“I will be civil with you,” I say, my tone level. “I only require you to be the same.”

Her features harden. “I’m going to tear your face off.”

There she is, the monster beneath the facade. “I’m sure you would,” I say, as I walk toward the curtain. “But you won’t be given the chance.”

And to think, just hours earlier I was doubting myself. Questioning my commitment to the project, my choice in selecting Blakely. That one moment between us at my apartment, right before we left, I was on the verge of abandoning it all.

There had been opportunities prior to that where I could have subdued her. We didn’t need to go through the whole farce of the Ericson revenge job. But I had doubts, I had reservations, and I wasn’t sure until that final moment that she was the right choice.

“You know,” I say, as I collect the syringe and glass vial of general anesthetic from the metal tray, “there was a second where I was second-guessing my decision about you. A moment of hesitancy, a bout of conscience, if you will.”

“So what changed your mind? My charming personality?”

A flat smile lines my face. “No matter how focused one is on their goal, the human condition dictates that we should wrestle with the choice to cause another human being harm.” I draw closer to her, so that we’re staring into each other’s eyes. “And then you admitted that you didn’t care what happen to the hooker, that she was collateral damage. Expendable was the word you used.”

I use the needle tip to touch the tender part of her hand, and she jerks away. “In that moment, I knew I didn’t have a choice,” I continue, meeting her eyes again. “You are the perfect subject.”

“Everyone has a choice,” she says, jaw set tight.

“That may be so, but you also had a choice to protect her.” I insert the needle into the vial and fill the syringe. “Instead, true to your nature, you found her expendable. A means to your end. Her life was of no consequence.”

“And yet, did you stick around to help Maybelline, Alex?”

My shoulders tense. “I never entered the penthouse. I used a recorded track from the MMA fight. I removed the background noise and played it for you while you waited to be lured to the park.”

Her lips twist into a smirk. “That’s not what I asked.”

A morsel of shame settles in the pit of my stomach. “Whereas you were negligent with her life in pursuit of money, my aim is for the greater good—”

“Sure. I get the point.” She looks at the needle. Her concern is on herself again.

Holding the syringe aloft, I wait, reveling in the knowledge that soon Blakely will know exactly what it is to feel shame. An emotion I have battled with every failed experiment. How much will that change her?

“This is for the greater good, I assure you. We’re going to make history together.” I check the time on my pocket watch to note the hour before we begin.

The ticking is loud in the chamber, echoing all around me. I wonder if Blakely hears it. As I draw closer to her, the delicate scent of her perfume invades my senses, and the temptation to lean in to her, to touch her soft skin, is a vicious taunt.

With a deep inhalation, I take in the last trace of her and harden my resolve. Her perfume will fade soon, subsequently releasing me from its spell.

“Alex, wait. None of this makes sense. You can’t do this.”

The ticking grows louder. “We’ve already wasted too much time. Precious hours and days lost to the identification process. Thirty-five years, Blakely. That may not be enough.” An approximation of how much time I have to develop a cure. I can’t stop the countdown in my head.

That’s also another factor as to why I chose her. She’s young. Healthy. Strong. She can endure the procedure.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” She yanks her ankle against the leather cuff uselessly.

I allow myself one moment of weakness and touch her hair, feathering my fingers through the soft strands to drag them away from her face. “You’re sick, Blakely, and I’m going to cure you.”

For the first time since she awoke to her new reality, I see a glimmer of real fear in her vibrant green eyes. “You’re absolutely mad.”

“We are all mad in pursuit of our passions.”

She tries again to free her arm. “You said this was all to get me to this stage. What fucking stage, Alex?”

I clasp her forearm and band it to the bed. “The testing stage,” I say, as I insert the needle into her vein.

15

Captive

Blakely

When I wake again, my body is numb, my head feels thick. The very texture of the air seems heavy, as if I’ve been submerged under water and it’s difficult to raise my arms or even lift my eyelids. I continue to try, and notice the plastic tubes. One on top of my hand, more in my arm.

I’m wearing a nightgown, like the ones at the hospital. I shift my legs with the jolting realization that a catheter has been inserted. My bladder is empty. I’d be humiliated, if not for the very real awareness that something far more sinister is looming.

I take stock of my surroundings. There are no windows. White cinderblock walls prevent any sounds of the outside world from leaking inside. Which means no one can hear me outside of them. There’s an exposed ventilation system, but the shaft cut into the ceiling isn’t large enough to fit through. I’m sure Alex has thought this through and taken every measure to keep me hidden and trapped.

Underneath the antiseptic smell that infuses this room, I catch the faint scent of water. Not chlorinated water that comes from the tap—but earthy fresh water, as if there’s a source somewhere nearby.

I inch upward on the gurney and touch my forehead. The chains connected to the leather restrains clink against the metal rail of the gurney, reminding me that I’m a captive. I’m drowsy from the anesthesia. I remember him…and the needle…

You’re sick, Blakely, and I’m going to cure you.

He’s delusional. Or just plain fucking crazy. Either way, he’s playing mad scientist and I’m his patient. What the hell did he do to me while I was under?

As I comb through our conversation, looking for any hint of a way out of this hell hole, one thing stands out.

His sister.

Her murder was gruesome. I saw the news report about a doctor being lobotomized a few years ago, and I recall the killer—but what I need to find out is everything Alex knows about Dr. Mary what’s-her-name.

She’s his reason, his purpose. That means she’s his weakness.

The hollow clang of a door opening reaches my ears, and I take note of the sounds of a metal bar sliding back and the squeak of door hinges. This place might be old. Some warehouse. Which means there could be another way out.

I need to get out of this bed. Before Alex enters the room, I test the restraints. I’m weak and groggy, and the cuffs are latched tightly.

The curtain draws back. Alex is wearing a white lab coat and his glasses and tussled hair, looking every bit his part the mad scientist.

“What did you do to me?” I demand.

He rests a finger over his mouth as he assesses me. “Nothing too invasive yet,” he says, then turns to roll a computer cart closer to the gurney. It’s the yet that I find disturbing.

“I knew you wouldn’t cooperate and hold still for the scan,” he continues, “so I had to put you under. Not ideal for the best results, but we just needed a baseline.”

I notice the crude contraption on the cart then. It looks like some homemade virtual reality device with sensors placed along the inside. “You did a brain scan,” I say.

“Very good. Welcome back, Blakely. I was starting to worry that the ketamine fried too many brain cells.” He types on the keyboard, pausing to follow my line of sight to the instrument. “Let me explain. It would be cumbersome to lug an fMRI machine here. They’re huge, expensive, nonpractical, and really, technology has come a ways since their creation.” He places a hand on the device proudly. “I borrowed this design from a Korean lab that specializes in home brain scanning. For fun.” He raises his eyebrows for emphasis. “It’s all the rage there, scanning brains, discovering what makes us tick.”