The Scorned (The Permutation Archives Book 3)

by Kindra Sowder

  I couldn’t see her eyes, but Doctor Aserov’s mouth set into a thin, straight line as she looked from me to my mother.

  “Not at all. I’ll be a moment,” she muttered before turning and sauntering off. She pushed the door open, and it swung closed behind her. The heels of her shoes could still be heard as she walked away.

  Even the steady click, click of them sounded angry.

  I didn’t watch the door swing closed completely before looking at my mother. I met her blue eyes as soon as I looked in her direction. She was no longer inspecting the IV site that fed me fluids. Her face was serious, almost stony while she stood before me.

  “Mom? What is it?” I asked. The pitch of my voice was higher than I would’ve liked, showing my anxiety of not just the expression on her face, but what I was about to put myself through.

  Maybe she felt the same way as I did about it, which would make perfect sense.

  “Mom?”

  She shook her head as if waking up from a dream and blinked. She had completely zoned out in a way I had never seen before, and I knew she wouldn’t be telling me anything about what was just going through her mind.

  “Yes, honey?” she asked with a forced grin, pushing a strand of hair away from my face to tuck it behind my ear.

  “What was that about?”

  “What was what about?” she mirrored.

  Her hands began to fiddle with the connection between the IV bag and the clear plastic tubing. I could tell she was attempting to make herself look busy, but she wasn’t fooling me. While I was learning new things about her every day since being taken, I still knew enough to see that something was going on inside of her head at that very moment. There was no way to know whether it was about the testing I had agreed to or something else. But I did have a feeling I may have to force it out of her.

  “I didn’t get the blood collection kit on purpose,” she admitted with a sigh.

  Confusion wrapped around my mind, intertwining with the conflicting emotions I already felt. Why would she do that if she knew that she would need it? What was going on?

  “Why?”

  My eyes narrowed while I stared at her. Shock at her admission was already mind boggling but now, with so much going on that depended on me as well as her, I couldn’t stop my brow from furrowing with frustration.

  She didn’t look up at me. Just kept touching and adjusting the bag, squeezing it every now and then and searching the tubing for air bubbles I was confident weren’t there.

  “Mom, please. Why?”

  When her gaze turned back up to me, I could see the hesitation there. It was as if whatever ran through her mind was something she struggled with, which made my anxiety peak even more.

  “I needed her to leave the room,” she whispered.

  I almost couldn’t hear her, but the words were clear enough. Her chest rose and fell in a heave as she inhaled through her mouth. The half-moons of purple underneath her eyes looked more pronounced, making her seem even more exhausted than she was before.

  That tipped me off that she had been struggling with something for quite some time. It weighed heavy on her, which was evident in the way she dropped her shoulders with the exhale of breath. I held my breath, watching her as the suspicion began to creep up my spine to enhance the apprehension I already felt lurking just beneath the dread.

  “And?” I pushed.

  “There’s something I need to tell you,” she began.

  Her mouth opened to speak again, but Doctor Aserov glided through the door with the resounding taps of her shoes we hadn’t even bothered to notice when she approached the room. Her lab coat billowed around her like she had run in. She was even out of breath.

  “Next time, Horatia, we won’t forget a collection kit. That was a nightmare. You really need to see about a new organization system for your kits,” Madeline stated in consternation.

  “I’ll get right on that,” she responded.

  She watched me carefully, only glancing at Doctor Aserov in irritation. What she had been working to establish as far as a connection with me since I was kidnapped snapped back into complacency as soon as the good doctor walked through the swinging doors.

  Frail fingers were now covered in the purple nitrile of the gloves Doctor Aserov slipped her pale flesh into. With a snap, she began to remove the vacuum tubes from their disposable packages. Seven in all, which made me nervous. My hands jittered with anxiety while I watched. There wasn’t a hint of sympathy from either woman, but I could still see the secrets behind my mother’s eyes when she surveyed my every move with the doctor. Scrutinized, even. I would have said that kind of behavior was unusual for her, but it wasn’t.

  Especially when it came to me.

  It was as if she had known all along that I was meant for greater things than I would have chosen for myself, even with this extremely nifty and powerful gift in my hands. One I sincerely hoped we could decipher even further now that there seemed to be more to it thanks to Cato and whatever magic he had worked on me in that horrible, sterile room. A shiver ran up my spine, and both pairs of eyes jumped up to my face. I shook my head.

  “I’m fine, just keep going,” I ushered.

  Doctor Aserov looked back down at the bend of my elbow while she stretched a rubber tourniquet in her hands. Wrapping it around my upper arm, she tied it as tight as she could without cutting off circulation too much and began to press on the vein that was too eager to be found. I felt it bulge just underneath my chilled skin. The sensation was unnerving. Just like the sensation of pins and needles moving through my fingers. Without so much as a warning, there was a large pinch as the needle slid into me.

  A hiss had escaped my lips before I had a chance to stop it. I was strong. I could handle a measly needle stick. Everything I had been through before, this was nothing in comparison. I hadn’t developed a fear of needles at all, but I was willing to bet that it would surface given enough time and needle pricks. A part of me wanted to watch my blood feed the tubes. An even larger part of me wanted nothing more than to look away from it. For it all to be over. For the torture to end.

  Would this be one step closer to an end we could all live with? I surely hoped so.

  Hope swelled in my chest even though my heart raced inside of my ribcage. Sweat broke out across my hairline as well as above my top lips. It was all I could do to stop my leg from jumping with nervousness. But nerves weren’t all I felt while Doctor Aserov filled the vacuum tubes with my lifeblood. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and held it for a couple of seconds to slow my heart beat.

  That caused it to go from a rapid thump, thump, thump, to a steadier thump at half the speed.

  The time to fill the tubes moved a lot quicker than I had expected and, before I knew it, the tourniquet was being removed from my arm and the tiny hole in my skin from the needle bandaged.

  “Okay, now we’re ready to get you in the machine for your MRIs,” my mother said enthusiastically with only a weak half-smile.

  “Physically, yes. Emotionally, no,” I replied.

  It was unfortunate I wasn’t joking about this entire thing. Jokes would have made it much easier to deal with than the stern complacency that surrounded us in the room. And it was cold. Much colder now than it had been even a moment before.

  Doctor Aserov placed each of the vacuum collection tubes into a portion of the kit carrier made just for them. She then picked up each piece of paper with a look of concentration as she tried not to look up at me. The entire thing was awkward, even to me. The last time she had taken my blood or run tests on me of any kind was in the compound where she was working for King as well as the Fallen Paradigm.

  A double agent in the guise of a loyal physician and scientist. I couldn’t say any of it surprised me. The fact that she cared about my general well-being as an individual and
possessed empathy more than anyone else in the Spartan Compound should have been my first clue. In retrospect, armed with what had taken place in the last weeks, I saw it all. Even remembering the way her eyes burned into mine, hiding the shift of sadness behind it, brought it all back to the forefront.

  Doctor Aserov collected the kit and the remaining supplies and hurried toward the swinging exit doors for the second time since we arrived there.

  “I’ll go ahead and take these to get started. They have a full list of all of the work-ups you want from the labs, and we should know more by the morning.”

  Without another word, she pushed through the doors.

  “Is it me, or do those heels click louder when she’s angry?” I grinned and looked at my mother who had moved off to the side of the MRI bed.

  “Mila, please lie down so we can begin the test.”

  Confusion wrapped around my mind like a warm blanket. Instead of fear or sorrow, only numbness lingered. It was that same emotional distance you experienced when someone passed and the grief finally subsided, leaving only an empty shell of a person. The thought made me wonder if they would see anything inside of me once the scan started. My confusion was compounded by her cold and dismissive nature after the interruption of the good doctor. My mother had been so willing to share what she stated she needed to tell me only to stop and not bring it up again since she left the room with blood samples in tow.

  I turned my body and placed my legs onto the MRI bed, lying down on the cool and rough plastic surface. It felt cracked, but in a way that was only decorative, having nothing to do with the age of the machine.

  My flesh exposed by the gap in the paper-thin gown touched the surface of the bed, causing my skin to break out in goosebumps. As soon as the sensation appeared, it disappeared. Folding my arms across my belly, my fingers laced together. I had to stop them from fighting because of my nerves. I had never had one of these tests run before, and I was just as equally nervous about what we would find once we looked at the scans themselves.

  My mother shifted toward the place where my head rested. Once her hands picked up a large piece of plastic that looked like a cage in a dome shape, the alarm bells in my brain started to scream in protest.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  It took all I had not to sit back up and leave the room without the test being done at all. This was a new experience that had me terrified beyond anything King had done to me before we were rescued. Even I knew they had planned to do much, much worse, but this was imminent. This was right now and I couldn’t just run from my mother, the Fallen Paradigm, or the other Specials that seemed to be counting on me.

  “This?” she asked as she held the white plastic with both hands, raising it so I could see it better.

  I nodded. Words were stuck in my throat, nearly choking me.

  “This is what we use to make certain you keep your head still while the scan is in progress.” Her eyes scanned my face while I stared up at her. With a sigh, she continued, “I should have explained this better, huh?”

  She let out a nervous laugh, but I wasn’t smiling. If anything, my eyes were a lot wider than they had been previously, and my heart raced even faster.

  “I’ll do a quick run-through for you. Basically, we take this, and we place it over your head to keep you still. You have to be completely still for the MRI, or we’ll have to put you back in and do it again. One reason for this here in my hands.” She raised it a little, as if emphasizing it, and continued. “The scan takes fifteen minutes, and it gets loud in there so don’t be alarmed. The noises you’ll hear are perfectly normal.”

  “And what about the…” I thought of the word they used and licked my lips nervously, “contrast?”

  “Nothing major, but there is a risk of an allergic reaction to it. I don’t think you’ll need to worry about that. I’m not allergic, and neither was your father, so nothing to worry about. It’s a gadolinium contrast medium, and it’ll just make it so we can see what’s going on in there a little better. It’s always good to do one with and one without so we don’t miss anything. Can’t be too careful.”

  Listening to her explanation, I almost couldn’t breathe. Anxiety gripped me like a vice. Turning my face up toward the machine, I saw the long tube I would be rolled into on the bed, which didn’t do anything to lessen my reaction. Maybe this was a horrible idea.

  Did I want to know this badly?

  “Mila? You all right?”

  Her voice was soft and assuring but did nothing to stop the manic beating of my heart in my chest.

  That seemed to be the perfect moment for Doctor Aserov to make a reappearance, the red glow from the lights on her glasses making it difficult to see her exact expression. Her parted lips gave a small clue to her concern, but nothing else gave her away.

  The room began to spin as I lay there and look up at them. I was unsettled. I was terrified. I was broken beyond measure. Beyond fixing. I knew it, and so did everyone else. I could see it by the way both women looked at me as I lay there and attempted to calm myself for the test that I desperately needed.

  “Horatia, what’s going on?” Doctor Aserov asked with a slight hitch in her voice.

  Warm fingers lightly brushed my forehead and then pushed my hair away from my now sweaty forehead. As my mother leaned over me, I couldn’t speak. The words clogged my throat, and I could barely explain what I felt. My heart continued to hammer away of its own accord no matter how hard I attempted to slow its steady climb toward impending heart attack from fear. Another pair of fingers touched my wrist, pressing against the pulse point there.

  “Panic attack,” Doctor Aserov stated curtly.

  It must have been her that touched me, but I could barely register any of it as my brain tried to shut itself off.

  “Good thing I always carry this,” my mother muttered, her words nearly inaudible over the whooshing of blood in my ears. “Just something to help you relax,” she directed at me.

  There was no hesitation when she removed the capped syringe from her lab coat pocket. The clear liquid inside of it looked menacing. I had seen something so similar in the compound on more than one occasion and this – this intimidating device – nearly threw me into the precipice of terror. The plastic tube filled with an unknown drug. That was all it took to place me perfectly on the edge, only one small breeze enough to blow me right on over. Falling to my death until the darkness and the terror were all I would know for years to come.

  Her face was blank as she removed the cap on the needle, pushed it into the special reservoir on my IV, and pushed down the plunger.

  It didn’t take long before I was wandering into the pit of drug-induced unconsciousness. I could still hear both women and the click of the good doctor’s heels on the floor along with my mother’s determined shuffle. My eyelids became heavy, and I couldn’t stop myself from giving into the overwhelming urge to close my eyes. To let the drug take me wherever it wanted me to go. I’d follow it anywhere. The plastic domed head restraint snapped into place, but my heartbeat only slowed even further, and the dread faded along with my awareness.

  Warmth spread over my limbs.

  A whirring sound started, followed by the sensation of movement, but I still couldn’t open my eyes. The blackness behind my lids was relaxing and inviting. It beckoned to me like a dark lover, and I truly didn’t give a damn. Not anymore.

  Another door that wasn’t the one that led into the massive room housing the MRI machine closed with a soft hush, but then something louder began. A sharp, loud tapping followed by the insistent whine caused by the rotation of something inside of my plastic and metal cage. No matter how I saw the machine I was now housed in, I still couldn’t be bothered to care. I just wanted to sleep.

  What did my mother say about the time this took? Fifteen minutes? Yes, that was what she had sai
d.

  Fifteen minutes.

  If I fell asleep, it wouldn’t make a difference in the slightest. My thoughts were fuzzy as I lay there with my hands still resting on my belly in the submissive gesture of surrender.

  And I would surrender.

  I’d surrender to the pitch black that took my hand and led me to freedom.

  Chapter

  THIRTEEN

  I hadn’t been prepared when I was told I slept through both the MRI and the MRI with contrast, completely oblivious to the movement of sliding in and out of the narrow tunnel of the machine. I wouldn’t have believed it if it weren’t for the fact that I had been completely unaware of the fact that they had taken me out and put me back inside at all.

  Now, after a two-hour nap to sleep off the sedative, I was being led down a long corridor by a determined Ryder. He sauntered next to me with a small grin on his face as if he had been told something that pleased him in some way. The corridor walls were covered in the same glowing red ambient light of the procedure room I had previously been in, dampened by the fluorescent lights that lined the center of the ceiling in a long strip of bright yellow.

  I glanced at Ryder and turned back quickly toward the black doors at least thirty feet away from us.

  “What are you so smug about?” I asked.

  He frowned playfully. “I’m not smug. I’m happy.”

  “Happy about?”

  He sighed and ran a hand through his hair like he knew his answer was going to be one he thought I wouldn’t be ecstatic about hearing.