Page 4 of Hunted to Be Mine
“Do you want redemption?”
“No.” Flat, final. “I want revelation. I want to look my monster in the eye and recognize myself. Can you give me that, Doctor? Or will you try to save me despite myself?”
Before I could answer, his body went rigid. Pupils dilated, then contracted to pinpoints. A low groan escaped him as his free palm clutched at his temple.
“Specter?”
His breathing changed: rapid, shallow. When his lashes lifted again, something fundamental had shifted. The calculated control was gone, replaced by raw panic.
“Where…” The tone was different, rougher, accent more pronounced. He yanked against the restraint hard enough to draw blood. “What is this place? Who are…” His focus landed on me, and for a moment, there was no recognition. Then: “You. You’re the one who watches. Always watching.”
“I’m Dr. Crawford. You’re safe…”
“No one’s safe.” He lunged forward, the restraint catching him short, but his free grip caught my wrist before I could pull back. Stronger than I’d expected. “They’re coming. They never stopped looking. Oblivion doesn’t let go of what belongs to them.”
“Specter...”
“That’s not my name!” The words tore from his throat. “I had a name. A real name. They took it, carved it out, but sometimes… sometimes, I almost…” His grip loosened, confusion replacing panic. “Who are you?”
“I’m here to help you remember.”
“Remember.” Ragged in that laugh. “I remember blood. So much blood. A woman screaming. Children crying. But I don’t know if I was saving them or…” His pupils rolled back, body convulsing once before going completely motionless.
“I need medical in here!”
But before Mattie could enter, his lashes snapped open. The panic was gone. The calculation was back. But there was something else now: a fracture in his practiced control.
“You saw him. The other one. The one they buried under all this programming.”
“Is he still in there? The person you were before?”
“Sometimes. In fragments. Screaming to get out.” He released my wrist, his fingers brushing my palm, and I tensed. “But here’s the thing, Doctor. I’m not sure he’s someone you’d want to meet. The programming didn’t create the monster. It just gave it purpose.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Don’t I?” This time, the smile held something almost gentle. “You should run, Dr. Crawford. Walk out that door and tell Dawson to find someone else. Someone who doesn’t have their own ghosts. Someone who won’t recognize themselves in me.”
“Is that what you want?”
“What I want…” A pause, seeming to taste the concept. “What I want is to remember her face.”
“Whose face?”
“The ones I either saved or killed. She had bright eyes, like yours. She trusted me, I think. Or maybe, she was terrified. The memories bleed together.” He looked at our hands, so close on the bed. “Do you know what it’s like, Doctor, to not know if you’re a hero or a monster?”
“Yes.”
The word slips out before I can hold it back. His gaze locks onto mine, sharp and perceptive. I barely have time to blink before his palm touches my cheek and he pulls me toward him for a kiss. Surprise stuns me, but the warmth of his lips shakes me enough to make me respond to the contact. It all happens in just a few seconds before he leans back, breaking the moment.
“That, Doctor, is the first honest thing either of us has said.”
He leaned back, breaking the moment. “Come back tomorrow. Bring your tools, your techniques, your desperate need to fix broken things. And I’ll give you pieces of myself. But remember: puzzles cut both ways. Sometimes, putting them together means getting cut on the edges.”
I stood, legs steadier than they should’ve been. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Specter.”
“Doctor.” His call stopped me at the door. “That doubt in your eyes when you look at difficult cases. Do you ever forgive yourself for the ones you couldn’t save?”
I turned back, meeting that pale-gray gaze one last time. “No.”
