Never again.
I have to get away from them all, back to the wilderness where nobody can find me.
Home.
Ann thinks I’m playing games. She couldn’t be more wrong. I’m in a struggle for my life.
Voices. The orderlies gathering outside. Waiting for Ann.
I resolve to keep my face and eyes perfectly blank this time.
I was angry when she raised the alarm, but I still felt sorry for her when Nurse Zara made her feel stupid for thinking I was alert.
Do you need me to have one of the other staff members take him over?Nurse Ann was so upset, so distressed. God, I could feel her pain like a blade.
The impulse to break away was nearly overwhelming. I wanted to rip Nurse Zara’s throat out. I wanted to hold Nurse Ann in my arms.
My heart was racing so wildly, it was a miracle nobody noticed.
I loved the angry way she spoke after Nurse Zara scolded her, though.Fuck you, you fucking faker.I felt so proud of her for the way she refused to collapse.
I stare at the water-stained tiles above me, getting myself under control. They’re waiting for the third orderly, following the rules. They like three out there. They think three could stop me.
Three would not stop me.
I’m not good with words or technology or knowing TV or movies or the names of faraway places, but I’m good with my hands. Good at killing. I just need the perimeter guards handled—that’s the lesson I learned the last time I tried to get out. There will be a storm. A disaster. Any day now, a hole in the security will appear.
And I’ll be ready to take advantage of it.
Squeaky cart wheels. She talks with the orderlies in low tones.
I shake the thoughts from my head.
The door opens. She walks into the room. Heat floods my veins.
“Hi, 34.” The pain in her voice cuts me.
She sits so near my right hand, I can feel her warmth.
She folds her hands and rests them near my hand. So near.
I stare at the ceiling, fighting the urge to look into her eyes and show her she’s not alone here. She sighs. The sensation of her crashes into me.
“Another shit day at Casa Fancher.” No, it’s not sadness; it’s distress. My muscles buzz with energy. I stare at the ceiling, faking blankness.
It’s here I smell Donny on her. My pulse spikes. My blood races with the need to go crazy.
Donny touched her.
Every nerve ending in my body goes on wild alert. I ball my fists before I can stop myself. I force myself to relax them. Luckily, she doesn’t see.
I remind myself that Donny touches people all the time. He touches Nurse Zara. He slaps guys on the shoulder. It doesn’t mean anything.
Still my blood races.
She’s rustling wrappers. Something’s wrong—I can tell by her face, and even if I couldn’t see her, I would know from the way she rustles wrappers. Wildly, recklessly, I study her profile for clues to her state of mind—sadness, desperation, fear? I study the swoop of her nose, the way her lips plump out in silent concentration. I love her lips.
When she’s upset, pink spots mark the skin under her cheekbones. When she’s embarrassed, pink creeps up her neck. Her emotions live at the surface of her pale skin.