Page 26 of Consume Me

“Crazy stuff,” she whispered like she was scared they were listening in on us. In fairness, they probably were. “They told me that when I stop believing the crazy stuff I can go.”

So, that’s why she was so quiet. But would that work? If she just said whatever lies they sold her, they would let her go. I wished I’d been offered that deal. “How long have you been here?”

“A couple of months,” she said, tacking on, “I think.”

“You know, Rachel,” I lowered my voice. “I remember crazy stuff, too.”

“You do?” Her eyes went wild for a moment.

I seized on this sudden display of life. “I might believe you.”

She shook her head, the life fading from her as quickly as it had ignited. “I want to stop believing it.”

She wanted to leave. I couldn’t blame her there.

“That’s what he tells me to do,” she continued.

“He?”

“The nice one,” she says. “He comes sometimes with the guards. I don’t think he’s a doctor though.”

“What’s his name?” I asked. There had to be something else. Something more.

“Don’t know.” She tore a bite of bread off with her teeth. “They call him “your highness.”

I went utterly still. I could have sworn my heart stopped beating. June said she didn’t know who I was, but it couldn’t be a coincidence that this man was called by that nickname.

“But it’s like a joke. I asked him and he said they were being stupid. I don’t know his name. He tells me that when I stop remembering the crazy stuff, they’ll let me go,” she prattled on. I didn’t know if it was the food or the conversation invigorating her. I, on the other hand, felt more drained and powerless than ever.

“Okay,” I said, grasping for some way to get her to tell me more. “But maybe if we think the same crazy stuff it would prove that it’s not crazy. We couldn’t both have gotten here the same way, right? That would mean we’re not crazy.”

I spoke quickly, hoping she didn’t think that through too hard. It didn’t begin to make sense, which meant I was really good at playing mental myself or I was finally beginning to crack.

“I guess,” she said. Her nose wrinkled as if she was trying to think through my logic and get to the same conclusion. Thankfully, she must have decided the suggestion had some merit. “I was a nurse, I think. The doctors said that part is true. They say I lost a patient and had a psychotic break.”

She spoke as though she was reading off a list not going from memory. It was a lie. It was painfully obvious. But why convince her she’d lost her mind? Why bring her here in the first place?

“What do you remember?” I asked her softly, unsure she would continue.

She looked over my shoulder towards a past she could still remember but no longer trusted. “I had a job. It was new and I had to sign a lot of papers. The patient was someone important, but I wouldn’t find out who until I was trained.”

“And?” A pit was opening in my chest as she continued—as I began to understand what had happened.

“I showed up at the job. It was on a private estate. That’s it. Then I woke up. Something must have happened to the patient. That must have been when I had the psychotic break.” For some reason, arriving to this thought seemed to please her.

She’d begun to buy their story, but how long had they been selling it to her? Was that the fate that actually awaited me? Not death, but rather a gradual slipping away of everything that made me who I was—of everything I loved.

They say that there’s always some truth needed to sell a lie. And this mystery patient? I had a terrible feeling that was real.

Too many things were falling into place. I stared at her again. “You never saw the patient?”

She lifted her thin shoulders before letting them slump back to their previously defeated position. “I don’t remember.”

“The house?” I said desperately. I needed to know, even if I didn’t want to. “Do you remember where it was?”

“I shouldn’t say,” she whispered. “The documents said I couldn’t.”

Even after all this time, she was doing her job. If only she realized the truth, maybe she wouldn’t feel beholden to those agreements any longer.