“You,” Sir says, disgust in his gaze before he turns away. “You have five minutes to get dressed.”
Then he shuts the door with a decisive click.
I blow out a breath, off balance at the sudden intrusion. But Dean grabs my face in his hands and presses a kiss to my lips. “It’s all right,” he says.
I’m not sure what “it” refers to or if he’s simply offering sweeping reassurances. But I don’t argue.
Declan props himself on his elbows, eyeing me with a heat that would have distracted me if not for Sir waiting outside.
“Morning, witch-girl.” He leans up and kisses me hard on the mouth.
“Morning.” I smile at him and then hurry to get dressed, aware of the ticking clock. As much as I don’t want to leave this room, I also don’t want to know if Sir would force me upstairs naked if I’m not ready in time.
While I dress, the boys talk quietly. I hear Declan threatening to rip Sir’s throat out if he so much as touches me. And Dean speculating about what Cutter wants with me now. The term “bloody wanker” is tossed about liberally in regards to both of them. But none of us can begin to predict what will happen after last night’s party. After Maria.
I swallow hard and finger-comb my messy hair. Being with Dean and Declan gave my heart and mind a reprieve from the torment of last night, but now the memories rush in again, harsh and unyielding. There will be consequences to that party.
Fear and nerves grip me, and I hurry back to bed and into Dean’s already-open arms for one more hug. He kisses the top of my head.
“It’s all right,” he says again soothingly. “We’ll be right here when you get back, love.”
I pull away and Declan grabs me, leaping out of bed to pull me into a proper embrace. He’s naked with his bare ass aimed at the door when Sir opens it again.
“Time’s up,” Sir says flatly.
Declan just grins down at me, winks, and steps back, still showing Sir his backside as I walk out.
Sir is quiet as we walk, and I decide to keep it that way. No question is worth drawing any extra attention from this man. Instead, my mind wanders to Dr. Livingstone and I sigh, my heart aching as I remember how he looked at me when he left last night. Desperate. Ashamed. Like he hated himself.
I need to talk to him.
Maybe today we can go outside again and speak privately.
There has to be a way out of here, and if anyone knows it, it’s him.
But Sir doesn’t take me to the doctor’s office. Instead, he leads me down a flight of stairs and for a panicked moment, I think we’re headed back to the dungeon I occupied until not so long ago.
But when we emerge from the stairwell, I see that we’re in another hallway much like the one we left behind. Whitewashed walls and matching floors that gleam under harsh lights.
I rub my arms to chase away the chill that follows me and catch sight of two spirits trailing behind me. They wear matching expressions of worry and fear, but they don’t speak. A man in scrubs passes us, with Holly trailing in his wake. She barely looks up as she shuffles past, and I note her bloodshot eyes and hunched shoulders. She looks exhausted, but she’s gone before I can think of anything to say.
Finally, Sir stops in front of a door and shoves it open, gesturing for me to enter. I step inside warily, unsure of what—or who—I’ll find. The back wall is lined with machines that are attached to tubes and straps I can’t quite make sense of. In the center is what looks like a dentist’s chair except that it, too, has straps, and it’s easy enough to tell what those are for.
I falter, imagining being strapped in and helpless for who knows what kind of horrors Cutter has planned.
Sir grunts and shoves me forward, shutting the door behind me as he leaves. A lock clicks and I gulp hard when I notice the other person already standing inside the small space.
“Sit.” Nurse Schmidt orders me to the chair.
I lift my chin, heart racing. Being alone with her might be worse than being alone with Cutter. “No.”
“You sit or I will make you sit,” she warns.
Fear grips me, squeezing my heart and strangling my voice.
She takes a step towards me, bringing her hand down across my cheek so hard that I’m driven to the floor. Pain pulses and throbs until black dots dance across my vision.
“Now, sit,” she says as a hand closes over my hair, yanking me to my feet.
I’m half-dragged to the chair, and when Nurse Schmidt lets go, I collapse roughly against the worn leather.
My resistance is met with more force as Nurse Schmidt slips the thick bindings over my wrists and ankles. I fight against the restraints, but it’s no use. I’m trapped.
“What do you want?” I demand with more bravado than I feel.
Nurse Schmidt looms over me, and before I can react, she slides a needle into a vein at my elbow. The sting is quick, but my fear nearly overwhelms me as she attaches a tube to the vein she’s stuck.
“What is this?” I ask, desperation leaking into my voice as I try and fail to writhe out of her reach. “What are you doing to me?”
Dark crimson blood flows out of my body and through the tube that disappears somewhere behind me. Nurse Schmidt straightens and peers down at me, her expression twisted in cruel enjoyment.
“Let me go,” I demand.
“You want to help your sister or not?”
There’s no way this is still about Estelle, if it ever was at all.
“I demand to speak to Cutter.”
She snorts. “He’s busy. Besides, whose idea do you think this was?”
“You won’t get away with this,” I tell her.
“Me? I do nothing,” she says innocently. “I only show you what you yourself have done to others.”
Before I can ask what that means, the room disappears.
The chair falls away and I am standing inside a small flat, and I recognize it immediately. A familiar throw is tossed over the back of a loveseat that still has imprints from where Estelle and I each claimed our own side during our many movie nights together. My Art In The Middle Ages textbook lies open to the last page I remember reading before—
Before.
I suck in a breath as the front door opens and I am confronted with the strangest encounter I’ve ever experienced.
I am me, staring back at myself.
Is this real?
Am I really here?
There’s no mistaking what I’m seeing, but it’s clearly a memory. The bright red coat and tear-stained cheeks of the girl before me are a dead giveaway. I know exactly when this is.
The night I tried to take my life.
From somewhere I can’t see, I hear Nurse Schmidt speaking to someone else in German. I shut it out, determined to understand why she would show me this. There must be a reason. If I can figure it out, I can stop her and Cutter from doing whatever they have planned for me. Or for Estelle.
“Celeste,” I call uncertainly.
But Past Celeste doesn’t respond. Head down, she snicks the door shut and crosses the space in quick, determined strides, dropping her keys and purse on the floor. She passes right through me, and I startle to realize I am not corporeal. She cannot hear me.
Maybe I’m not really here after all.
It’s an illusion, I remind myself. Nurse Schmidt is using it to torture me.