Consume Me Page 7

  Georgia nodded in agreement. “To any of us. Even I talk about my childhood.”

  I could only imagine the twisted, fucked-up memories she had to share. But she was right. Norris, who was full of advice and wisdom, never relied on his own past for any of it. “How does this help us?”

  “We started looking for others like him,” Brex continued. “Men and women with military experience and cookie cutter backgrounds.”

  “You found more?” I guessed, finally releasing the table. This was something. I could feel it.

  “Not exactly. We found something else. Disappearances. Most labeled ‘probable suicides.”

  “Probable?” I repeated.

  “Sometimes there were notes, but never bodies,” Georgia said.

  “Why not just erase them entirely?” Smith asked. He’d been listening up until now, taking all this in with that shrewd, unnerving manner of his.

  “Family. Friends. These are real people—or, at least, some of them are—and we suspect that most of them aren’t dead at all.”

  “They’re operatives,” Georgia added.

  “But which ones?” Smith asked.

  “That’s what we’re trying to figure out. I’ve started conducting interviews with family members. Told them it was a routine follow-up to assess mental health concerns for surviving family of deceased military.” Brex shrugged. If lying to grieving families bothered him, he didn’t show any sign of it. Then again, if we were right, their family members were traitors. “I’ve only managed to speak to a half dozen, but I’ve heard the same thing a number of times. A few told me that they could have sworn they’d seen their loved ones. At a shop. On the street. In a park. They thought they were seeing ghosts, but…”

  “You can’t erase family,” I muttered. If this were true, if these men and women had walked away from their lives, that didn’t mean they could stay away from the people they loved, even if it was only to check in on them.

  “Won’t reaching out to the families be suspicious?” Smith asked. “It might be noticed.”

  A feline smile carved across Georgia’s face. “We’re counting on it.”

  Chapter 9

  CLARA

  I didn’t want to go back to my room. I didn’t want to blindly accept whatever fate these people had in store for me or my son. There were too many of them for this building to be as secure as I’d initially thought. So I took a page out of their playbook. They’d created a distraction to get to me. When June came to take me back to my ‘quarters,’ I took a few steps outside the exam room before I slumped against the wall.

  “Oh dear!” She rushed to help me. Her arms wrapping protectively around my shoulder. I wanted to push her away, but I needed her to buy into my act.

  “Sorry,” I murmured, pressing a hand to my forehead. “I feel dizzy.”

  “You need to eat. That blood draw,” she clucked. “Two days without food. Here.”

  Two days. Now I knew something else. I’d disappeared two days ago. I knew Alexander was searching for me. I knew he wouldn’t rest, and I could only hope that two days wouldn’t turn into three.

  June helped me to a chair, casting pitying glances my way. “I’ll be right back. Guard, can you come here!”

  She waved a man over to stay with me. I knew she wouldn’t trust me to stay here alone, but the guard she left me with looked me over, a mildly uncomfortable expression on his face. Was it because I was pregnant? Or because he knew who I was? I didn’t care. Either way he was damned in my book. I counted down from fifty. I needed enough time to make it look real and more time to do what I needed to before she got back.

  “Excuse me, I need to use the loo,” I called to him.

  “You can wait,” he said.

  “You’ve obviously not spent a lot of time around pregnant women,” I said flatly. “Fine. Someone else will clean it up.”

  I was absolutely willing to call his bluff on this.

  He looked torn, which meant that he would be the one who had to clean it up. His prisoner. His mess. “Fine. This way.”

  He clutched my arm as he led me to a bathroom, but he was surprisingly gentle. I wanted to ask him if he knew who I was, but I didn’t need another unnerving, out-of-body experience.

  “I’ll be out here,” he said.

  The bathroom didn’t offer any escape options, which wasn’t shocking. There was a ventilation grate that I might have fit into if I wasn’t carrying the equivalent of a watermelon around my torso. That was it. This place wasn’t big on natural light it seemed. Being alone gave me time to think, however. They’d bring me back to the clinic. I knew that, so the most I could hope for was seeing as much of the space as possible. Information was power.

  I collected myself for a moment, tucking away as much as I could: how many exam rooms we’d passed, the laboratory, the basic layout of everywhere I’d been taken. It wasn’t much but it was a start. When I opened the door, I clung to it, trying to look unsteady on my feet. It was a smart move, because June was standing next to the guard holding a bowl of gelatin.

  Yeah, that was going to do the trick.

  “Thank you,” I enthused, layering on the sugar. I reached out for help and the guard supported me. My fingers itched near his badge but taking it now wouldn’t help me. It would be noticed before I had a chance to use it and it wouldn’t take much to figure out where it had gone.

  No, I needed to be smart about this. I needed a plan. I needed as much information as possible. I needed more time. I just wasn’t sure how much more I had.

  “Just a little something,” June said, holding out a spoonful. “They’ll deliver your trays later.”

  I wanted to gag as I swallowed, hating myself for taking her help while hating how grateful I was to have something to ear. “I appreciate it.”

  “Of course, dear.” And she patted my hand again.

  * * *

  My skin crawled wherever I’d been touched: where the nurse had held my arm while drawing blood, where the doctors hands had felt my abdomen to determine the baby’s position, where June had patted my hand like she could comfort me. We returned to the dark corridor but instead of being taken to the room where I’d found the clothes, I was brought to the room next door.

  “They finally have your room ready and there’s fresh maternity clothes there,” June told me, like she expected a reward for her thoughtfulness. I forced a smile. “I think your arrival surprised them.”

  How? They’d been planning this. I couldn’t even imagine for how long.

  “Whose room was that?” But I had a few questions for my doting nurse.

  June looked to where I pointed. “Oh. That’s Rachel’s room.”

  “Rachel?” I asked. Maybe I hadn’t seen a ghost after all.

  “Another psychiatric case. You probably won’t see her. She tends to hide.”

  My blood froze in my veins. Another? Is that what she thought I was? Was that the lie they were selling the clueless people who worked here? People who must see as little of the outside world as their prisoners?

  “But her room was unlocked.” It didn’t make sense. Why had I been able to get to her.

  “Our patients are free to roam this wing,” she explained

  “All the other doors were locked.”

  “You’re free to lock yours.”

  Only because they could unlock it when the wanted, I was sure. “Are there many others?”

  “Not now. We recently had one of our patients leave us,” June smiled sadly. “Such a bright girl. I do hope she’s doing well.”

  I did, too. I hoped she was actually free. I hoped she was telling her story to anyone who would listen and I hoped that information got back to my husband.

  Most of all, I hoped that, whoever she was, she was alive.

  “The loo?” I asked. I hated asking. I hated pretending that this was normal. I wasn’t a patient. This wasn’t a hospital. I’d been stolen—my life had been stolen.

  “Down the hall, last door on the
right. It locks, too,” she reassured me.

  So maybe that was where this Rachel was hiding unless she’d gone back to her room.

  My room was about as homey as Rachel’s it turned out. A bed. A shelf with a few worn paperbacks of movies I’d already seen. A dresser with some nondescript items that looked more like tents than clothing. I changed into one, grateful to cover myself despite the scratchy, ill-fitting fabric.

  Not long after June disappeared, a guard showed up carrying two trays of food. He placed it in front of me without a word. Was that how they justified what they were doing? Avoiding eye contact? Not speaking to us?

  As soon as he was gone, I peeked out of my room. Rachel’s door was open. Grabbing the apple, I tiptoed over to it, but the room was empty and her tray untouched.

  Going down the hall I discovered the loo was still locked, too. Apparently, she was more scared of me than anyone else.

  “Can I use that?” I called. “I’m pregnant.”

  I waited, wondering if playing that card would get me enough sympathy, to lure her out. After a few seconds, I heard a lock click. Two dark eyes peeked out at me from the cracked door.

  “Rachel?” I asked.

  She bobbed her head.

  “Dinner’s here,” I said. I was lying about the loo. Usually, I needed it every ten minutes, but with so little food and water, I didn’t feel the urge. It was a truth that didn’t sit well with me. “I thought you would want to know.”

  I half expected her to run back to her room and lock the door. Instead, she walked alongside me, her eyes darting nervously over her shoulder. She looked so familiar, I could swear that we’d met before, but we couldn’t have. Dark eyes, long black hair that hadn’t been cut in months. Years? Her skin was pale, and she was thin. Too thin. Her gait was stilted and plodding as though walking was difficult for her. It took everything in me not to start asking questions—or jumping to conclusions.

  I needed her to trust me. We were in this together and I was betting that she was no more a psychiatric case than I was. But why was she here? Where had I seen her before?

  “Can I eat with you?” I asked. Her room had a table. Mine only had a bed. I tried not to think what not warranting a table said about my longterm prospects for survival.

  “Okay,” she softly, sounding like she was trying out the word. Did she leave her often? Was that why she was skittish, because she rarely saw people?

  We ate a few bites in heavy silence. It occurred to me that the food might be poisoned but I was too hungry to care. Dr. Rolland had assured me that they baby wouldn’t be harmed, so for now I had to trust that. Neither of us would make it long without food anyway. When I reached for the apple I’d stashed in my pocket, she shook her head. Her hand darted out and knocked it to the floor.

  “Don’t eat that,” she whispered, her eyes flickering around the room. “It puts you to sleep.”

  “An apple?” I stared at it lying on the ground.

  “When I ate them, I woke up in bed but there was always something different.” She pointed to her head. “My hair would be shorter or there were bruises on my arms. The last time I ate one, I woke up somewhere strange with people all around me before I fell back asleep.”

  What were they doing to her while she slept? What would they do to me? An icy finger ran up my spine as I remembered what Rolland had said about the baby being viable. Was that their plan? Put me into a never-ending sleep?

  Rachel’s eyes narrowed and she studied me for a second. “Do I know you?”

  “Not sure.” I reached down and pocketed the apple again. They didn’t need to know I hadn’t eaten it.

  “How did you get here?” I asked her when I couldn’t stand waiting any longer. I needed answers. Rachel didn’t seem like a valuable source of information, particularly if she’d been asleep for most of their procedures, but she’d been her longer than I had. She knew things, like the bit about the apple. She could still help me.

  She shrugged, her dark eyes a little glossy.

  “You don’t know?” I pressed. “What about your life before?”

  “I remember stuff, but the doctors say I’m wrong.” She sighed and I knew then that she’d given up. That was the difference between us. I wouldn’t give up not until they killed me.

  “What kind of stuff?” I asked. There had to be more to it.

  “Crazy stuff,” she whispered like she was scared they were listening in on us. In fairness, they probably were. “They told me that when I stop believing the crazy stuff I can go.”

  So, that’s why she was so quiet. But would that work? If she just said whatever lies they sold her, they would let her go. I wished I’d been offered that deal. “How long have you been here?”

  “A couple of months,” she said, tacking on, “I think.”

  “You know, Rachel,” I lowered my voice. “I remember crazy stuff, too.”

  “You do?” Her eyes went wild for a moment.

  I seized on this sudden display of life. “I might believe you.”

  She shook her head, the life fading from her as quickly as it had ignited. “I want to stop believing it.”

  She wanted to leave. I couldn’t blame her there.

  “That’s what he tells me to do,” she continued.

  “He?”

  “The nice one,” she says. “He comes sometimes with the guards. I don’t think he’s a doctor though.”

  “What’s his name?” I asked. There had to be something else. Something more.

  “Don’t know.” She tore a bite of bread off with her teeth. “They call him “your highness.”

  I went utterly still. I could have sworn my heart stopped beating. June said she didn’t know who I was, but it couldn’t be a coincidence that this man was called by that nickname.

  “But it’s like a joke. I asked him and he said they were being stupid. I don’t know his name. He tells me that when I stop remembering the crazy stuff, they’ll let me go,” she prattled on. I didn’t know if it was the food or the conversation invigorating her. I, on the other hand, felt more drained and powerless than ever.

  “Okay,” I said, grasping for some way to get her to tell me more. “But maybe if we think the same crazy stuff it would prove that it’s not crazy. We couldn’t both have gotten here the same way, right? That would mean we’re not crazy.”

  I spoke quickly, hoping she didn’t think that through too hard. It didn’t begin to make sense, which meant I was really good at playing mental myself or I was finally beginning to crack.

  “I guess,” she said. Her nose wrinkled as if she was trying to think through my logic and get to the same conclusion. Thankfully, she must have decided the suggestion had some merit. “I was a nurse, I think. The doctors said that part is true. They say I lost a patient and had a psychotic break.”

  She spoke as though she was reading off a list not going from memory. It was a lie. It was painfully obvious. But why convince her she’d lost her mind? Why bring her here in the first place?

  “What do you remember?” I asked her softly, unsure she would continue.

  She looked over my shoulder towards a past she could still remember but no longer trusted. “I had a job. It was new and I had to sign a lot of papers. The patient was someone important, but I wouldn’t find out who until I was trained.”

  “And?” A pit was opening in my chest as she continued—as I began to understand what had happened.

  “I showed up at the job. It was on a private estate. That’s it. Then I woke up. Something must have happened to the patient. That must have been when I had the psychotic break.” For some reason, arriving to this thought seemed to please her.

  She’d begun to buy their story, but how long had they been selling it to her? Was that the fate that actually awaited me? Not death, but rather a gradual slipping away of everything that made me who I was—of everything I loved.

  They say that there’s always some truth needed to sell a lie. And this mystery patient? I had a terr
ible feeling that was real.

  Too many things were falling into place. I stared at her again. “You never saw the patient?”

  She lifted her thin shoulders before letting them slump back to their previously defeated position. “I don’t remember.”

  “The house?” I said desperately. I needed to know, even if I didn’t want to. “Do you remember where it was?”

  “I shouldn’t say,” she whispered. “The documents said I couldn’t.”

  Even after all this time, she was doing her job. If only she realized the truth, maybe she wouldn’t feel beholden to those agreements any longer.

  I lowered my voice to match hers. “It’s important.”

  “It belonged to the royal family,” she said her voice so quiet now that I hoped I was hearing things.

  But I wasn’t.

  The royal family. The house belonged to us—and there was a house and a patient. But why? Why drug a nurse? Why lock her away? What did she see that warranted such a cruel punishment?

  Unless…

  I had to know if I was crazy or if I’d finally found a piece to a puzzle I didn’t know I was solving. There was one way to do it.

  “Rachel, do you have any idea who I am?” I asked in a strangled voice.

  She shook her head, studying me for a moment like she might find a clue. “Should I?”

  “No.” I said. There was one more question that would tell me everything I needed to know, one that could raise a million others. I asked anyway. “What year is it?”

  She cocked her head looking at me like I was the crazy one. “2009.”

  Chapter 10

  It hadn’t taken him long to figure out exactly where he was—that was the first and last bit of good news.

  The nurse believed he knew where the Queen was, which meant she was still missing. He didn’t know what category to sort that info into. It didn’t quite add up—the attack, the interrogation, the restraints binding him now—which was how he knew it was all a lie.