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“I thought you would want to know we got in, but if you need thirty seconds to finish like normal, then we can—” There’s a grunt, no doubt someone hitting him.
“We better get down there before they start killing each other,” I murmur as I offer her my hand. “Shall we?”
Nodding, she takes it, and I squeeze hers, letting her know that whatever she’ll face down there, she won’t do it alone.
TWENTY-FIVE
Igrip Louis’s hand like a lifeline as he leads me downstairs, lending me his strength. The others wait at the bottom, watching me carefully, so I give them nothing. I don’t want them to think I’m weak. It’s just a place, just a fucking place, and my father can’t hurt me anymore.
I repeat it silently as Louis turns us to see the open door that leads to the one place in this world I never wanted to go again. Darkness mockingly creeps out of it, its tendrils reaching for me. Releasing Louis’s hand, I step forward, my chin notched back.
Breathing slowly, I force one foot in front of the other, my hand curled around the lingering heat of Louis’s palm to remind me that I’m not alone. It’s easier than before, and once I’m in the doorway, halfway between worlds, I close my eyes against the darkness before me.
The feel of my father’s orders washes over me, as does the way my heart would always stop when I stepped over this threshold because of the pain I knew was waiting. Lifting my foot, I step willingly inside for the first time ever.
I still then, my nose twitching at the slightly old smell of the place, as if it hasn’t been touched in a while, but under that is the antiseptic cleaner my father used meticulously, the one that would always follow our sessions. Swallowing past the ghosts that want to take over my body, I walk farther inside, knowing the way in the dark better than in the light.
I feel the others hesitate, but I don’t stop, my feet automatically taking me through the space. It’s as if my father is right there at my side, his commanding presence filling me with fear more than safety. I can almost see him out of the corner of my eye, but I shake my head and stop, knowing it’s inches away.
Lifting my hand, I stroke the glass that separates me from the room where some of the most horror-filled days and nights of my life were spent.
“Light, anyone?” someone mutters.
“To your left, there’s a bank of switches, two steps,” I murmur, remembering every inch of the layout. After all, I used to count the bricks and study the tiles, anything to forget the pain rolling through my body every time I was here.
There’s a moment of searching, and then I hear the click. The lights bloom to life with a buzz, long ones attached to the ceiling and walls, washing the area in a bright white light that’s also too painful to look at. I blink past the sting and then look at the room beyond, one that hasn’t changed. The metal chair is still neatly tucked under the table as if it’s waiting for me. No doubt the scratches in the cushioned leather handles from my nails are still there too. The table is spotless and clean, and the chains are neatly coiled in the middle. The floor and ceiling are still immaculately tiled—a hundred exactly on each.
The cot in the corner is made up and waiting for the other types of experiments, and the cameras in each corner no doubt turned on with the lights. I don’t need to look behind me to feel their shock and horror, nor do I want to.
“Holy fuck,” someone whispers.
I couldn’t agree more. It’s so clean and perfect, yet I remember the walls being covered in my blood, the echo of my screams filling the space, and the smell of burnt skin and melted plastic. I recall the sight of the burns on the table and floor and the shattered glass on his worktables, a consequence of his anger. I remember it all.
Thousands of memories converge on me as I close my eyes and press my hand to the glass. I can see her, the younger me, doing the same,, her eyes filled with tears and exhaustion, and her forehead resting against the glass as I do the same now.
“Please, help me,” I would beg.
It’s as if I can touch her, can reassure her that we will get out, but I can’t. She turns away, dropping her hand, leaving a slight smear in her hopelessness. With her back to me, her head drops back as she screams and screams, letting out every inch of her pain and agony.
It will never echo around the house, though, only down here, haunting me even now.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry it took me so long to get us out,” I murmur, needing to get it out. “I’m sorry it still hurts, and sorry we are still just as angry and lost.”
“Nova?” someone calls behind me.
With one last look at my past, I open my eyes and pull away from the glass, leaving an identical smear across it as I turn to them. They are standing at the door and watching me with sad, knowing eyes. I see no pity there, only horror and anger on my behalf.
Turning, I scan this side of the office. It’s still the same, and everything is exactly in its place. The rows of books on the small shelf in the corner are all perfectly lined up with the edge—his notebooks. The filing cabinets are locked and spotless, and the corner desk holds three computers, ready and waiting. To the right is his whiteboard with mathematical and scientific equations I could never follow, no matter how much I tried. His equipment sits before it, like the centrifuge. I look at it all idly, numbly.
Nothing has changed.
In all the time I’ve been gone, I changed nothing.
“It’s so . . . normal,” I mutter. “It shouldn’t be this empty, as if this place didn’t destroy me.”
“Once we’ve searched it, you can rip it to pieces,” Nico tells me, coming closer and stopping before me, blocking my view of the room. “You can destroy it all for all we care.”
Nodding, I turn back to the room and hit the switch on the wall. The door to the left of the glass slides inwards, and I step to it. Nico follows me, not asking me if I’m sure but silently supporting me. Moving deeper into the room, I stop next to the table, sliding my fingers across the metal I used to trace over and over.
