these girlsare throwing their lives away, there are others their age suffering through no fault of their own.” He stopped at the foot of Stryker’s bed, and Stryker had to put his chin to his chest to see him.
“Imagine a girl who dreams of being a surgeon. She’s made all the right choices. Made the grades. Volunteered. Saved her money. Gotten into an Ivy League school. And all the while, a disease she didn’t ask for, didn’t cause, is slowly killing her.” Doc punched the last two words. “She doesn’t know when she’ll die, but she knows she will. It’s hopeless. Unless there’s a miracle. All the while, girls like Trinity are working overtime to kill themselves ... On purpose.”
Doc’s eyes blazed with outrage. “Can you imagine what that must feel like? To know you would do anything to have a healthy body. A chance to see all your hard work pay off. But then you see a girl your own age simply throwing their perfectly good healthy body away?”
Pieces fell into place. “Is that what you’re looking for, Doc? Healthy bodies? Healthy organs?”
Doc wagged his finger at him. “Ah, I knew you were smart. That’s why I never should have let you bring Trinity to the clinic. You lack something the others had.”
“And what’s that?”
“Desperation,” Doc said simply. “The desperate need to save your child’s life at all costs.”
“Even if it means someone else has to die?” He took a moment to push down what he felt rising in his chest. “You’re supposed to be helping people here. It’s why I talked Trinity into joining the clinical trial.”
“Iamhelping people! I saved Trinity’s life. Without me, she would’ve died. I had to bring her back to keep her from destroying herself again.” He rounded the bed and jabbed a finger in Stryker’s chest. “If you had done your job, none of this would have been necessary.”
The accusation stung, but he pushed past it. “What do you mean, you had to bring her back?”
The doctor sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I have to keep my investors happy. They won’t keep funding my research if I don’t show progress. Not every person survives, but they do live on. And if more people understood how important my work is, then I wouldn’t have to take matters into my own hands.”
This man didn’t see people—he saw resources. Test subjects. And when he’d said he didn’t waste resources...
The doctor must have read something in his expression, because a small, satisfied smile played at the corners of his mouth. “Don’t worry, Mr. King. Your sacrifice will save lives. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted? To save lives. To ... make a difference?”
Stryker glanced down at the tubes and wires connected to his body. The realization sank in.
He wasn’t just a prisoner here.
He was the next experiment.
