Chapter Ten
Branson
My eyes cross and blur, a result of hours upon hours of staring at a single spider web in the corner of my room. No spider in it, just a long-forgotten web my eyes follow and trace. I marvel and envy at how it endures despite how fragile it truly is.
No one has come for me today to tell me to do anything, and the house upstairs has been quiet for a while now. I make no move to do anything. Normally, I might pick up one of my books, or turn on the little TV that is somehow still here. It all seems so pointless now, though.
I spent over two years thinking about Teddy, dreaming about her coming home and us being able to run away together. I got strong, learned all I could about the world. None of it matters now, though. Even if Teddy wanted me, we could never get away from Jane. And now that she has the scopolamine to hold over me, she knows I’d never try to leave. Not if it would risk Teddy. No, not Teddy. Mia. It’s Mia I would never risk.
And despite having raised her, I know Jane wasn’t bluffing. Her need for control is so much that she would literally rather sacrifice the girl she raised as her protege than give up an inch.
I’ve never felt so powerless.
The last few days have felt different. Almost like it all went so far, so fast, that a deep breath is needed. Even Teddy’s abuse has lessened, though not gone completely. Or perhaps I just don’t care as much anymore. One thing is for sure, any hope I had of her previous sweetness, of our friendship, is gone.
The distant sound of the front door opening brings my attention back, the slam of it telling me my relative peace is going to be short-lived. I wait until I hear the click of shoes that tells me it’s Jane arriving. When the sounds disappear, I assume she must be upstairs.
Closing my eyes, I lean my head against the wall and wait.
???
It's a few hours before Bud comes, grunting in the direction of the workroom. Without hesitating, I stand and follow him down the familiar gallery of horrors and into the tiny cage of my youth. It’s both funny and sad that there’s something almost comforting about being in here, so normal. Or rather, an improvement to waking up in coffins or naked on crosses.
I sit in silence while Bud leaves, coming back with an older woman, placing her on the metal table. She moans lightly when her skin touches the metal and I have to keep a sigh from leaving my lips. Of course, it's a live, awake one. Must be for Teddy.
When Jane steps into the room a moment later, I sit up slightly. She always waits. Her so-called ‘Aura of Pain’ needs time to set. A knot grows in my belly as I watch her closely, taking in the tense posture and gritted teeth. I swallow deeply. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Jane this upset. Usually, she’s controlled and measured in her anger. The idea that something has her worked up enough to be visibly upset sends a shiver up my spine.
“Anything else?” Bud's gruff voice asks Jane, who has her back to both of us. She’s looking in the direction of the woman on the table who is beginning to move slightly. She’ll be awake any minute.
Jane only shakes her head, not moving when Bud leaves the room, closing the door behind him. I keep completely still and silent, grateful it’s a skill I learned young. Jane hasn’t even acknowledged my presence yet, and I expect this will be bad enough whether she does or not.
The woman on the table twitches, her wrist catching against the straps holding her door.
“Wha—” the woman’s voice rasps, “What is this! Wha—”
A sharp crack rings out. I think Jane slapped her. She paces in front of the table, and I can’t keep my eyes away. Before I would hate to watch, but it’s like I can see Jane’s control crumbling and it’s fascinating.
“Thought I’d be a failure, didn’t you?” Jane whispers, and I feel my brow knit together in a frown. Who is the woman on the table? I’ve never heard Jane speak to one of her subjects before like it was someone she knew.
“What are you talking about? Who are—”
Slap.
“Don’t act like you don’t know,” Jane spits, opening the cupboard and grabbing one of her small knives. “You always held me back, even now you can’t stop being a stupid bitch, can you? You never saved me then, why should I help you now?”
Jane is at the woman's side in an instant, the blade cutting into the woman's thigh and eliciting a scream. I watch with interest as Jane continues to stab the woman's legs, her face so screwed up with anger it would be comical if not for what she was doing. The normally measured movements are abrupt and messy, full of emotion. The woman on the table pukes and I wrinkle my nose as the sour smell hits me.
“You can’t fucking stop me,” Jane hisses as she brings the blade up to the woman’s chest. This time I have to turn away.
“I don’t need to be a fucking doctor. Not like him. I’ll never be like him.”
Jane continues to berate the woman and speak to her as though she is someone she knows, but it’s clear this woman doesn’t know her.
The sounds of pleading are so like they’ve always been, but I know something is different. I’ve seen Jane kill literally dozens of people or more, but she was always in control.
I don’t know what prompted this and doubt I ever will, but as I listen, it’s clear Jane is speaking to someone else, answering them.
The thought of Jane losing control is one of the only things that could still scare me. Even as this thought crosses my mind, a slow smile spreads across my face.
Then again, maybe if she loses it on me, I’ll finally be put out of my misery.