Carefully, she balled her hands into fists, flexing the muscles in her arms. She was stiff and certainly weaker than she had ever been, but she could move. Lifting them slightly, she could see that there were a few scars, mostly across her knuckles where the windshield had shattered, but nothing major. She breathed a sigh of relief and tried the same exercises with her legs.
But something was wrong.
She could feel the resistance in her left leg, but not her right. She knew she wasn’t paralyzed because unlike Blake, there were no damaged nerves connected to her mind. With another glance around to make sure she wouldn’t be caught, Renee slid herself up into the sitting position and nearly fainted. Through the thin sheet that covered her lower body, Renee could see the outline of her left leg, but on the right, just below the knee, the sheet dipped and laid flat against the bed. Most of her right leg was gone.
Oh no! Oh God, no!
Renee didn’t have time to elaborate before Blake pulled her back.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” he asked. “Did they catch you?”
“No.” She shook her head. “My… my leg,” she stammered, fighting the urge to cry. “It’s… gone.”
“Gone?” Blake asked, but realized what she meant. “It was amputated after the wreck, wasn’t it?”
Renee nodded, turning away, but Blake wouldn’t let go of her.
“Hey, it’s not that bad,” he said, keeping his tone light. “You’ll be able to get a prosthetic and even walk normal. I’m the one who’s going to be stuck in a wheelchair.”
“That’s just it!” she said, failing to keep the hysterical panic from her voice. “Neither of us can walk, Blake. How are we supposed to escape here if we don’t have a pair of working legs between us?”
Blake’s heart sank as he realized she had a valid point. Again, he had to wonder what kind of a life they were subjecting themselves to, but he wasn’t about to give up. Not after they had come so far.
“Come on,” he said, taking both of her hands and pulling her toward the door back to his mind.
“What are we doing?” Renee asked with a sniff. She was determined to keep her head and not break down into the hysterics that threatened her psyche. Though she tried to remain brave, she couldn’t get the image of her missing limb out of her head.
“We are going to figure out a way to fix those damaged nerve endings,” he told her, his voice steady and determined. “And then I’m going back. I’m going to do everything I can to get my strength back, and then we are going to escape.”
“As easy as that?” Renee huffed.
Blake leaned in until his eyes were just inches from hers and leveled Renee with a fierce stare. “Easier,” he whispered and put his hand on the doorknob. “Come on.”
But as they entered Blake’s mind, they found that it was already occupied.
Chapter 22
Renee stiffened and felt Blake do the same as he stepped in front of her.
“What are you doing here?”
The blonde doctor stood next to Blake’s mind, holding one of the damaged nerve endings in his hand, looking down at it with a curious expression.
“I could fix this for you, Blake,” the doctor said in a polite, yet mocking tone. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? To be whole again? Not that there’s really much of a point to that now, is there?” He dropped the damaged nerve and took a step closer, peeking to the side. “Hiding, Renee? That doesn’t seem to be your style at all, young lady.”
Renee stepped out from behind Blake, squeezing his hand to reassure him that she was okay, despite the fact that she was trembling with both fear and rage. “What do you know about my style?” she asked, keeping her voice steady.
The doctor smiled. “Quite a bit, my dear. You see, we had such high hopes for Mr. Carter here. My colleague and I were quite surprised to find that a child, a physically and emotionally damaged child at that, managed to survive situations that would have been the end to both hardened criminals and trained military personnel alike. In fact, we were so impressed that we were about to offer him the chance of a lifetime, but then fate dropped you in our laps.” He turned his head from Blake to Renee, studying her with a curious expression.
As he spoke, Renee scanned their surroundings. The door to her head remained, but there was no sign of how the doctor had entered Blake’s mind. She wondered if the doctors required a door at all.
Blake? She reached out with her mind. Do you see a door?
No, came his frustrated reply. He’s got some sort of a block on us. I can’t even change the landscape.
Well crap, Renee cursed. Keep looking.
“So young and so pretty,” the doctor continued, leering at Renee in a way that made her uncomfortable. She noticed, at least, that he remained oblivious to their silent conversation. “We were certain that in you, we had finally found the trap that would ensnare our Mr. Carter. Initially, I didn’t believe either of you would live a week, yet here we are, over three months later. Not only have you survived, Miss Ward, but you managed to discover so much more in a scant few months than Mr. Carter had in two years. Clearly, we put our faith in the wrong candidate.”
He took a menacing step closer to Renee until he was standing directly in front of her. As much as she wanted to step back, or even run away, back into the relative safety of her own mind, she forced herself to stand her ground and not show any sign of weakness. Blake’s hand tightened around hers.
“Candidate?” she asked.
“An opportunity, my dear child,” the doctor answered. “Physically, you are worthless. Both of you,” he added with a meaningful glance at Blake as well. “But your minds are the sharpest, strongest, and most cunning that we have seen since beginning our study several years ago. As such, you are both qualified to lead our experimental anti-terrorism program. In this position, you will want for nothing. Every whim, every need, every desire will be yours. All we ask in return is that you enter the minds of suspected terrorists and obtain the information necessary to convict them of their crimes.”
Why do I feel as if he’s glossing over a lot of terrible truths? Renee asked Blake silently.
Because he can’t be trusted, Blake replied. Think about it. Even if we were only expected to gather information, I highly doubt any court is going to accept information gathered from mind reading as admissible evidence.
So we would still be murderers by proxy. That is, if he’s even telling the truth. Renee fumed silently. Do we even have a choice?
Obviously, he doesn’t know we have this link, Blake reminded her. If we play along, we can still work on escaping.
Good point.
“So let me get this straight,” Renee said to the doctor, “If we accept your offer, you won’t try to kill us anymore?”
“Your life would be your own to control,” he assured her. “Assuming of course, that you are the one who survives the trials.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” asked Blake.
“As I said, you are both talented and qualified candidates, however,” the doctor’s eyes narrowed and his already sinister smile became a twisted mask of sadistic pleasure, “I’m afraid there is only one position available. Best of luck to the both of you.”
“Do you expect us to fight each other?” Renee asked, suddenly ill.
“I expect you to do everything in your power to survive,” the doctor replied.
“I refuse,” Blake said suddenly, stepping forward. “Give the job to Renee. I won’t fight her.”
At that, the doctor shook his head and gave Blake a pitying smile. “I’m afraid that attitude is what cost you a guaranteed success once before, Mr. Carter. You won’t be the first man to meet his end by way of misguided affection.”
“I won’t fight either,” Renee said, taking a bold step forward. “We work together, or we don’t work at all.”
“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice in the matter,” the doctor informed them harshly. “Either of you.”
&nb
sp; Behind him, a door materialized and Renee saw an opportunity. Distract him! she commanded Blake and dove forward, but the doctor grabbed her arm.
“Nice try,” he said, but lost his grip as Blake’s entire weight plowed into him.
I’m fine! Go! Blake shouted at Renee, sensing her hesitation as he and the doctor grappled on the floor. With a final glance back, she was gone.
“I told you that your loyalties were misplaced,” the doctor grunted as he got the upper hand and pushed Blake over, straddling him. “At the first sign of danger, she left you.”
“Idiot,” Blake wheezed. The doctor’s full weight was on his chest, making it hard to breathe. “You won’t catch…” Blake’s words died and the world went dark as the doctor plunged a syringe into the side of his neck.
“One down,” the doctor muttered, dusting himself off as he stood. “One to go.”
As she fell through the door, Renee braced herself for the inevitable onslaught of memories. Though the information was the very reason she had taken such a huge risk, she knew that what she was about to discover would not be pleasant. As the air began to shimmer, she sat down and rested her head on her knees, awaiting the invisible band that tightened around her chest.
His name was Dr. Thomas Grantham, a fifty-seven year old psychiatric research specialist who held a number of high honors including a presidential citation for his breakthroughs in the field of combat psychiatry. Dr. Grantham had discovered a method of manipulating the subconscious of soldiers who suffered severe post-traumatic stress, effectively removing the symptoms through a chemically induced hypnotic state. Several years ago, he was awarded a grant by the United States Department of Justice to apply his techniques to the potential rehabilitation of career criminals.
As the events of the doctor’s life flickered through Renee’s mind, a confusing static descended and a very different picture began to play out. It was almost like listening to the radio when the dial was set between two different stations. In between the memories of an honest and intelligent doctor, whose only intent was to make the world a better place, brutal and nightmarish scenes appeared. It seemed as if she was seeing two lives at once.
A face in a mirror appeared, causing Renee to mentally flinch. This was not the face of Dr. Grantham, but it was one she recognized because it had been plastered all over the newspapers and television, terrifying her for most of her childhood. Serge Franks had been a serial killer who terrorized the southwest, brutally murdering over three hundred victims in the span of ten years before he was finally caught and put to death. The horrific scenes that bombarded her mind appeared to be his victim’s last moments, remembered with such clarity that Renee began to doubt that she would survive the mental invasion with her own sanity intact.
After what felt like an eternity, the horrible images ended and another scene began. Serge Franks lay strapped to a hospital bed, much like the one that her own body rested on. Dr. Grantham stood over him with a clipboard in one hand and a syringe in the other. The dark haired doctor, who Renee now knew was Dr. Grantham’s assistant, Dr. Ethan Gasparo, stood a few feet away, clearly uncomfortable to be sharing the room with a dangerous monster.
“Mr. Serge Vincent Franks,” Dr. Grantham read from his clipboard. “You have elected to undergo experimental treatment, as offered by The United States Department of Justice, in lieu of execution by means of lethal injection. For legal purposes, please confirm that this statement is implicitly accurate.”
Whether Serge Franks confirmed or not, Renee did not know, because a firm hand on her shoulder ripped her out of the memory. She found herself pinned to the floor, staring up into the cold gray eyes of Dr. Grantham, though she doubted that very much, if any, of the doctor she had seen in the memories remained behind those eyes.
“Monster,” she growled, thrashing wildly to escape the doctor’s hold on her.
“Says the girl who has no moral issue with tramping through another’s mind,” he replied with a twisted sneer, tightening his hold on her until Renee felt as if he would squeeze her shoulders out of their sockets.
“You won’t win,” she gasped, putting as much conviction behind her words as she could muster, ignoring the rapid pounding of her heart as it threatened to explode out of her chest.
“My poor, poor, dear,” the doctor sneered, lifting her roughly from the ground. “I already have.”
Renee’s head bounced off the floor with a sickening crack as she was slammed backwards. She barely had time to register the intense pain before slipping into unconsciousness.
Dr. Grantham stood and dragged Renee over his shoulder as if she were a sack of grain. He looked around with a smirk as he saw the door to her mind hovering in the distance.
“However brave the face you wear, you can’t hide your fears, my child. Not from me,” he cooed in a mocking voice, patting Renee roughly on the back before throwing her slack body through the door.
Reaching out, he placed his hand on one of the brightest tendrils of his mind and held his breath as he ascended into consciousness.
“It is done,” he said, smiling contentedly to himself before opening his eyes to meet those of his partner.
“You were under for quite some time,” noted Dr. Gasparo with a glance at the clock. “Nearly three hours.”
“It was as I predicted,” Dr. Grantham said with an air of boredom as he sat up and slid the needle out of his arm. “Your champion fell immediately. I told you he would go soft when presented with a pretty face. He is ready to be reset,” he added with a gesture toward Blake’s body.
“But the girl?” Dr. Gasparo asked, moving to the computer console that sat next to Blake’s bed.
“Quite the little spitfire,” he replied with an amused chuckle. “She managed to make it into my mind.”
Dr. Gasparo’s eyes widened at this news, but Dr. Grantham waved his hand dismissively.
“She saw nothing of consequence,” he assured his assistant. “But it matters not. She’s proving to be quite the challenge, more so than we ever could have hoped for.”
“How can you be certain she’ll cooperate?”
“By making a few modifications,” he said, typing a password into the console that sat next to Renee’s bed. “Mr. Carter will be dead by the end of the day and Miss Ward will be our new champion. I must say,” he added as he finished typing a series of commands into the computer, “I’m quite looking forward to personally breaking her.”
Chapter 23
“Blake, honey, wake up. It’s time for school.”
“I’m up, Grandma Jean,” Blake called down from his loft style bedroom with a yawn. The damp chill and smell of rain coming in through his open window almost tempted him to turn over and sneak in a few more minutes of sleep. If he was being honest with himself, it was the lingering image of the girl in his dreams that made getting up difficult. He didn’t know who she was, or why she had been so important in his dream, but he had been curiously drawn to her. So much so, that he did close his eyes in an attempt to fall back to sleep, hoping to catch a glimpse of her once again.
But Blake’s mind had already determined that he was up for the day. Rather, it was his growling stomach that made that decision for him. The smell of fried eggs, pancakes, and bacon coming from the kitchen was too powerful to ignore. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up with a groan, realizing that he was even more exhausted than he had thought.
Blake felt as if he had lived several years in the span of one night. He knew that his dreams had been vivid, but as was always the case, they had begun to fade almost as soon as he awoke. By the time he finished brushing his teeth, all that remained was the image of the girl with golden hair and hazel eyes. Blake wished he could remember who she was or why it seemed so important that he remember her. Clearly, she must have been someone of significance. Then again, she was rather beautiful, and he was a perfectly healthy young man with functioning hormones. It was very likely that this was the far less mysterious explan
ation as to why he obsessed over her.
Too bad you’re not real, dream girl, he thought as he slid into a chair across from his grandfather at the kitchen table.
“Did you finish your homework?” Grandpa Marty asked, setting down the newspaper that he had been reading.
“Of course,” Blake assured him and reached for a plate of bacon. As he did, his eyes fell on the newspaper headline: MURDER SUSPECT STILL AT LARGE. Below the headline was a full-page picture of the suspect. Though the poor quality of the picture muddied her features and hardened her eyes, Blake recognized her immediately as the mysterious girl from his dreams.
“May I see that?” Blake asked his grandfather, who handed over the paper with a grim sigh.
“Oh, honey, you shouldn’t do that to yourself,” his grandmother said, sliding a plate of eggs in front of him and giving Grandpa Marty a stern look.
“He has a right to know what the police know,” Grandpa Marty said with a sigh. “Which admittedly, isn’t much. I’m sorry, Blake. They still haven’t found her.”
More than a little confused, Blake unfolded the paper and began reading the story. The girl’s name was Renee Ward and she was the number one suspect responsible for a string of brutal murders in Arizona and New Mexico. The paper speculated that she was hiding out in Washington after the body of local woman, Carol Carter, had been found in the same condition as Ward’s previous victims.
“Carol Carter?” Blake’s stomach turned as he said the name out loud. His mother was dead. Somehow, he had known this, but it still came as a shock.
“Oh sweetie,” Grandma Jean sobbed, pulling Blake into a comforting hug and giving her husband an I-told-you-so glare. “They’ll find her,” she whispered, stroking his hair. “They’ll find her and she’ll get what she has coming to her.”
“I’m okay, grandma,” Blake said, pulling away out of embarrassment. “I’m okay, I promise.”
But Blake was not okay. The story in the paper and his grandparents’ reactions were wildly at odds with his, admittedly patchy, memories. The murders that had been attributed to this girl, Renee Ward, read exactly like the details of another case that he remembered from his childhood, but that was a man, Frank something. Blake vaguely remembered his face from the television because his stepfather had been obsessed with the case.
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