Page 49 of Juniper Unraveling

An obnoxious laugh bounces off the walls in the lab, and Doctor Ericsson strokes his chin. “Would you like to see my laboratory? I can assure you it’s far more exciting than this.”

My gaze slides to Doctor Falkenrath, who lifts his gaze just enough to give me a sharp nod, and my stomach sinks at the thought of going off alone with this man. For whatever reason, he strikes me as fake. There’s a greasy quality to his voice that I don’t trust, but I rise up from my chair and follow him out of the lab, down the hall to another section of the building I’ve never ventured to before. He comes to a stop in front of a window that takes up the entire wall, and beyond it, there’s a buzzing that sounds like a saw. The body whose back faces me steps to the side, revealing metal contraptions that pinch threads of bloody flesh, surrounding an exposed brain set against a wall of drapes that hide the rest of the body. The top of the skull has been removed, and the organ is prodded and poked by the doctors that surround the table. I take a few steps to the right, where the profile of the man comes into view. His eyes are open, his knuckles white as they clutch the edge of the bed, his feet kicking below.

“They’re awake when you do this?”

“Of course. We like to monitor speech and vision during the craniotomy. Motor skills. These are Stage One patients.”

“Do they feel it?”

He chuckles, and when his eyes slide to mine, the evil brimming to their surface sends a shudder down my spine. “Of course. All facets of the surgery are observed. Including pain reception.”

The conversation with Doctor Falkenrath resurfaces in my mind. Yes, I’m certain this place is hell.

All the more reason I’m grateful my brother is no longer a part of it.

Relief washes through me, when he leads me past the window and into a small room that appears to be his office—one far more elaborate than Doctor Falkenrath’s, with leather chairs and plants. Awards framed to the wall boast of years of experience, but it strikes me odd that many are dated prior to the first outbreak. As if he gathered up all of his belongings and settled long before the first Ragers appeared.

My father told me, all he had when he left the city was a cellphone, a pack of smokes, and my mother. There wasn’t time to grab anything else.

He gestures toward a chair in front of his desk, and I fall into the cushiony leather seat. An uneasy knot sits in my stomach when he slides into the narrow gap in front of me, leaning against the desk with one leg propped on the tabletop. “You’re a very curious boy, Daniel. I like that. Do you have an interest in medicine?”

I don’t, but if I’m to remain useful, as Doctor Falkenrath advised, I won’t bother to tell him that. “Yes.”

He nods and rubs his hand against the top of his thigh, across perfectly pressed black slacks. “Good. Good. Perhaps I’ll bring you in to assist in one of my surgeries.”

The thought spurs nausea in my gut. At least Doctor Falkenrath anesthetizes or, at times, euthanizes his subjects before cutting into them. He’s never intentionally subjected anyone to pain and torture as a means of observation.

But again, I lie. “Thank you. I’d like that.”

“Fantastic.” His words are drawn out and articulate, and I imagine he’s a meticulous man. “I’d like you to do something for me, Daniel.”

I don’t bother to look at him, unsure of why he’s taken such an interest in me. “Yes, sir?”

“Such a polite boy. Can I call you Danny?”

I wish he wouldn’t. It’s too close to my real name, and I’ve done my best to shield myself behind my father’s—keeping a thin layer between this hell and me.

The moment his hands move to his zipper, my gaze shoots to his, and I sit as far back in my seat as I can, watching in horror as he drops his trousers to expose the erect penis beneath. He strokes his hand along the shaft, eyes studying my reaction. I’m hoping any moment that he’ll burst into laughter, and it’ll be a joke.

The greedy expression on his face tells me otherwise, though.

A cold numbness sweeps through my veins in the uncomfortable seconds that follow.

“Put it in your mouth, Danny.” Kicking a step closer, he places his hands at either side of him, lifting his hips slightly. “And if you say a word to Doctor Falkenrath, I’ll have you transferred to the experimental ward with the other boys.”

Shock clamps down my muscles, and all I can do is stare at his exposed penis. I close my lips to stifle the urge to cry, and my fingers curl around the arms of the chair. I can’t. I can’t do this.

With an upward glance, I catch him staring down at me, head tipped in waiting. Trembles beat out the steady waves of panic washing through me.

“C’mon, Danny. Put it in your mouth and suck.”

Bile shoots up my throat, and I gulp to swallow it back. Tears blur the organ into a flesh-colored protrusion from his hips, as the musky scent tugs a gag.

“Father?”

The voice comes from beyond the door and has Doctor Ericsson stuffing himself back into his trousers. The sound of his zipper chases the click of the door, and I follow his horrified gaze, to where a younger copy of himself stands in the opening, dressed in the signature black uniform of a Legion soldier.

“What are you doing?” he asks.