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Honestly, I’d expected that Melanie would have remarried by now. We all did. Maybe this is what happens if you get too hung up on someone who already is.
She’s good about picking a flavor of the month to play with. They never last long.
Clearly, Adam has something to do with their expiration date. Melanie and Adam have a history of one-upping each other. All things considered, I’m worried for Elliot.
It’s a sick and twisted game they play.
Adam’s visit and the call from his girlfriend have given me a second wind. I go down to see Sean. He’s half asleep, or half dead, one or the other. It’s hard to say.
“I never wanted any of this,” I tell him. “You had to know that.”
“You wanted freedom. Haven’t I given you that?”
“What I wanted was a better life.”
His eyes flutter open, and for a moment I see a flash of terror reflected in his eyes as he notices what’s clutched in my hands. But then true to his character, a certain resolve washes over his features and he refuses to let any emotion show.
“I can’t let this happen to other girls.”
His eyes bore holes into mine. “But you have.”
“It has to stop,” I say, stepping forward. He tries to scoot away, but he’s
too slow, and there’s nowhere to go. I want to douse him with gasoline, strike a match, and watch him burn. I want to make him familiar with pliers on a level no one should ever know. I want to rip his toenails out before I move on to his teeth. I can think of a thousand ways to torture him, but sometimes you have to save your energy for the good stuff, and so I simply put the pillow over his face and sink into it. I bear down, pressing all of my weight against it. It’s like giving birth and embracing death all at the same time. It’s that space of time where there’s nothing left to do but hold on and know it will all be over soon. So hold on, I do. The more he flails and fights the inevitable, the harder I press, summoning strength I didn’t know I had. The more he bucks and shifts, the more I dig my heels into the floor. I hold on. I keep holding on. And I don’t stop until long after the room has gone silent.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Elliot
As it turns out, this place isn’t so nice after all. I realize this early on, but true understanding comes only after I’m led to a state-of-the-art lab. Foolishly, this excites me because while rejuvenation may not be my thing, experiments are.
I’m asked to take a seat in a white room. Everything is white here, which I understand makes it less distracting.
A man in a white coat stands at my shoulder explaining what is to take place, although he doesn’t have to. I know enough about experimentation to understand how this all works. His lab assistant refuses to meet my eye, which I also understand. One cannot identify with, or in this case, humanize their test subjects. “I’m Dr. Mueller,” he says.
I study his equipment and consider how bad this can get.
“Your family says you have an unhealthy obsession with your estranged wife?”
I don’t answer; I’m too busy doing calculations in my head. I don’t think they’ll kill me, but accidents happen.
“Would you say that’s true?”
I don’t answer. I hate questions like this. They go nowhere and still manage to lodge themselves inside.
“Mr. Parker, please answer the question.”
My silence is like poison. I can see it in his expression; it’s like the more he looks at me the less he can see. “Truth is not absolute.”
He nods, and his assistant begins hooking me up, placing electrodes in places they shouldn’t go.
“We’d like to help eradicate your condition. We’d like to help you forget.”
“Your science is a bit outdated,” I say.
Dr. Mueller almost smiles. “Don’t worry about that,” he tells me. “This is only the beginning.”
There are other methods of torture. Ice baths, sleep deprivation, attack therapy. I’m becoming familiar with them all. Probably the ice baths are the least worst of them all. “Attack therapy” is no fun either and slightly worse. I’m put in a room with three men who hurl insults, get in my face, scream obscenities, spit on, hit, and kick me. This goes on for hours. My only saving grace is that I’m moderately certain they won’t kill me. That nugget is all I have to hold on to, so I do. They still need me to agree to the contract, and without me alive, no one stands to benefit.
