The Reckoning of Noah Shaw Read online

  I’m gripped by a wave of paranoia, suddenly—like I’ve got an audience in my head. Fucking drugs. I’d thought that at least they’d quiet my mind.

  Because my mind is most definitely the problem. How do you escape when the enemy is you?

  Part II

  Before

  No Name Island, Florida

  The most painful state of being is remembering the future, particularly the one you’ll never have.

  —Søren Kierkegaard

  10

  FREE TO IMAGINE

  IT’S DARK FOR HOURS OR days, but at Horizons, I don’t sleep. I sit against the wall, my back hunched, staring at the concrete floor. I imagine Mara, sitting next to me, her head on my shoulder. Her hair tickling my neck. I imagine—

  “Good morning, Noah,” Dr. Kells says as the lights come on.

  I wince, blinking against them. This room is slightly different from the last, I think. Or perhaps they’ve simply replaced the glass panel I shattered with my fist, which is already healing. Wasn’t reinforced glass after all. An important lesson, and a reminder; trust nothing here. No one.

  “How do you feel?” Kells asks.

  I look up at the ceiling. “I want to see her.”

  “Are you ready to cooperate with me?”

  I close my eyes. If I say no, the lights will go out. I’ll be locked in here, away from her, still. But if I say yes—there’s a chance.

  I need to see her.

  “Yes,” I say between clenched teeth.

  “That’s good news. Now, tell me how you’re feeling.”

  “Fine,” I say, my voice clipped.

  “Describe it,” Dr. Kells says.

  I inhale slowly and look up at the ceiling, trying to identify the source of the voice. There are no identifiable speakers in the room, nor are there cameras—but I’m most definitely being watched. Recorded, likely. I choose my words carefully. “I have a headache. The lights—it’s too bright in here. I feel”—I run my hand over my jaw—“I feel hungover.”

  “That’s probably the ketamine,” Dr. Kells says.

  Not likely.

  “You look surprised, Noah.”

  So she can see me, then. I flick a glance at the darkened glass wall, but all I can see is my reflection.

  “Why is that?” she asks.

  I shrug.

  “Have you been on ketamine before, Noah?”

  Indeed. Once upon a time, I would crush and inhale and inject anything anyone gave me, just to see if I could feel it. To see if I could feel anything.

  I didn’t.

  “Noah? Have you been on ketamine before?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did it feel like?”

  I shrug casually. “I don’t remember,” I lie.

  Dr. Kells seems satisfied nevertheless, because she continues. “You were given a combination of ketamine and Telazol. Your body metabolises them so efficiently that we had to give you a rather large dose.”

  Kells knows about me, then. About what I can do. “How much?” I ask her, because despite everything, I can’t help my curiosity.

  “How much what?”

  “How much did you give me?”

  “Enough to down a bull elephant.”

  I almost smile at that.

  “And that was only enough to put you down for twelve hours or so.”

  Twelve hours. Is that how long it has been since the torture garden? Since I saw Mara in Jude’s arms—since she slammed him against the wall at Horizons. Since he fell with a sickening crack to the tiled floor and she lifted him—with just one hand around his throat. Until—

  A hissing sound—coming from the vents. That blank scent drifting in the air.

  They gassed her. I didn’t realise it, not until it was too late. Mara fell, and Jude fell with her. Jamie and Stella and that girl, Megan, the screamer—they were gone by then. Slunk off into the shadows or the patient rooms to hide from Jude or to try and escape and run.

  But I didn’t run. And I didn’t fall. I was conscious, and ran to Mara, held her face in my hands. Swept the hair from her pale skin, checked to make sure she was breathing. In the second before I felt her breath against my cheek, I thought I might die. And then, a sting—

  I raise my hand to my neck, exposed in the white scrubs.

  “It was a tranquilliser dart,” Dr. Kells says, as if she knows what I must be thinking.

  There’s no puncture wound. Of course not.

  “We needed to be able to move you safely.”

  At this, I laugh.

  “That amuses you?”

  I raise my eyes to the glass. “It does, in fact. Yes.”

  “Why is that?”

  Her words are nearly drowned out by the images in my head. I see the body of a girl lying in the sand, her white shirt soaked red with her blood. I see Phoebe, her wrists slit in her Horizons bed. “Because you don’t give a shit about our safety. You told Mara she was delusional. Insane. You made her feel insane. You made her feel sick, but you were the one making her sick.”

  “I’m afraid you have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m trying to help her get better.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “I’ll show you.”

  I hold my breath. “When?”

  “I’ll send someone down to your room now.”

  “My cell, you mean.”

  “When he arrives, you’re going to put your hands on the glass and allow him to restrain you.”

  Is that so?

  “Otherwise I’ll have to give you another dose of ketamine and Telazol, and I’ll make sure the lights stay off for a full week. Do you understand?”

  I run my hands through my hair. “Yes.”

  “And it could be a very long time before you see Mara again.”

  “I understand,” I say.

  “Good. Then I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

  Can’t fucking wait.

  I spend the next four minutes planning my attack on the unfortunate person sent to restrain me. But the person who comes to a stop in front of the glass is not the two-hundred-and-thirty-pound guard of my imagination; she is female. And small—about Mara’s height, and she only looks a few years older. She wears glasses, and has a light splash of freckles across her nose. Her white lab coat grazes the knees of her trousers, and she carries a pair of leather and metal restraints in her hands.

  “Hello, Noah,” she says in a delicate voice. “I need you to put your hands on the glass for me now. Can you do that?”

  I don’t answer, but I do as she says.

  “Thank you. I’m going to come around and put these on you.” She holds up the restraints. “That’s not going to be a problem, is it?”

  I study the woman through the glass. I could overpower her in a fraction of a second—I could break her neck before Kells could have me tranquillised. There’s no chance the good doctor doesn’t know this, which means two things: First, that Kells thinks I’m less likely to fight her because she’s female. Second, that whoever this woman is, she’s expendable. Kells had to account for the fact that I might hurt her—and sending her to me means that Kells is fine with it. Which ultimately means that she’s useless, as a hostage. I exhale through my nostrils and nod.

  “Good. Thank you. I’m going to come in, now, but I need you to keep your hands on the glass. Will you do that for me?”

  “Yes,” I say.

  She nods slightly, just once, and then walks off to the left. Seconds later, I hear a hiss, and half turn my head. I notice a seam in the white wall—the door opens and the woman stands in the back of the cell.

  “Place your forehead against the glass, please.”

  I do.

  I hear her approach. “Now lower your hands slowly, and angle them toward your back.”

  I do. She fits my wrists into the restraints and buckles them tightly. I am motionless.

  “All right, then,” she says. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

  “You’re welcome,
” I say smoothly, still facing the glass.

  She smiles. “You’re going to follow me out of your room, and then we’re going to walk down the hallway side by side. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I would hate for there to be any problems. You can turn around now.”

  I do, then incline my head at the door. “After you,” I say.

  The woman nods, and then walks through the narrow frame. I slide past her, nearly touching, and I make eye contact as I do. I can hear her heart rate increase.

  An idea begins to form. I take two steps, and on the third, I stumble. The woman reaches out, grabbing me by the arm to steady me.

  I offer her a sheepish smile. “Sorry,” I say. “I’m a bit—I’m not usually so clumsy.”

  “I’m not surprised,” she says, smiling back. “To be honest, I’m shocked you’re on your feet at all.”

  “Would you mind?” I ask, looking from her hand to my arm. “Just until I’m—a bit steadier.”

  The woman looks up at me—I’m over a head taller than she is. I don’t meet her gaze, but look at the floor instead. She takes my arm and her heart is still racing, and then I meet her eyes, my expression unguarded. “Thank you,” I say sincerely.

  “Sure,” she says, her cheeks flushing.

  We walk down a long, featureless white corridor, flanked by mirrored walls. I note each turn so that I can remember. “What’s your name?” I ask, to distract her.

  “Dr. Walsh.”

  “I asked for your name, not your title.”

  She hesitates for a moment, still staring ahead, then says, “Hannah Walsh.”

  “And what is it you’re a doctor of, Hannah Walsh?”

  “I’m an anaesthesiologist.”

  “So you could render me helpless in seconds,” I say.

  She smiles a little. “Only if you don’t behave.”

  I give a slight shake of my head. “That won’t be a problem.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” she says as we come to a stop in front of a door. “Because we’re here.”

  11

  THE ABYSS OF DESPAIR

  DR. WALSH DIPS HER HAND INTO her pocket and withdraws a key card. She raises it to the wall, and something blinks green through the white paint. There’s another hiss, and the door swings open. Dr. Walsh lets go of my arm and gestures to the room. I look at her.

  “You’re not coming in?”

  “No. But I’ll be back to get you when you’re finished.”

  “Thank you,” I say as I walk past her.

  She nods, smiles, and then closes the door behind me. I hear it lock.

  The room is white and nondescript, with two hotel-appropriate pastel paintings on the walls. A plastic chair sits in the centre of the room, facing a mirror. An unseen clock ticks away each second. The lights dim, and the mirrored glass turns transparent.

  Beyond it is another room. Mara lies in a twin bed, an IV connected to her arm, her hair fanned out over the white pillow. My heart turns over at the sight of her and I rush to the glass.

  “It’s reinforced glass.” Dr. Kells’s voice slides into the room through an intercom. Another lie, or the truth, this time? “You’re not going to be able to get through. In any case, she’s unconscious.”

  “What did you do to her?”

  “She’s sedated. That’s all.”

  “How do I know she isn’t—she isn’t dead?” I ask, forcing the word.

  “Would you like me to wake her up?”

  Yes. “Yes,” I say.

  “All right, Noah. I’ll wake her up. And then you and I are going to talk. Do we understand each other?”

  I nod.

  “Out loud, please.”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  The sound clicks off. Minutes later, Dr. Kells walks into Mara’s room. My heart begins to pound and I move until I’m mere inches away from the glass. Kells injects something into the IV line, and then sits in a chair beside the bed. I count the seconds until Mara’s eyelids flutter open.

  I nearly collapse with relief when they do. “Thank you,” I whisper to no one, my forehead against the glass. “Thank you.”

  “Good morning, Mara,” Dr. Kells says to her. “Do you know where you are?”

  I don’t breathe as I wait for her answer. She blinks and turns her head to one side, then the other. Her eyes roam the room, but her expression is blank. Unfamiliar.

  “Do you know who I am?” Kells asks Mara.

  I need to hear her. I’m desperate for her to answer.

  After a few seconds, she does. “Yes,” is all she says. But in a voice that isn’t hers.

  I would recognise Mara’s voice in a sea of thousands of others. That familiar alto with a slight growl, giving every word a faintly sarcastic edge. And when Mara speaks, her tone is the same, but the edge is gone. My hands curl into fists.

  Dr. Kells smooths her skirt. “I have some things I’d like to talk with you about, but first, I want to let you know that you’ve been given an infusion of a variant of sodium amytal. Have you heard of sodium amytal?”

  Mara says no. She hasn’t.

  I have, though.

  “Colloquially, they call it truth serum,” Kells explains. “That’s not entirely accurate—but it can be used to help relieve certain types of suffering. We sometimes use it in experimental psychiatry to give patients a respite from a manic or catatonic episode.” She leans in closer to Mara—my heart thrashes against my ribs. “You’ve been suffering, Mara, haven’t you?”

  Mara says yes in that dead voice.

  I can’t listen to this.

  Kells nods her head, then says to Mara, “We think the variant we’ve developed will help with your . . . unique issues. We’re on your side. We want to help you.” Her expression is benevolent, her voice smooth and calm. “Will you let us help you?”

  She’s speaking to Mara, but she glances over her shoulder at me.

  I have never wanted to murder someone more than in that second.

  Mara doesn’t look at me, though. She has no idea I’m here, even. If she did, I don’t know if she would recognise me with whatever poison is galloping through her veins.

  Mara answers yes, but even behind glass, even through speakers, I can tell that her words are slow. Her tongue is thick.

  “I’m glad,” Kells says, smiling, and I feel a gush of rage. She reaches down to the floor and picks something up. A remote.

  “Let me show you something,” she says to Mara. Then, to no one, she says, “Screen.”

  Mara’s eyes are drawn to the ceiling to her right, where a thin screen lowers before her. Her eyes flick toward the glass, then, and my heart pounds for a second, irrationally hoping that she’ll know I’m here. But she passes right over me, glancing instead at something I can’t see.

  “Monitors,” Dr. Kells calls out. An insistent, steady beeping begins. Kells is monitoring Mara’s heartbeat.

  “Lights,” she says, and Mara’s room goes dark. The screen lights up. I see shaky images of a dark-skinned, dark-haired girl in winter clothes, her breath turning to steam in the beam of light from the camera. She smiles and the camera pans and swings over rotting wood floors, over peeling walls—over a blackboard with names on it, and then, finally, I know what I’m watching.

  It’s footage from that night. From the asylum. The girl I’m seeing is Rachel, Mara’s best friend. The camera must be Claire’s. I watch, rapt, as scenes change, and the girls’ words turn to screams. The screen goes dark and after the ringing slam of dozens of iron doors, after the collapse, I hear laughter.

  It is Mara’s, without question.

  But then. The shadows on the screen move. The camera is being lifted by someone offscreen. And then I see Kells’s face before the video ends.

  “You’ve been a participant in a blind study, Mara,” Dr. Kells says to her. “That means that most of your treating doctors and counsellors have been unaware of your participation. Your parents are
unaware as well. The reason you’ve been selected for this study is because you have a condition, a gene that is harming you.”

  My eyes narrow.

  “It makes you act in a way that is causing you to be a danger to yourself and others. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” Mara says.

  “Some of your friends are also carriers of this gene, which has been disrupting your normal lives.”

  I watch Mara’s face for some indication, any hint that she’s even aware of what she’s saying, but there is none, and it terrifies me.

  “Your condition has caused pain to the people you love, Mara. Do you want to cause pain to the people you love?”

  “No,” she says, and this time, for the first time, I think I hear an echo of her sound. Of her voice. Of her.

  “I know you don’t,” Kells says. “And I am truly sorry we weren’t able to help you before now. We had hoped to be able to sedate you before you collapsed the building. We tried very hard to save all of your friends.”

  The monitor goes silent for a moment that lasts an eternity. I scream Mara’s name.

  The monitor beeps again.

  “We didn’t anticipate that things would happen quite the way they did—as it was, we were lucky to be able to extract Jamie Roth, Stella Benicia, and Megan Cannon before they were seriously harmed. We just couldn’t get to Noah Shaw.”

  12

  IN HER MOUTH

  I WATCH WITH REVULSION AND DREAD as Dr. Kells calmly, clinically lies to Mara, describing how and where and when I died. I watch Dr. Kells tell Mara that I was too close when Mara brought Horizons down. I scream Mara’s name, begging a God I don’t believe in to let her hear me, just let her hear me. But she doesn’t. She lies there with a kind of radical passivity, her face a mask. One tear rolls down her cheek, though. Just one.

  A shadow grows inside me as I watch it fall.

  Dr. Kells asks Mara if she wants to get better, to be better, and I watch as Mara says yes in that alien voice, absent the fire I love, absent feeling. I am drowning in darkness and I need to shatter the glass that separates us to breathe. I need to lift her out of that bed and carry her out of this place and into a different world, where nothing is broken and everything is as beautiful as she is.