Big Man adjusts his grip. The pressure on my throat lessens. By instinct, by the self-preservation mechanism that forces me to breathe, I gag down the horrible water, pills and all. I swallow, and glug it all down. As soon as I do, I’m let go.
I fall to the floor. I gasp for precious air. “No, no, no,” I cry, choking and sputtering. A coughing fit overtakes me. My body tries to dispel the liquid caught in my lungs. I lie on my stomach, in a pool of my own spit, my front drenched with water or whatever it is that I was given. All I can think is:
I’ve failed. They got the drugs into my system. I’ve failed.
Esteban’s laughter abounds from above me. It’s a hysterical sort.
“Hold her,” Rose’s voice rises up from the dim. “Make sure she doesn’t try to induce vomiting.”
Rough hands jerk me up and pull me to my feet. I feel broken, abused.
I’ve already lost.
“Now,” Esteban brushes a hand through his hair, addresses the camera once more. “You know what she’s been given. You know that your little Lilly-Flower is absolutely under our control. The clock is ticking now, Mr. Stonehart. Your esteemed father tells me that, quite soon, the drugs will begin to consume her mind. The only way to stop it…” He laughs. “…is the consistent administration of the counteragent. Which, it just so happens, we have right here.” He lifts a small vial to the lens. “Unfortunately for you…” He shakes the bottle. “…it seems to be in short supply. So if you want to see your Lilly, clear and lucid, I’d advise you to make the decision on our offer quickly.”
“Don’t do it!” I sputter. “Jeremy don’t! Whatever it is, don’t do it!”
“Shut her up,” Esteban snaps.
Big Man seals a hand over my mouth.
“Now give me that,” Esteban addresses the leader of his gang, motioning to the camera.
Scar Face unhooks it from the tripod and hands it to him.
Esteban takes it and pans it about the room. Hugh nods at it. Rose gives a little wave.
Hate is not a word strong enough to describe the loathing I feel for them then.
“Mr. Blackthorne?” Esteban asks. “Wasn’t there something you wanted to say?”
“Yes, of course,” Hugh bows his head. “Thank you for the reminder. Lilly…” He looks at me. “I have to admit that I was not truthful before. Those red pills? They are the ones that ruin your mind. And what we can give you is not a substance that induces the visions, but one that takes them away.” He spreads his hands. “I am sorry. The half-life I told you about? That’s the half-life of the counteragent. Not the activator. There is no activator unfortunately. Such a thing simply does not exist. We will give you enough to have you stay with us, mentally, at first. After all,” He smiles. “we don’t want you to degrade to the state that your father is in. Not just yet.” He motions at Esteban. “Go on, my boy.”
“Thank you,” Esteban turns the camera to himself. He holds the vial up once more. “So, Mr. Stonehart. This is all we have of the counteragent. The only company in the world that can give us more? Stonehart Industries. Now you see why our demands are not so unreasonable. And, if you care about this nasty little girl half as much as I am led to believe, I think that we’ve just strengthened our bargaining position.”
Esteban starts pacing circles around the room, speaking right into the camera again. “Here are the instructions once more: First, you will transfer all stock that you hold of Stonehart Industries to your father’s name.” He giggles. “Quite an ironic twist. Don’t you think? You took his company from him in your youth. And now he, weathered and old, takes control of yours from you in your prime.” Esteban glances at Hugh. “No disrespect meant, of course, sir.”
Hugh waves it away. “I know who I am,” he says, taking Rose’s hand.
“Next,” Esteban continues. “Once that is done, you will arrange all the paperwork to have Dextran annexed from Stonehart Industries in full. I want my company back too, Mr. Stonehart. My friend here will sign the executive order putting all that in place once he becomes majority shareholder. Isn’t that right, Mr. Blackthorne?”
“Of course,” Hugh says.
I try to struggle against Big Man, to break out of his grip and scream for Jeremy not to do it. But, I’m much too weak. I feel like a flailed prisoner, shattered and torn.
“Oh, I’d like something too,” Rose says, her voice pitching up as if her declaration is totally spur of the moment.
Esteban turns the camera to here. “Say your will.”
Rose walks up to me. She smiles and picks at the arm of my robe. “You were such a pretty thing, once,” she tells me softly. “And I picked out so many pretty clothes for you.”
She spins around and announces grandly: “Jeremy, I want to have the ability to pick out pretty clothes for myself, too. Pretty clothes and diamonds and jewelry and rings. Over the years, I’ve grown accustomed to your exquisite tastes. It’ll take money for me to buy all those things. Lots and lots of money. So…” She smiles a nasty smile. “…I want it all. Your entire fortune, transferred to me. Oh, but don’t worry. I’ll be nice, and let you keep that precious little retreat in the woods. The one you relegated my dear Hugh to. How did you phrase it, so eloquently, that one time? ‘Retirement calls for you, old man’?” She laughs. “It’ll be your retirement that is achieved, Little Jeremy. Oh, and the forty million you promised for Lilly? I’ll take that, and distribute it amongst our three guards.” She winks at them. “So you see: Your reward was never in any real danger of being claimed.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
LILLY
I’m left alone afterward. Hugh’s promise of freedom to explore the island was another lie.
As soon as they’re gone, I stick two fingers down my throat and try to hurl. I dry heave more than once, my body seizing up on itself in painful convulsions. They rip through my insides like sharp barbed wire.
I start to cough. I cough up blood. I see it on the floor, on my hands.
At least the lights are on. At least I’m not left in the dark—
A convulsion of enormous force overtakes my body. Pain splinters through every last synapse.
I cry out and clutch my stomach.
A second convulsion comes. Then a third. Each one is accompanied by relentless pain, by the most horrible agony. My back breaks out in sweat. Suddenly, I feel too hot, way too hot. The cotton of my robe is suffocating me worse than a sweat suit in a sauna.
I rip it off and hurl it away. I’m barely conscious of the cameras in the four corners of the ceiling. My insides are burning up. The pain consumes me. I start to pant. The unnatural sweat only becomes worse. My legs start trembling, then my arms, until finally my whole body is overtaken by uncontrollable shaking.
I cry. I curl up in the middle of the floor and cry. The convulsions don’t stop. The pain doesn’t go away. And the heat—it only gets worse and worse and worse.
I close my eyes, and then—nothing.
Chapter Twenty-Three
LILLY
When I open them again, I’m lying on a soft, comfortable bed.
A gentle breeze flows over my skin. Birds sing in the background.
Where am I?
I’m not sure.
I feel… safe. Languid. Secure.
I pick myself up and look around. I smile when I recognize my surroundings.
I’m on Jeremy’s beautiful tropical island. Somebody has brought my bed outside, right on the beach. I stand, and feel the warm sand between my toes.
I hear a voice calling my name behind me. “Miss Ryder. Miss Ryder!”
I turn. Manuela is there, running up to me. She has a tall green cocktail in one hand.
“For you,” she says, smiling.
I take it from her, and nod thank you. I’m parched. I bring the straw to my mouth and take a small sip.
The drink is delicious. Exquisite. It tastes wonderful, like sunshine and pineapples and kiwis and sex.
Manuela watches me, smiling ea
gerly. “Mr. Stonehart had that prepared for you,” she tells me. “He said it’s your favorite drink. He’s waiting right there, back in the mansion…”
I keep drinking, never wanting the pleasant liquid to run out. Then, I’m gripped by a sudden sense of immense alarm.
Manuela didn’t speak English. Nobody would call the beachside villa a mansion…
I stumble forward and almost fall. My vision blurs. When I look up, the island is gone. I’m surrounded by four white walls, with my bed in the middle. And it’s not Manuela standing there, but Rose.
“Enjoy day one of your hell,” she tells me, snatching the glass from my hand and closing the door.
--
Seventy-two hours. That’s how long Hugh said the counteragent would last.
I lie in a cold sweat in the middle of my white bed. I’m afraid to move. I’m afraid to do anything that might make me lose my grip on reality.
After a few hours, I muster up the courage to go to the bathroom and turn the shower on. Just to have some noise. Just to have something to cling to when the visions come.
I’m terrified of what I might see next. I press the button to turn the water on and run back to my bed.
Every new sound spooks me. Every noise, every crack, every rustle. I feel the clock ticking in the back of my mind. Sixty eight hours left. And then the drugs will take hold. The counteragent will expire.
And then I will give in to schizophrenia.
I shiver, cower, and lie in a cold sweat. I stare at the door. My heart pounds with immense force, every beat like the thud of a blacksmith’s hammer.
--
Four hours left.
Two hours.
One.
I wish desperately that my internal clock was not so precisely synched. But I’ve become an expert at feeling time pass. I know how long one hour feels. I can attribute that to Stonehart.
Minutes. Minutes left. Minutes tick by. I’m helpless to stop the images. How can I fight voices that are in my own head? No amount of mental strength or willpower can undo the chemical damage done to my brain.
The door opens. I jerk up. I turn my head—and see Jeremy there.
No. No, no, no. That’s all wrong. Jeremy can’t be here. He can’t be there. I blink rapidly and shake my head.
My vision splinters. The doorway seems to expand, like it’s going to swallow me whole. Then, in a blink, it snaps back to itself, and I see who’s really there:
Big Man.
He grins at me. They’ve long since forgone wearing the ski masks—except for the camera.
He takes a step into the room.
“No, no,” I say, shying back. “Stay away. Don’t come any closer. Please don’t come any closer!”
As I look at him, right before my eyes, his face transforms. It blurs together, the nose melting with the lips and the eyes. And then, when I take my next breath. Jeremy is standing there once more.
My fear vanishes. Fear? What fear?
Why should I be afraid of the man I love?
He extends his hand. “Come with me.”
I smile. It’s a radiant smile offered from the very depths of my soul. I feel so happy, seeing him. Jeremy. My Jeremy. My lover. My everything. My man.
I stand up and catch a glimpse of red. I look down. I’m in silks. In that luxurious, wonderful dress that I wore on my first public outing with Jeremy in the Caribbean.
I feel wonderful. I feel like laughing, like dancing, like spinning. I hop toward him and take his hand.
Our skin touches.
Wait. Something is wrong.
I recoil. These aren’t Jeremy’s hands. These are large, dirty, heavily calloused hands.
I stare at the fingers in horror. There’s hair growing on their backs. Thick, black, bushy hair, like a moustache or a fuzzy caterpillar.
I try to jerk my hand away, but Jeremy holds on tight. “No,” I whisper. ‘No, no, no.”
“Oh yes,” he says. He smiles in a crude way. His teeth—I gasp. They’re yellow. Why are they so yellow?
I keep pulling my arm, trying to yank it free. Something tickles my skin. I look down. The most horrifying scream is ripped from my throat.
Those awful caterpillars have grown. Doubled in size. Multiplied.
And now, they’re swarming over my flesh.
In one last desperate pull I jerk myself free. I stagger away. My legs hit something. I lose balance and fall…
I find myself floating on the surface of a warm body of water. I look around and laugh in delight when I see where I am: The lake of Jeremy’s private island. There are lilies blossoming around me. Their petals float alongside my limbs in the water.
I feel light, happy, and carefree. Nothing can touch me on this island. I love the warmth of the water and the bright rays of the sun. I dip my head back, and laugh, once again, when I feel my long, beautiful hair sponging up the moisture of the water.
From the corner of my eye I see movement. I turn my head and spot Jeremy climbing the heights to the waterfall. His bare upper body looks glorious in the sun. I bite my lip and watch the perfect contractions of his back muscle as he scales the rocky cliff.
He reaches the top. Then stands tall and waves to me.
I wave back.
He nears the waterfall’s edge, stretches his arms up and to the sides. His muscles shine in the sunlight.
Then he kneels down, picks up a pebble, and tosses it over the ledge. For some reason, I am absolutely fascinated by its decent. I watch, transfixed, as the rock arcs and drops.
It hits the surface of the water. The lake swallows it with a satisfying plop.
Suddenly there are pebbles falling everywhere. They drop in the water like frogs in a rainstorm—a torrent of them, unceasing, unrelenting. They grow in size, becoming larger, thicker, more menacing.
In a moment of absolute horror, I see that they’re not pebbles but human skulls, gleaming white and raging down all around me.
I scream. The sound is swallowed in the roar of the falling skulls. I look up, and Jeremy is there, atop the waterfall, shoveling them from behind him with a demonic intensity. “The road to the top is not easy, Lilly. It is not paved in gold!” He screams. “It is littered with the bones of all those who’ve tried to get there and failed. You find decaying bodies along the way, still half-alive, begging for water or food or a merciful end. They call to you. They pull at you. They try to bring you deep underground so they can triumph in your destruction!”
Laughter overtakes him. A mad laughter, an insane laughter. His laughter knifes the air like a flaming sword through dry brushwood. It envelops me, swallows me whole. Pain, pain. All I know is pain, brought about by the horrible ringing in my head. I clasp my hands over my ears, shrieking in pain. The sudden movement knocks me off my floating lounger. I fall face-first into the pool. Liquid fills my lungs. I start to suffocate, choke, drown.
I pass out.
Chapter Twenty-Four
LILLY
Moments later, I come to. My eyes are closed. I can’t seem to find the strength to open them.
No, it’s not that. More like there’s something pressing onto them from about me. Something I cannot move.
A thin, cold metal straw is brought to my lips. My head is tilted up. “Drink, now,” a female voice coos. “Drink, sweet Lilly.”
I suck at the liquid. It’s sweet. Almost sickly so. Like a syrup or some type of nectar.
I drink…and feel my grip on reality solidifying. I feel the sensation come back to my limbs. I wiggle my toes. I stretch my hands to the side. I open my eyes, see sunlight, and close them again.
Confusion grips me. Sunlight? How? From where?
And then my hands find the top of my scalp, brush over the short, prickly hairs growing there, and my eyes pop open. I’m wide awake.
I surge upright. I’m in a wheelchair, placed in the middle of a verdant meadow of grass. I look around me, still blinking fast to adjust to the sunlight. I see a beautiful white Greek estate. A
cross from it is a sandy beach, leading to the ocean. Gulls circle above us.
Rose is beside me. As soon as I see her, I try to stand—only to find my ankles bound to the legs of the chair.
“How nice it is to be outside,” she says. “Don’t you think?”
It’s just me and her out here in the open. I look at the glass bottle from which I drank. It’s still half-full
Rose taps the lip with her nails. “You should probably drink all of this,” she tells me. “The full dose of counteragent is in there. Unless you want to return to the false reality your mind creates ahead of time.”
She stands and walks away, turning her back to me. I grab the bottle and greedily drink.
“You know,” Rose says, “there is a way for you to distinguish if what you’re seeing is real or not. It’s called an anchor. Something that is wholly unique to you. Something that you have possession of in the real world that you do not when consumed by your fancies.” She turns back to me. I glare at her, the sun starting to burn the virgin flesh on top of my head.
“Why, Rose?” I ask her. “Why would you do this? Jeremy gave everything to you. I saw how you lived. You never lacked.”
“No?” She shakes her head sadly. “That’s where you’re wrong, Lilly. Jeremy did not give me anything. All he did was take away. He took, and took, and took, and never once considered what I had already given him.”
“And what’s that?” I scoff. “You molested him as a child. Everything that you had was more than you deserved.”
“Perhaps in your eyes,” she murmurs.
I kick my legs, trying to free myself from the bonds.
“It’s no use,” Rose says, “dwelling on the past. What’s done is done, what’s been given has been received. Oh, and stop struggling, Lilly. That’s no use, either.”
I grit my teeth and stare at her, loathing burning through my veins.
“You see, Lilly,” Rose says, coming toward me and stopping just out of arm’s reach. She adjusts her hat. “I was there before you. I was there before Jeremy became Stonehart. I was there from the start. I witnessed him grow, saw him become who he is. And don’t try to belittle me by calling me a child molester. I made Jeremy a man. He was forever grateful for that.”
Uncovering You: The Complete Series (Mega Box Set) Page 104
