Tortured Teardrops (Tamara's Teardrops Book 3)

by P. D. Workman

  Tamara pulled back, but he didn’t release his grip.

  “I want it out,” Tamara insisted. “I’ll take it out myself!”

  “No. I’m sorry. I thought seeing him would help you. It’s okay. Calm down.”

  She again tried to pull out of his grip.

  “I’ll let you go,” he said, “but you have to promise me not to hurt yourself. And not to try to hurt the baby. Otherwise, I’ll have to put you in restraints.”

  “Okay. I won’t. Just let me go!”

  Dr. Eastport released her hands, watching her for any sign that she was going to try something. Tamara folded her hands over her chest and waited for him to make the next move. Dr. Eastport pulled her robe back over her belly and pulled the sheet up over her.

  “We’re here to help you, Tamara. Do you think you can trust me, just a little longer?”

  “Will you go back to Rice and tell him they need to get rid of it?”

  He gazed at her for a long minute, then nodded. “Yes, I’ll tell Mr. Rice they should reconsider, for your safety.”

  Tamara nodded and relaxed her head back against the pillow. “You tell them to get this monster out of me. Then I’ll trust you.”

  Tamara waited until Dr. Eastport left her alone, a guard posted outside the door, before making another attempt. Though they had left her with the sheets on her bed, she didn’t try hanging again. She had a feeling that they wouldn’t leave her unsupervised for long enough to set herself up again.

  But she had fixated on the idea of getting the fetus out. If the doctors wouldn’t do it, then she would do it herself. She would foil their plans and free her brain from the poisonous influence of the thing growing inside her. It was the only way.

  She surreptitiously went through the treatment room, opening and closing drawers as quietly as possible to keep from attracting the attention of the guard outside the door. There was, of course, nothing sharp stored there. Dr. Eastport and his staff were careful.

  Tamara feigned sleep, waiting for the next security check. She heard the door snick open and knew the guard was standing there looking in at her. She stayed still and took long, deep, even breaths. Eventually, she heard the door shut again.

  She immediately went into action, digging her fingers into the soft flesh of her abdomen, trying to cut and tear at the elastic skin with her nails, shutting out the waves of pain and nausea. It was the only way. The only way to get rid of the alien presence and clear her brain once more. She could feel it moving under her fingers, as if it sensed what she was trying to do and was fighting back against her.

  She wasn’t aware that she had started shouting. The guard came back through the door with a look of irritation. His face rapidly lost all color and he started yelling for help. He didn’t think to hit his panic button, but dove at Tamara, grabbing both her arms and trying to pin them back. Tamara writhed and nearly freed herself from his grip. She kicked, trying to knee him and drive him back. He turned his face away, leaning into her so that his sturdy shoulder was the only target, and Tamara was unable to force him back. She screamed in frustration. Rage boiled inside her and she bucked her body, trying to escape his grasp.

  The medical staff hurried in to see what the problem was. They tied back her feet and then her bloody hands. Tamara was left to fight futilely against the restraints, unable to free herself. One of the nurses tried to examine Tamara as another went to get Dr. Eastport.

  His face turned almost as pale as the guard’s when he saw her bloodied body and hands. He bent over her abdomen to examine the damage, and she thought she saw tears in his eyes.

  “You promised me you wouldn’t hurt yourself or the baby,” he reproached.

  Tamara tried to buck her body, but her ankles and wrists were stretched too far to allow her any body movement. Dr. Eastport felt her straining and looked at her face.

  “I have to get it out,” Tamara insisted. “It’s evil!”

  “It’s not evil.” He prodded her torn flesh, examining the damage. “You’re confused. You’re not thinking right.”

  “It’s not a delusion.”

  “It is. These thoughts and feelings are being caused by your illness.”

  “If it’s making me sick, then get it out!” She again tried to move, desperate. But even though she wasn’t on the antipsychotics anymore, her energy was flagging.

  “I’m going to give you a sedative, Tamara. That will help you to calm down. Okay?”

  “No, no drugs.”

  “I can’t treat you in this condition and it could be… traumatic for you. So let’s just give you something to quiet your mind. You want to relax and have a rest, don’t you?”

  Tamara blinked slowly, her eyes wanting to close the rest of the way and stay shut.

  “Yeah.”

  “Just give me a minute, then.”

  He left the room to go get the sedative and returned to give her an injection. There was a brief needle of pain in her thigh muscle, and almost immediately, a warm feeling started to spread through Tamara. In spite of not wanting the medication, she couldn’t help welcoming the calm and rest that it brought.

  29

  WHEN SHE WOKE up, there was a band around her middle, tight and uncomfortable. She couldn’t see the stitches or the bandage under her blankets and uniform, but she knew they were there. It took a while to shake the effects of the sedation. She wondered if they had put her back onto her antipsychotics or decided to try a different protocol to see if something else worked better.

  She was still in the infirmary. They hadn’t transferred her to the hospital; or if they had, she had already been transferred back again. There was talking outside her door. She watched to see who was there. Eventually, the door opened and a guard walked in, assigned to look after her to make sure she wasn’t able to try anything else.

  It was Zobel. He gave her a sad smile and walked up to the side of her bed. She was glad to see him, in spite of her condition.

  “Hey, French. How are you feeling?”

  Tamara wasn’t sure how to answer that. She wasn’t sure how she felt or what she wanted to tell him.

  “I dunno.”

  His eyes were drawn to her middle. With the baby bulge and the bulky bandages, the sheets rose in a gentle hill. “So, you’ve had some setbacks.”

  She looked at him, then away again. Talk about an understatement.

  “Things… haven’t been so good.”

  “You’ve had a lot of challenges. I heard you melted down at the courthouse again, that they were transferring you to Forensic, and then…” He nodded awkwardly toward her belly, not putting it into words. Not saying the word ‘pregnant,’ in case it might set her off again. “Now… suicide, self-harming… what’s going on?”

  “They won’t take it out,” Tamara griped. “I don’t understand why they won’t just do it. Why can’t they just… fix it? It’s their fault it’s there in me to start with!”

  Zobel’s brows drew down. “What?” He looked toward the door, as if someone might be listening in. Maybe they were. “It’s whose fault? Did someone here…?”

  Tamara nodded. “It’s their fault. They made sure I got pregnant, they switched the pills, and then they won’t let me get rid of it. They want me to go crazy. Or they want me to kill it. I don’t know which.”

  “You’re not making any sense, French.”

  “It’s true!” Tamara insisted. “It’s all part of their plan.”

  “I just assumed that… you got pregnant when you were out. On parole or after that prison breaking. That’s what made the most sense.”

  “They set all of that up,” Tamara agreed with a vigorous nod. “They were the ones who arranged for the break-out. You think Vernon was smart enough to get out on her own? Or Sly? They said they were the ones who planned it, but it never made any sense. How could Sly get past all of the cameras without any of them recording his face? Why didn’t they stop them before they left the grounds? They just let them through the gates. They didn
’t stop anyone from doing anything.”

  Something changed in Zobel’s face. He nodded in agreement, but there was a reservation that hadn’t been there before. As if he had just figured out why she was telling him her theory. A cold wave of realization rolled over Tamara.

  “You already know. You’re part of it.”

  “There is no conspiracy, French. Really. It’s just your… your brain is telling you things that aren’t true.”

  “Because of the baby,” Tamara told him. She turned her head back and forth, trying to hold it together. “It’s growing inside my brain. It’s making everything seem wrong. It takes over my thoughts.”

  “Well… you know that your thinking isn’t right, anyway,” Zobel conceded. “I think… that’s a step.”

  “A step to what? You want me to go crazy, don’t you? You want to see if I’ll hurt it.” She couldn’t point to her stomach, so she jerked her head at it instead. “That monster. That thing growing in there. I tried, you know. I would if I could.”

  “I know you tried. I… heard all about it.” Zobel grimaced and shook his head. “Do you realize how sick you are?”

  “You’re making me sick. All of you. I don’t know why you’re experimenting on me like this. I don’t know why you had to do this.”

  He folded his arms and leaned on the wall, looking down on her. Tamara wished that there were a chair for him to sit on, so he didn’t have to tower over her.

  “You know I’d do anything to make you better,” he said. “I don’t want you to be sick. I want to help you.”

  “You’re not.”

  Zobel’s lips pressed together, making them stretch out in a thin, elongated line. He shook his head.

  “I’m sorry. I really do wish there was something I could do to help.”

  Tamara looked into his face. He did look sorry. Maybe he wasn’t in on it personally. Maybe they hadn’t told him the plan, because they knew that Zobel had a soft spot for her. Maybe that was why Tabby had knifed Zobel, because he wouldn’t cooperate with the plan. Maybe Tamara wasn’t supposed to have saved him. Or maybe Tamara was supposed to have saved him, and that was how they had pulled her in and gotten her off guard. Or maybe Tamara was supposed to die, and Zobel had gotten himself in the way, and all of the rest of the elaborate plot was just to lead Tamara off in the other direction, to be able to catch her off her guard later.

  “Did they hurt you?” she asked Zobel. “Was that all part of the plan too?”

  He frowned, brows drawing down in consternation. “Hurt me?” he repeated. “Nobody hurt me.”

  Had it all been a trick? A set-up? He wasn’t hurt? Wasn’t ever in danger?

  But she remembered the sticky blood. Remembered the smell and the taste of it. She had to wash the clotted mats out of her hair. It couldn’t have been a trick. Tamara turned her head and tried to see the scar on Zobel’s arm. But the way he was standing with his arms folded, he was hiding the scar from her. Or hiding the fact that he didn’t have a scar. Maybe he wasn’t really Zobel, but a double. He hadn’t been hurt; that had been the real Zobel. This one had been sent in to fool her and get information from her.

  “You’re not really here,” she accused.

  The frown lines between his brows deepened. “Should I get someone?” he asked. “Maybe I should call the doctor.”

  “I don’t need any more doctors!” Tamara growled. “They’re the ones who started this. They’re the ones who put it in me and got me sick. They just want to make me more sick. They want me to be crazy, to forget everything. They don’t want anyone to listen to me.”

  She remembered how her court cases had gone. How everything had fallen apart and she had broken down on the stand, unable to testify against Mr. Baker or Glock. That had been their goal right from the very start. To discredit her and keep her from being able to testify. Even if she did manage to tell what Mr. Baker and Glock had done to her, no one would believe it. Everyone would think she was just a raving lunatic.

  “You should try to calm down,” Zobel suggested. “Maybe… take deep breaths, and try to ground yourself. Try to use all of your senses to ground yourself. What you see and hear, taste and smell…”

  Tamara didn’t plan on following his suggestion, but as soon as he said it, she felt a rush of sensations. The noises outside the room were muted, but she could hear people walking and talking, someone yelling farther down the hall. And in the room, she could hear the air vents, Zobel’s breathing, and her own. She could hear her heartbeat and feel the creature moving inside her. She remembered hearing its heartbeat on the ultrasound. Had it been a trick, or did the monster really have a heart just like hers?

  The air was heavy with hospital smells. Cleaners and antiseptics and other people. She could smell Zobel beside her, the warm smell of the aftershave that he wore coming off of him with his sweat. Did that mean he was the real Zobel? Or did all of them wear the same aftershave as a way of fooling her? Tamara breathed in the smell and held it in her lungs, thinking about it.

  “Is it you?” she asked. “Or not?”

  “It’s me,” Zobel agreed. “I’m right here.”

  “Yeah? It’s you?”

  He nodded.

  “Why did they do this to me?” Tamara asked. “Do you know? Did they tell you why?”

  “No.” Zobel gave a little shrug of his folded arms. “I don’t know why this happened to you. But it isn’t a conspiracy. It wasn’t a plan or a plot. It’s just… you have a mental illness. Something happened in your brain.”

  “My head…” Tamara tried to feel her head, but her arms were still in restraints. Not high over her head anymore, like they had been when Dr. Eastport was trying to examine her, but down at her sides. Tamara pulled on them in irritation.

  “Can you get these off? I can’t move.”

  “Sorry, no. I’m not allowed to touch them.”

  “I want to move. I need to… my head hurts. I have something growing in my brain.”

  “No. Nothing is growing in your brain. That’s not real. Stay with me. You can do this.”

  “I can’t,” Tamara snapped. “I can’t control it.”

  “I know you can’t control it. But if you listen to me, I’ll tell you what’s true and what’s not. I’ll help you.”

  “It’s all true,” Tamara insisted. “All of it.”

  “No. Listen to me. I’ll tell you.”

  Tamara breathed and considered what he said. She concentrated on the room around her, trying to use her senses, like he had suggested. She wasn’t sure she could tell what was real and what was a delusion. But Zobel could tell her. If he really was Zobel. If he really knew and wasn’t just trying to fool her.

  “Listen,” Zobel said, his voice low and gentle. “Even with what you’re going through… you still have choices. You know that it’s not right to harm that baby inside you. You know it’s not right to kill yourself or him. No matter how confused you are, you still know those things, right?”

  “Why? Why is it wrong?”

  Zobel opened his mouth, shaking his head. “I… you just know it’s wrong. Killing or hurting someone else is wrong. Just like when Tabby tried to kill me. You remember that?”

  Tamara nodded. “I remember.”

  “You didn’t want her to kill me. Why not?”

  “I… don’t know. I can’t remember.”

  “You knew it was wrong. I wasn’t doing anything to hurt you or Tabby. I was helping people who were hurt. I was trying to shut down a fight so that no one else would get hurt. You knew that. You knew it would be wrong for her to kill me just because the gangs wanted to have a rumble.”

  Tamara nodded. That all sounded right. She was pretty sure he was telling the truth about that.

  “Yeah.”

  “Killing people is wrong.”

  She nodded again, understanding.

  “And that includes killing yourself or your baby.”

  “Does it?” Tamara pursed her lips. “I don’t think so.”
>
  Zobel laughed. “Yes, French. I’m telling you the truth, remember? I’m telling you the truth so you know what is real and what is just in your brain.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Killing yourself or your baby is wrong.”

  Tamara rested her head back, considering his words. It was wrong. Killing was always wrong, even if it was herself or the thing growing inside her. But Tamara knew that wasn’t always true. She had killed before, out of necessity. That was different.

  Tamara moved her head back and forth.

  “My head hurts,” she complained. “My brain itches. I want to scratch it.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that!”

  Tamara glowered at him. “Come and take the restraints off. Even just one of them. I can’t do anything with just one hand free.”

  “Heh.” Zobel shook his head. “Like I believe that. You can cause trouble no matter how many limbs you have restrained. I was warned not to even touch the restraints. Not to loosen them, not to release one wrist. Not giving you a bit more slack to move around. Nothing.”

  Tamara swore under her breath. Stupid Rice and his flunkies. Out ahead of her, trying to keep her from getting comfortable.

  Zobel just grinned like Tamara had played a trick and he was in on the secret.

  It was some time before they let her out of restraints and released her from the infirmary. Even then, she was watched closely and wasn’t allowed to stay in her room for more than ten minutes at a time before they were checking in again to make sure she was all right.

  Tamara knew from the colors and shapes of the tablets that they had changed her medications, but she didn’t know what they were giving her. The nurses checked carefully after every dose to make sure she had actually swallowed them and wasn’t saving them up to overdose.

  Gradually, security was reduced. She did as Zobel had suggested, trying to ground herself in the present. But despite the new medications and her best attempts to head off the delusions, she wasn’t able to make sense of everything and avoid being tricked by her brain.

  Zobel had said that she could still make choices, even if her brain wasn’t working right. She still had the ability to choose whether to hurt herself or not. Even being locked up in the Forensic unit, she still had a few choices of her own.