My vision is blotchy with sleep and the blur of my neuropathways being distorted, yet I know him. Maybe I haven’t had as many interactions with him like Niklaus in the future…but I know him. And I know he knows me.
From what I was told, he was a savant of the Crimson Kres Colony—studying the words and stories of the prophecy like a vital piece of scripture. He’s Aunt Marilynn’s brother and knows just as much as she does. Could that mean he will know that Niklaus and I are time travelers? Does he know and is unwilling to help us?
“Let’s go,” my orderlies commands, heaving my arm like a dog on a leash.
The man’s head snaps up, and our eyes collide.
“Judas!” I cry out, pulling forward to reach him. “Judas! Do you know who I am?”
Judas’s gaze flips back and forth between my different colored eyes—he raises his eyebrows and drops the stack of papers he was holding. And the recognition is there almost instantly. But that spark of acknowledgmentquickly morphs into a look of horror.
“You know me!” I gasp, breathing hysterically, as I pull harder from my orderly, using every bit of strength I can summon without fainting. “Please, Judas! You have to help us!”
But something terribly strange takes place. Something shocking and unforgivable.
Judas quickly shakes his head at me. He kneels to gather the patient file he dropped and tries not to make eye contact.
“No,” I mutter, confused, betrayed, astonished.
Is he…running from me?
“Look what they’re doing to me!” I yell at him, whimpering as my orderly snatches a handful of hair, cutting into my scalp with his overgrown nails. “LOOK AT ME!”
Judas glares up at me from his kneeling position on the floor. And I can’t quite tell if his eyes are watering or if it’s a trick of the light.
“How…” My voice cracks. “How could you let them do this to women? Would you care if it was your sister?”
Marilynn, I whisper to him with my eyes.If you’re doubting yourself for even a second, just know that I know your family. Something I’m sure you’re used to going undetected.
“Would you care if it was your mother? Your daughter? Your wife?” Blood rushes to my head like a catastrophic dustbowl. And I have to suck in a deep breath to keep going. “Look at me, Judas! They’re starving me! They’re strapping me down and are forcing seizures! How much do they pay you to look away? How much will they pay you to look away from our children after us? Our grandchildren?”
Arms around my brittle ribs. A hand attempting to cover my mouth. But I scream. I give it everything I have because he’s walking away. Judas is leaving. He’s leaving me here!
“Goddamn it, please,pleasedon’t leave us here! Judas! Please, God! You know me. I’m someone’s daughter.” I buck and thrash, but he keeps walking, and they’re dragging me away, back into my room. “Every time you look at one of those patient files, every time you witness these treatments—you are just as guilty as the hands that have held me down since I got here!”
Just as I give into my orderly and another that arrived from the screaming, I hear someone snapping their fingers. And just as I look up through my hysterical sobbing, Judas steps into my room’s doorway. He holds a hand up to the men restraining me, and takes three steps over to me, leaning over to my cheek and whispers in my ear.
“Your mother is here,” he says, far too quietly for an orderly to hear. “I’m so sorry. But it won’t be long now.”
42. Mother of Thy Serpent
Sapphire
I’m still thinking about Judas’swords into the night while I crouch on the washroom floor to lather healing ointment on myself.
The most recent enema and round of laxatives have left me raw and in constant throbbing pain. I hike up my panties once I’m done, and remain lying on the washroom floor, closing my eyes as the iron cools my cheek.
This room smells heavily of rust, urine, and drain grime. It echoes with groaning and jutting old pipes. And often the screams bleed through my vents, bouncing off the walls and waking me from a dead sleep.
But right now, it’s quiet. Its cold floor is soothing my warm cheeks. And I’m left alone for the time being. Left to analyze my thoughts and go over my memories to ensure I’m not missing any.
“You look rather ungrateful to be here.”
A woman’s voice jolts me from my semi-peaceful meditation on the floor. I shoot my head up to a pair of white socks and a white patient gown and robe. The long, gorgeous black hair sends a new set of stomach cramps gurgling in my gut.
“How did you get into my room?” I ask, wincing as I try to sit up.
Apple May holds her hand over her chest, taking great offense.
