Page 32 of Hunted to Be Mine
“When I ask you to access a memory, picture opening a door,” I said, keeping it low. “Just a crack, just enough to peek inside. If it becomes overwhelming, focus on my contact; it will anchor you to the present.”
I guided him back to the moment before the pain. “Not the pain itself, but what came just before. Was there an image? A word? A feeling?”
He was silent for so long I thought he might not answer. Then, so quietly I almost missed it, he whispered: “Green.”
“Dark?” I kept the circles steady.
“Tunnels.” A fine tremor ran through his shoulders. “Hills—no, mountains.”
I kept my touch consistent, maintaining the anchor. “What else do you see?”
“White walls. Cold.”
“Is this from a mission?” I asked carefully.
“No. Before. Training. The facility.”
“That place. I remember it.”
“Tell me about it.”
His eyes remained closed, but I could see them moving beneath his lids, tracking through memories as they surfaced. “It’s where they took us. Somewhere in the mountains. Somewhere with seasons.”
“Who is ‘us’?” I asked.
“The subjects. The ones who survived phase one.” His voice took on a distant quality, as though reciting information rather than reliving experience. “Six of us, I think. No, seven. Seven started there. Not all finished.”
I resumed the gentle circles at his temples, keeping him anchored as he ventured deeper into the memory. “What happened there?”
“Training.” The word came out flat. “Combat. Weapons. Infiltration. Psychological warfare.” His jaw set. “Pain. And reconditioning when necessary.”
“Reconditioning.” I kept my tone neutral. “What did that involve?”
A muscle in his cheek jumped. His jaw clamped, teeth faintly grinding. “Depends on the infraction. Minor failures meant physical punishment. Major failures…” He trailed off, then continued more quietly. “Major failures meant the Chair.”
“Tell me about the Chair,” I said, my gut tightening at the clinical detachment in his voice.
His breathing accelerated again, sweat beading at his hairline despite the room’s cool air. I increased the pressure of my fingers, strengthening the anchor to the present.
“Metal. Restraints at wrists, ankles, across the chest. A headpiece with electrodes.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Triggers.”
I swallowed, steadying my hands even as revulsion crawled up my spine. “What kind of triggers?”
“Disobedience. Questioning orders. Emotional attachment.” His expression remained blank despite the tension in his body. “They’d show images, people, places, while administering the pain.”
“And this was part of your conditioning?” I asked, the words not as steady as I wanted.
He nodded slowly. “Everyone’s. It’s how they ensured compliance.” A bitter curve touched his lips. “Some responded better than others.”
The weight of it hung between us, heavy.
“That place,” I said, holding to the thread. “Can you remember anything else? Names, faces?”
He closed his eyes again, concentrating. “There was a woman. Dark hair. She worked with the medical team, but she wasn’t like the others.” His breathing quickened. “She didn’t… she didn’t enjoy it.”
“A doctor?” I asked.
“Maybe. She wore a lab coat.” His brow tightened, a vertical line appearing between his brows. “She called me by a different name once. When no one else was around.”
