Page 55

CHAPTER

THIRTY-NINE

ELI

EARLIER THAT NIGHT…

I wake up choking and gasping for air. A burst of adrenaline shocks me into an upright position. Acacia looms, bearing an empty injection from the shot.

“We’re going on a field trip, Twenty-Five,” he says menacingly. “Rise and shine.”

He’s never taken a patient out of Sunnycrest before, unless they’re in a body bag.

Why start now? My heart sinks. What twisted experiment will I face next?

I start counting back from one hundred in my head to regain control.

Losing control is akin to signing a death warrant here, and it only worsens any pain. I learned that the hard way.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“That is not your concern, Twenty-Five,” he says. “Don’t ask questions.”

He clutches a small gadget that looks like a remote control. I gulp, knowing its function. Whenever he presses the red button in its center, a dose of a mystery drug is administered straight into my bloodstream by the new implant in my arm.

Experimental drug use should be reserved for the rats, but I’ve become his new subject since being held hostage.

When I’m not sedated, he’s been using me to test a strange chemical concoction.

I’m not entirely sure of the drug’s purpose, only that I am compelled to obey Acacia’s orders whenever he pushes the button.

The side effects range from general confusion to recalling strange memories of events that I have no recollection of, making me lose grip on reality.

At least being tortured is simple. Handling pain and healing physical wounds is easy compared to questioning who you are and being warped into a compliant soldier.

“Put these on,” he commands, handing me a white orderly outfit.

I stare at the clothes in confusion. “What?—”

“I said, no questions.” He presses the red button. A calmness whooshes through me. My limbs move of their own accord, quickly dressing, eager to follow his orders. He gives me a once-over and places a baseball cap on my head before nodding in satisfaction. “Good. Follow me.”

We’re the only two people in this part of the asylum. He’s been carrying out the bulk of his experiments on me alone. As I’ve drifted in and out of lucidity, I’ve watched him tinkering with chemicals and formulations, making rushed notes between mixing them together like a mad scientist.

“This will show her,” Acacia mutters, more to himself than to me.

My brain wants to question who he’s talking about, then halts. Whenever I have an original thought, a mental roadblock shuts it down in a flash. I’m Acacia’s puppet, and sheer willpower isn’t enough to fight it.

“You will do exactly as I say,” Acacia says. “Understood?”

“Yes.”

He leads me out of the asylum. I inhale the crisp fresh air, and the wind caresses my cheeks for the first time in years. Imagine how good running would feel. Numbness sweeps through me, making my limbs tingle, and extinguishes any thoughts of escape.

“This way.” Acacia heads to a white van that’s usually used for making deliveries or moving patients between facilities. He opens the door. “Get in.”

Once buckled in, he locks us inside and turns the key in the ignition. The last time I was in a vehicle, someone was bringing me to this hellhole under false pretenses.

I stare blankly out of the window. For a brief second, I think I see my younger self looking back. An innocent boy, full of hope, with his entire life stretching ahead of him. I put a hand to the cold glass, wishing I could turn back time. When I blink, the little boy is gone.

I return my gaze to the road. We’re jostled back and forth, trundling across the uneven road surface. Acacia swears under his breath in exasperation, one eye ahead and the other on his cell phone. His knuckles turn white, gripping the steering wheel with steely determination.

We reach the bottom of the mountain and join a stream of other cars.

They are a colorful blur, streaking across my vision like shooting stars in dazzling rays of red, blue, and gray.

It’s surreal, watching ordinary people go about their lives, stopping at the gas station, visiting grocery stores, going to the local diner.

I knew there was a world outside Sunnycrest, but it may as well be another planet.

It’s been so long since I’ve been a part of civilization that even the mundane is mesmerizing.

Acacia clicks the red button again. Any wonder evaporates and is replaced by another fresh wave of nothingness.

Eventually, we come to a stop on a normal-looking street.

Acacia points at a group of teenagers partying on the lawn. “Do you see her?”

The group dances to loud music and they pass around red cups, laughing between themselves. A beautiful blonde girl in a blue dress stands in the middle of them, beaming.

“Sarah…”

I lunge for the door handle. My desire to protect her overpowers whatever medication pumps through my veins. I have to warn her! Another click of the dreaded button makes me slump backward. I’m not going anywhere.

A handsome guy with a perfect smile wraps his arm around Sarah’s shoulders and whispers something in her ear that makes her giggle. My fists clench in anger. My first instinct is to smash out every single one of his white teeth, but I don’t know why…

“Keep your eyes on her,” Acacia orders, clicking the button to eradicate my anger. “Don’t look away.”

Sarah turns in our direction. Our eyes meet. Her jaw drops in horror, like she’s seen a ghost.

“Dammit,” he curses, hitting the gas and speeding away. “Change of plans.”

I check the mirror to see Sarah grabbing the guy’s arm, worry written all over her face, and tugging him to a waiting car.

We drive around for a while, weaving through the streets with no clear destination in mind. Acacia doesn’t speak, but he grinds his teeth in fury and occasionally slams his hands on the wheel, while checking his cell phone like an obsessive stalker.

“That should do it,” he mumbles, coming to a stop outside an ordinary house surrounded by a high gate.

My stomach drops as I squint to see a familiar figure in the darkness, creeping around the side of the building toward the garage and out of our view.

“Time to go, Twenty-Five.”

Acacia gets out, and I follow. We slink around the back of the house to catch up with Sarah, who’s talking on the phone.

“Grab her,” Acacia instructs, jamming the button three times. “Now!”

I lose all sense of who I am. His words are all I can comprehend. I dive at Sarah in the darkness. She squeals as I get her in a headlock then spin her to face Acacia.

“You’ve already had your last warning, Sarah. Enough is enough,” Acacia spits, striking her hard across the face. “Follow me, Twenty-Five.”

Sarah resists as I drag her through the garden.

She digs her heels into the grass, but it’s no use.

I haul her through the back door, smothering her mouth so no one hears her screams. She claws my arms, thrashing to free herself, but it’s a losing battle.

She stands no chance against me. I’m stronger and will always have the upper hand.

“Drop her,” Acacia hisses.

Sarah falls to the cold tiled floor, her hair flops forward and covers her face. We’re in a pristine kitchen. There’s no light aside from various appliances on standby, making it difficult to see.

“Dad, please!” Sarah sobs. “You don’t understand…”

Her shoulders shake inconsolably from her hysterical sniveling.

“Enough!” Acacia roars. “‘I’ve tried everything, Sarah. I really have. I’ve given you chance after chance, time and time again. Therapy didn’t make a difference. A stint in Sunnycrest didn’t help. What choice do I have when you still insist on defying me? You’re beyond saving.”

She grabs my ankle and yanks on my pant leg, as if she’s pleading for my help.

I don’t look down.

“Twenty-Five?”

I stand to attention, ready to do whatever he asks. Acacia’s word is all that matters. “Yes, sir?”

“Snap her neck,” he orders.

He watches me closely, checking for any sign of resistance, but there is none.

I step closer. Sarah’s cries echo around the empty room as she crawls away, backing herself into a corner against the kitchen cabinets. There’s no escape.

Suddenly, a voice buried deep in my subconscious screams at me to freeze.

“No.” I halt. “I can’t.”

“Twenty-Five.” Acacia lowers his voice in warning. “That was an order.” He jabs the red button on the remote multiple times. So many times that I lose count. “Kill her!”

I blink.

Acacia’s orders fill every crevice of my mind, echoing like a mantra.

Snap her neck.

Snap her neck.

Snap her neck.

I corner the crying girl. She begs for her life, but her words are nothing more than background noise. All that matters is doing what Acacia wants.

Kill her.

A quick twist, snap, and jerk is all it takes.

“Very good, Twenty-Five,” Acacia says. “Very good.”

His praise fills me with pride while Sarah’s lifeless body lies at my feet.

He hands me the keys. “Wait in the back of the van. I’ll be with you soon.”

Wait. I step over her corpse, putting one foot in front of the other. Wait in the back of the van.

All my emotions are muted. I’m aware of what I’ve done, but I can’t do anything about it, nor do I feel any guilt—or anything at all, for that matter.

I wait in the back of the van in the pitch black, as instructed, until Acacia returns. I’m not sure how long he takes. It could be ten minutes or an hour. When he cracks open the doors, he’s red in the face, struggling to haul a long object wrapped in black plastic by himself.

“Take this end,” Acacia instructs.

I wince as the package hits the van floor with a thunk. Together, we heave it into the back.

“Don’t make a sound,” Acacia warns. He shows no remorse or sadness for his daughter’s death, only impatience. “I’ll be back.”

A strand of hair pokes out of the edge of the black plastic, and my stomach churns.

Her body is still warm.

Sarah. The girl I love. Dead.

Acacia returns a few minutes later with a shovel. He throws it at me, then slams the van door closed and leaves me with her.

I’m catapulted to an early memory, recalling my mother’s lifeless body lying at the bottom of the stairs after my father pushed her.

I pull Sarah’s head onto my lap and stroke her hair as we drive.

It’s the last time I’ll ever touch her. I want to be able to cry and apologize.

I want to tell her how much she means to me and make these last precious seconds together count, yet numbness swallows me once more. I say and feel nothing.

I cradle her as the van speeds over bumps, trying to protect her, even though I know it’s too late and I couldn’t save her when it really mattered.

The silence is punctuated by Acacia raving outbursts from the front.

Usually, he’s so controlled and meticulously plans every action. Now, he could be one of his patients.

The journey seems to last forever and take no time at all while I’m suspended in a surreal cerebral state, unsure whether this is even happening.

Eventually, we stop, and Acacia wrenches the doors open.

Moonlight streams in. Sunnycrest looms behind him like a sinister background in a gothic horror.

We’re parked in an unloading bay, although it’s usually canned goods people are carrying instead of corpses.

“Carry the package.” His words come in a breathy rush, and craziness lurks behind his wild eyes. “Fucking move!”

I sling her body—the package—over my shoulder, and follow him.

He stalks through the building, and I struggle to keep up with his relentless pace.

We weave through the empty corridors. Our footsteps, my breathing, and Acacia’s swiping key card admitting us into a restricted area are the only sounds I hear.

“In here!” Acacia beckons me into the morgue. “Quickly!”

This is where he keeps the bodies of subjects who died in his experiments before throwing them into the furnace, if their organs can’t be farmed. I shiver, suddenly grateful that drugs are suppressing my emotions.

There are nine compartments in the mortuary cabinet, and I wonder how many are empty…

Acacia wrenches a lever to open one and pulls out a steel rack.

He points at it, and says, “Dump the package here.”

I place her down with a thud, and Acacia quickly stows her away.

As soon as she’s hidden behind the silver panel, he inhales deeply.

His chest puffs out dramatically while he regains his composure.

When he exhales again, any signs of frantic panic are replaced by his usual impassive, stony expression.

“Twenty-Five.” He narrows his eyes. “If you speak a word of what happened tonight to anyone outside of these walls, I’ll make sure the world knows what you really are. A killer.”

I’m a killer.

I’m a killer.

I’m a killer.

He puts his hands on either side of my head. “Say it.”

“I’m a killer,” I say, burning the message into my brain like a brand.

“Again!”

“I’m a killer,” I repeat.

“Again!”

“I’m. A. Killer.”