No one came in the morning.
Buried beneath the blankets on his bed, Hadrian Bridger listened for the sound of footsteps approaching his door. Usually they’d come early with the first dose, if they were coming, and if he’d tracked the days correctly, this should be one of those days.
But no one had come yet.
There was a lot of movement in the hallway, though. He could hear muffled voices, footsteps moving back and forth. This part of the facility was seeing much more traffic than usual.
I didn’t dream it, then. I really heard what I thought I heard. Stiff, cold fingers bunched in the sheet. Of course, the trick of pinching the web of his fingers between his thumb and forefinger usually woke him from any dream or vision that gripped him, but sometimes reality and memory and his grip on both were still tenuous.
Maybe they really were getting ready to move them again. That was usually what shut it down meant—that they were closing this facility, moving everyone to another one. It had happened several times over the past few years.
At least, he thought that was true. Everything felt so muddled, had for a while. He still hadn’t quite figured out what the cause of it was, either—was it the drugs? His own abilities? Something else?
Did it really matter?
It probably didn’t, at least not on the inside.
She’s alive.
The thought crackled through him like a current.
The Institute—every staff member, ever doctor, every attendant, everyone—had repeated it over and over again.
“Kyle Anne Monroe died attempting to escape. It’s a tragedy and she will be remembered for what she could have been. Let her loss be a lesson to all of us of what defying the will of God can mean.”
“She’s dead, gone. She failed to follow God’s plan for her and paid the price—and will continue to pay it in eternity.”
“Do you want to end up like her? She’s gone. She’s been punished for her transgressions and lack of faith.”
“She died. Mourn, but learn from her mistakes. Do not repeat them. Follow the path.”
Variants on a theme, every time. She defied their beliefs, defied the path laid out for her. She died. She was dead. Listen to us. Do as we say and survive. Do as we say and live. Do as we say and be saved. She could have been so much more than what she allowed herself to be. Defiance means death because you’re not defying us.
You’re defying the path that’s been ordained for you by the lord of all.
It was as if they believed that if they repeated it often enough, they might actually start to believe it. The worst part of it was, sometimes they did almost did. But that was more about survival, more about finding a way to pull through the hell they were living in than actual belief.
He knew that all of this was insane.
But their circle had shrunk, now, and none of them could move against the Institute. It wasn’t the way it was before when she was here, or even when he’d thought that she could still reach them—reach him.
The sudden silence after the fire all those years ago had let them convince him that maybe, just maybe, it had all been in his head for all those years since the day they brought T.S. back barely breathing and told them all that Ky was dead.
But that was a lie.
It had to be. Deep down, in his heart of hearts, he’d never believed she was gone. But if she wasn’t gone, if she was still out there somewhere, why hadn’t she come for them? Why hadn’t she reached for them?
Why hasn’t she reached for me?
What if she—
Could it be possible that she had no idea that they were still alive?
It was enough to make his stomach sink.
They made it look like we were dead, didn’t they?
A shiver shot through him and he shifted in the bed, rolling onto his side and pulling the blankets up over his head. Moving brought pain and he choked quietly on it. Something about what they’d been giving him to stimulate his visions made every muscle in his body seize up like he’d run for miles on an empty stomach without water.
Really, he wasn’t sure if that was slowly killing him or not. It wouldn’t have surprised him very much if it was and that they didn’t care. After all, the other half of his equation wasn’t in their hands anymore. His visions, though—he was still pretty sure that they through those were important and useful. He couldn’t be sure, though, because half the time he didn’t remember what he saw when they dosed him with whatever they’d been giving him for the last six months. Whatever the drug cocktail was, in addition to the pain, memory gaps were proving to be another side effect.
Of course, maybe it also had to do with the red-haired girl that had come a few months before—at least, he thought he remembered a red-haired girl there for some of the sessions. Maybe he’d just imagined her.
Hallucinations had also been one of the side effects.
If they made it look like we were dead, then she… He grimaced as his thoughts scattered. What would Ky have done? He still wasn’t sure how long he’d been unconscious after the explosion. Had she reached for him? Had he dreamed of her?
Or had there been nothing because something had snapped the tether between them?
The idea of that made him sick to his empty stomach.
I need to get up, he finally thought. No one’s coming. I need to eat something if no one’s coming.
It was painful, clawing his way free of the blankets, but the more he moved the easier it was to push the pain away, to ignore it—or maybe the pain in his head tripling meant the pain everywhere else was suddenly a lesser concern. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat there for a few seconds, swallowing down the acid that rose in his throat despite an empty stomach. Even beneath stocking feet, he could tell the floor was cold.
Footsteps stopped in front of his room out in the hall and he froze, holding his breath, squeezing eyes shut. Did I misjudge the time? Have they just been moving around all night and I didn’t sleep? Is it not morning? Did I just—did I sleep through the first dose? He’d never done that before, but anything was possible.
“Is it even safe to try to move them?” He thought he recognized the voice as one of the technicians that assisted Dr. Sterling, but he wasn’t sure.
“There’s no alternative,” another voice said. “We have to. They’re still important to the plan.”
“They’re invalids,” the tech’s voice said. “Moving them could be dangerous. We could lose them.”
“Then we’d better be careful about it,” the other voice said. “We’ve moved them before. Why should this time be any different?”
“We had more time to prepare last time. This timetable is impossible.”
“All things are possible when you have faith. Trust in that and we’ll get it sorted out. Dr. Sterling wants them ready to move by tonight.”
“We’ll have to sedate them,” the tech said slowly. “That’s going to be—”
“I’m sure he’s aware. Do we have any good alternatives?”
There was a brief silence followed by what Hadrian thought might be a sigh. “No. No, nothing that I can come up with. Are they bringing her back to help?”
“No. She’s needed elsewhere.”
“Her strength is—”
“Trust in God and the plan,” the second voice said, cutting off the tech. “Do your job and let her keepers worry about what she’s doing. Get them ready to move. They’re out of here tonight.”
Slowly, Hadrian eased back down to the mattress, his pillows, heart in his throat. What are they planning? What are they going to do?
He knew who the her they were talking about was—it was Aly, his friend Aly, and imagining what they could be using her for shook him to his core.
She’d been the first one to break of the four of them that had remained.
Then again, none of them were whole anymore anyway, not since losing Ky. Not since what had happened to T.S. Really, the most surprising part was that Aly had held it together as long as she had, had kept the faith as long as she had.
Then, suddenly, it was just him and Ridley.
And then, finally, just him.
His lips thinned as he burrowed into the blankets again. The door hadn’t opened yet, but it would soon enough. As soon as the tech figured out dosages, as soon as the tech sorted out exactly what they needed to do on an accelerated timetable to get him ready to move, that door would open.
He wasn’t sure where he’d wake up, but he had no doubt that T.S. would be with him. They never moved one of them without the other. They’d done something to tie them together after the escape attempt, something that had never quite been undone. First it had been the four of them tied together—he and Aly and Ridley all tied to T.S. They’d made Aly figure out how to do it. He still remembered holding her while she sobbed, terrified that it wouldn’t work, that somehow she’d kill the boy she loved in trying to make sure he stayed alive.
The fact that she wouldn’t be there when they were moved was a little terrifying, to say the least.
They didn’t mention Ridley. Why didn’t they mention Ridley? So far as he knew, Ridley was still bound to T.S., too. Had something changed? A dim memory surfaced of a whispered voice, of an apology, of tears and the squeeze of a warm hand.
They’d sent him away, out of the Institute, but not like Aly. He’d said something about being sent to someone in the town up the road beyond the walls. He’d said goodbye.
Had they undone it when they sent him away? The draw was worse—he’d noticed that much—like he was carrying most of the weight of maintaining T.S., but that had happened before because of distance. It happened whenever Aly was away, doing whatever they were forcing her to do, had been worse when she’d had her accident.
That had nearly killed all four of them.
Wait. They didn’t mention Ridley. Last night they said—
Aly would never run. She couldn’t, not without T.S., and T.S. couldn’t do anything other than keep on breathing. But Ridley?
They sent him to a minder in the town.
Someone had gotten away.
Ridley had gotten away.
It had to be. There wasn’t anyone else.
Ridley had gotten away. Somehow, he’d run, probably with help, based on what he’d heard the night before. The Institute was hunting for him.
They’re afraid he’ll find someone. That he’ll tell someone everything.
They’re running scared.
His breath caught and his fingers tangled in the blankets. He’d seen this. He knew that he had, long ago, in one of those dark moments where he’d sobbed himself to sleep, wishing that she was still beside him, still there to soothe his tears and bolster his dying hope.
This is it. This is how it starts.
“This is how it ends,” he whispered to no one.
“This is the beginning of how it ends.”
