A smile creeps across Daddy’s lips. My nervous system freezes in place.
“You only require my approval now, don’t you?” he asks.
It’s like he can read the thoughts directly inside of me.
I relax my fists, then I nod so hard, my head hurts.
Daddy loosely places his hand on the door handle in front of us. “Then this final test won’t be difficult for you.”
Chapter 27
Freak
My pulse thuds in my chest. The final test hasn’t begun? This is the final test?
Daddy opens the door.
White walls. Disinfectant covering up decay wafts through the room. Several metal chairs with off-white cushions are spread throughout the space, and each one has a woman strapped to it with belts. IV bags are connected to their wrists.
Thick, gauzy diapers cover their genitals, leaving the rest of their bodies exposed. Their heads tilt at odd angles like they’ve fallen asleep sitting up.
Bile crowds the back of my throat. My limbs shake. Who are they? What are they doing here?
And what is he doing with them?
In the center of the room, a woman lies on a gurney. Her chest rises slowly, yet rhythmically, as if in a deep sleep. Gray hair threads through her harsh black strands, and a thin nose dots her face. Her eyelids are half-open, revealing the bottom half of dark irises.
My body flares, confusion and sorrow racing inside of me. My fingers curl, and the urge to hide in the fetal position dances in my chest. I spin around and search for the knowledge my thoughts—the conclusions I’ve come to—are completely wrong.
My eyes land on him.
Daddy’s expression is stoic, cast down on me. Waiting.
I know what this is. I know who she is. But I need to hear the words from his mouth.
Otherwise, I won’t believe myself.
“What is this?” I ask in a hoarse voice. “Who is she? And the rest of them?”
“You may be done with your mother, but this time, I’m giving her to you,” he says icily.
My hands vibrate at my sides, and my shoulders are heavy, weighted down by the possibilities.
It can’t be her. She’s not my mother. I visited my mother’s grave every day for years.
“That woman is breathing,” I say. “My mother is dead.”
“She’s every bit as alive as you are.” He gestures toward the bed like a teacher ushering his students to their next class. “Go on, my sweet one. Go see your mother.”
I stare at my bare feet; dirt covers my ankles. I should’ve stayed in the cemetery and refused to move ever again.
But then Daddy would have been mad at me. And he would have carried me here. And if I don’t do this—if I don’t meet my mother—I’ll make him angry, and that will crush me.
Suddenly, I’m kneeling by her bed. I swallow hard, then throw my hand on her shoulder.
She’s warm. Alive.
She blinks.
