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“Absolution isn’t given. It’s earned. You’re the one who will lead us to Delta and all his supporters.”
Alarm flashes across his features as it finally sinks in that I plan on making him betray his fellow snuff-loving subscribers. He stares up at me, his jaw falling slack. “You don’t understand. Delta doesn’t take treachery lightly.”
I clap him on the cheek. “Cheer up. You’ll get to see Dolly before you die.”
Isabel approaches with the syringe, making him thrash. His unbandaged eye, bulging with terror, remains on mine, silently begging for my nonexistent mercy. He mouths ‘please’ as she slides the needle into his vein and presses the plunger.
As the drug takes effect, his whimpers and gasps slow into pained groans, but I continue staring into his eyes.
“Better.” Isabel picks up her scalpel and makes an incision near his collarbone. “Make yourself useful and get me the leads.”
Smirking, I pick up the wires for the reverend’s pacemaker and hand them to my sister.
She takes her time, threading them through a vein into his heart. As she makes minor adjustments, I pick up the lightweight pacemaker.
“Anything you can do to accelerate the healing of his injuries? I can’t send him to the meeting point looking like this.”
“I’m a medic, not a miracle worker,” she mutters and slides the device into a pocket of skin in his chest. “Testing.”
I tap a few buttons on the pacemaker, watching the monitor for changes in his heart’s rhythm. When it stabilizes, I grin with triumph.
“It’s in everyone’s interest if he doesn’t shuffle in looking fresh from the torture table,” I add, prompting her for a solution.
She closes his incision with sutures, her brow furrowing. “The best I can do at such short notice is cauterize the wounds and combine that with a course of anti-inflammatories and antibiotics. You’ll have to make up the difference with cosmetics.”
I grunt. “That will do for now.”
Reverend Thomas won’t live a second once he’s served his purpose.
After Isabel inserts enough tech into his body to track him to an accuracy of a millimeter, we test the app that controls our pain distributing devices and the beating of his heart.
Once the muscle relaxant wears off, he trembles openly at the violation, glaring up at me like I’m the monster.
I cup the bandaged side of his face. “Good boy. You took that pacemaker so well. If you screw us over in any way in Helsing Island, we’ll keep you suspended in agony long before you beg us to stop your heart.”
Isabel sets down her instruments and whirls around, her eyes hardening. “Now that we’ve prepped the Trojan horse, it’s time to finish your course of treatment.”
TWENTY-ONE
Sunday July 18, 2010
This pregnancy was supposed to be a healing process—a new start to get me over the wreckage of my past with Giorgi. I wanted to have a water birth at home, with a qualified midwife and Lyle holding my hand. In the end, my body betrayed those plans.
Once I noticed how close Charlotte was getting to Lyle, my stress skyrocketed. Meditation failed to distract me from the unsettling parallels between this pregnancy and my last.
Dr. Forster made a home visit since I was confined to my bed. He suggested I open up to Lyle about my insecurities. My stomach churned at the thought of being so vulnerable. I told him Lyle had been nothing but supportive, tender, and loving. He’d already sacrificed so much to give the girls and me a good life. I couldn’t drag him into my cesspool of worries and trauma.
Later that afternoon, I was reading Rapunzel to Amy. She’s too old for fairytales, I know, but it’s the only way I can connect to my youngest. Charlotte came in with an early dinner oftomato soup and grilled cheese. She called Amy over to eat with her and Dolly.
Amy was reluctant to leave and asked if she could eat with me, but Charlotte insisted, saying that I needed my rest. I didn’t contradict her, wanting Amy to socialize with the rest of her family instead of keeping to herself.
The soup was nice enough with a rich umami flavor that I didn’t recognize until my throat closed up with an all-too-familiar reaction. Even the smallest amount of shrimp can trigger my allergy, and there was enough in a few mouthfuls to send me into anaphylaxis.
I screamed for help through a swollen throat, and crawled out of bed, looking for the EpiPen I was sure I’d left in the nightstand drawer. It was a mess. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t balance, and collapsed on my hands and knees with shooting pain.
It’s been ages since I’ve had such a strong reaction. During my captivity with Giorgi, he once fed me pasta laced with shrimp as a punishment. I reacted so badly that he had to call his family physician to administer an emergency shot. I looked monstrous—my body was a mess of swelling, blisters, and hives. For once in his miserable life, he looked shaken. After that, he stopped fucking with my food.
This time, I was on my own with my EpiPen missing. I groped around for my phone to call 911, but all I found was my charger. I was choking, half-blinded by the swelling around my eyes, and feeling like I was going to die, when Lyle appeared in the doorway.
