Page 25 of Consume Me

I did, too. I hoped she was actually free. I hoped she was telling her story to anyone who would listen and I hoped that information got back to my husband.

Most of all, I hoped that, whoever she was, she was alive.

“The loo?” I asked. I hated asking. I hated pretending that this was normal. I wasn’t a patient. This wasn’t a hospital. I’d been stolen—my life had been stolen.

“Down the hall, last door on the right. It locks, too,” she reassured me.

So maybe that was where this Rachel was hiding unless she’d gone back to her room.

My room was about as homey as Rachel’s it turned out. A bed. A shelf with a few worn paperbacks of movies I’d already seen. A dresser with some nondescript items that looked more like tents than clothing. I changed into one, grateful to cover myself despite the scratchy, ill-fitting fabric.

Not long after June disappeared, a guard showed up carrying two trays of food. He placed it in front of me without a word. Was that how they justified what they were doing? Avoiding eye contact? Not speaking to us?

As soon as he was gone, I peeked out of my room. Rachel’s door was open. Grabbing the apple, I tiptoed over to it, but the room was empty and her tray untouched.

Going down the hall I discovered the loo was still locked, too. Apparently, she was more scared of me than anyone else.

“Can I use that?” I called. “I’m pregnant.”

I waited, wondering if playing that card would get me enough sympathy, to lure her out. After a few seconds, I heard a lock click. Two dark eyes peeked out at me from the cracked door.

“Rachel?” I asked.

She bobbed her head.

“Dinner’s here,” I said. I was lying about the loo. Usually, I needed it every ten minutes, but with so little food and water, I didn’t feel the urge. It was a truth that didn’t sit well with me. “I thought you would want to know.”

I half expected her to run back to her room and lock the door. Instead, she walked alongside me, her eyes darting nervously over her shoulder. She looked so familiar, I could swear that we’d met before, but we couldn’t have. Dark eyes, long black hair that hadn’t been cut in months. Years? Her skin was pale, and she was thin. Too thin. Her gait was stilted and plodding as though walking was difficult for her. It took everything in me not to start asking questions—or jumping to conclusions.

I needed her to trust me. We were in this together and I was betting that she was no more a psychiatric case than I was. But why was she here? Where had I seen her before?

“Can I eat with you?” I asked. Her room had a table. Mine only had a bed. I tried not to think what not warranting a table said about my longterm prospects for survival.

“Okay,” she softly, sounding like she was trying out the word. Did she leave her often? Was that why she was skittish, because she rarely saw people?

We ate a few bites in heavy silence. It occurred to me that the food might be poisoned but I was too hungry to care. Dr. Rolland had assured me that they baby wouldn’t be harmed, so for now I had to trust that. Neither of us would make it long without food anyway. When I reached for the apple I’d stashed in my pocket, she shook her head. Her hand darted out and knocked it to the floor.

“Don’t eat that,” she whispered, her eyes flickering around the room. “It puts you to sleep.”

“An apple?” I stared at it lying on the ground.

“When I ate them, I woke up in bed but there was always something different.” She pointed to her head. “My hair would be shorter or there were bruises on my arms. The last time I ate one, I woke up somewhere strange with people all around me before I fell back asleep.”

What were they doing to her while she slept? What would they do to me? An icy finger ran up my spine as I remembered what Rolland had said about the baby being viable. Was that their plan? Put me into a never-ending sleep?

Rachel’s eyes narrowed and she studied me for a second. “Do I know you?”

“Not sure.” I reached down and pocketed the apple again. They didn’t need to know I hadn’t eaten it.

“How did you get here?” I asked her when I couldn’t stand waiting any longer. I needed answers. Rachel didn’t seem like a valuable source of information, particularly if she’d been asleep for most of their procedures, but she’d been her longer than I had. She knew things, like the bit about the apple. She could still help me.

She shrugged, her dark eyes a little glossy.

“You don’t know?” I pressed. “What about your life before?”

“I remember stuff, but the doctors say I’m wrong.” She sighed and I knew then that she’d given up. That was the difference between us. I wouldn’t give up not until they killed me.

“What kind of stuff?” I asked. There had to be more to it.