And once again, I was there to clean up his mess.
With his doctor’s degree, he tried to recreate the cells our father used to impregnate our mother. He wanted to cure the disease we are both supposed to inherit in two years. But every scan we ran, over and over, turned up nothing. I have already made peace with the fact that I have an expiration date. But he wanted to live.
And I... I had no reason to live until I met her.
I know one day I will wake up and finally say“fuck you to the world”and let myself die. My blood cells, the ones I share with Ezra Zane, made sure my contract was signed for a direct trip to hell.
But seeing her, wanting her, gave me a reason to want to live again. That’s the only reason why I help Zeke. To find a way to live again.
I sit on the edge of the bed, looking down at my gray tracksuit.
There is no sign that I am getting out. Every time I do, Zeke takes my place. Fooling them was so easy—even the doctor.
I wait for her to come back.
To tell me how they found the body of Mabel Kinsley. To tell me, Rourke visited her. To tell me she needs to know more about my childhood with her.
But she never comes.
Instead, a guard unlocks the door and says, “Detective Mara Collins is here to see you.”
This can’t be good.
I stand, turning my back to him as he cuffs my hands.
As soon as the metal clicks shut, he pushes me through the door and walks me down the hall, toward the room where they interview criminally insane patients.
He walks me inside. His palm presses hard against my shoulder, forcing me into the chair. Then he drags my hands back and chains them behind me.
They treat me like an animal. A beast they think they can chain, like that, will make them feel safe.
If they only knew I was going in and out, they would keep me in a straitjacket twenty-four-seven.
Finally, the guard leaves the room. The door barely finishes closing when Detective Mara Collins walks in. The smell of doughnuts follows her, as usual, mixed with sweat.
She sits across from me. Her fingers lace together as she rests her hands on the table.
“Where is she?” she asks.
I knit my brows, confused. “Who?”
“You know who.” She leans back, crossing her arms over her chest.
“No, detective,” I say. “I have no idea who.”
Her jaw tightens. Anger burns behind her eyes.
“Who are you working with, huh?”
I raise a brow. “You lost me.” I chuckle, leaning closer to the table. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Dr. Emily Beckett,” she shouts. “She’s been missing since last night.”
Questions crowd my head as I try to piece it together.
She can’t be missing.
I made sure she was in her bed when I left.
