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They finally sniffed it out. The one room I have dreaded going into above all others. The first treatment I witnessed when I was interviewed at the Emerald Lake Asylum.
“Lock them in,” Belinda calls to the orderlies, ushering me to the large tub filled with cold water. “Our dearest Father is going to lead this one.”
The simulated drowning. It now has two contraptions on either side of the tub. Dessin is already barred down by one of them. Metal clamps are molded around his head and neck, along with his upper body that is positioned over the cold water.
They’re going to make us fight for oxygen at the same time.
I lock eyes with Dessin. And it’s in one look that tells me he knows how terrified I am. We’ve had many conversations about this while traveling together. About how watching Chekiss drown and gag and convulse in the water was traumatic for me, and worse for him. About how more patients have died this way than any other treatment in the asylum.
I gulp as they lower me to the other side of him. My legs turning to jelly as my knees hit the floor. An icy finger with a long snaggy nail grates down my spine, filling my stomach with alarm and heaps of bile.
I spoke to him, my lips forming the words to Dessin. He nods once.
But what I don’t get to say is that it was useless. He’s being monitored like a hawk. I’ll never get anything out of him while we’re here. I need Dessin’s counsel, his brains, his abilities to find the loophole.
Instead, my forehead and neck are attached to a large metal shackle of sorts, like an iron noose, a steel hand forcing me to face the small pool of water, clenching my waist to keep me still while my body goes into a rage of panic of epic contractions and spasms.
All for oxygen.
How terribly cruel.
“I’m told that the two of you have a certain fondness for one another. This concerned me. But it also opened my eyes to your ailments. The devil is using sexual attraction as a way to lure you both into his grasp.” The priest walks around the tub so he can look between the two of us simultaneously. “But I won’t let that happen. I will be your sword to combat him. God is stronger, God is more powerful. And so, I know exactly how to rid him from latching on to your souls.”
Dessin sighs next to me, which is code for I’d rather be drowned than have to listen to him.
My lips twitch, but I wouldn’t dare crack a smile and make this worse for us.
The priest kneels at the head of the tub. “I have blessed this water. And this baptism will not only cleanse the devil but abolish your feelings toward one another.”
Dessin nods in front of me. “Effective.”
Smart-ass.
“Now, I want you to think of the moment you first met. The moment you shook hands, or at least acknowledged each other’s existence.”
I’m flooded with the memory of walking down the hall to the thirteenth room, standing behind Dessin while Suseas told me not to say a word. Shaking his hand. The way he looked at me like he’d been expecting me.
You certainly took your time getting here, hmm?
It’s like being shoved off a cliff. Like staying aboard a sinking ship. The metal contraptions begin lowering us to the water, making a creaky whining sound because it’s rusted and overused. I can’t help but let the panic set in, let it grip me by the throat. It digs its ugly claws into my chest, chokes the bravery from my lungs.
I’m not going to make it. I’ll drown.
“Stay calm,” Dessin whispers before our heads, necks, and shoulders are dunked into the frigid water.
He’s right, of course. I’ve seen this done so many times. Chekiss always remained calm, saved his energy. If I try to fight it, I’ll only increase my need for more oxygen.
But god, it’s so cold. The icy tub sweeps my hair away from my face in a soft, golden web across the water. Dessin might even be able to feel it tickle his cheeks.
Stay calm.
I do as he says. I close my eyes, keep my breath locked tightly in my chest, and pretend to sleep. Pretend I’m taking a dip in the lagoon. Pretend I’m alone in my bathtub. And it’s quiet. Peaceful, even. The sound of death waiting in the shadows to snatch my life from my grasp.
And suddenly, it’s not so silent anymore.
Through the walls of my new cage, there’s the stomping of feet throughout the asylum, vibrating the floor supporting my knees. There’s the chanting of the priest, humming the Lord’s Prayer over us. And finally, there’s the sound of my upper body rattling the iron claw holding me underwater. My heart thrashes around against my ribs, throwing its fists against my lungs as if it wants out, it needs to escape my body draining of oxygen.
And just as I think I’m about to cross the line from silent suffering to full-on hysteria, the contraptions lift us from the water. Water streams down my face in a downpour from my hair. I gasp, controlled and deep. I know I can’t start panting uncontrollably this early on. I have to replace the old air with new oxygen effectively.
