There’s the gasp of glass unsealing, a rush of air—and I turn, as if through time, toward the opening door.
Rosabelle
Chapter 10
I sag in the steel chair, my head drooping sideways.
Familiar electric pulses flash behind my eyes, ache inside my teeth, spasm down my throat. I can’t seem to command my limbs. I can no longer feel my skin. For three hours I’ve resisted the impulse to gag against the metallic taste in my mouth. Acid roils in my empty stomach. Hunger and delirium blot out coherent thought.
I jerk upward, registering that my eyes were closed only when they unhinge open, tearing in the glare of overbright light. A high-pitched frequency of static fills my head, the murmur of voices faraway and disjointed.
“Brain capacity has dropped another percentage,” someone says. “She’s deteriorating now at an exponential rate. We’ll have to move on to yes or no questions.”
“Rosa,” says a voice, the familiar tenor grating. “Rosa, there are only a few minutes left. Then you get a break.”
I try to look at him, but my pupils are unnaturally dilated, details blearing in the harsh illumination of the exam room. Squinting painfully, I avert my eyes, realizing as I look down that he’s taken my hand, holding it tenderly between his blurry palms. Revulsion overpowers me.
I vomit.
The involuntary action is automatic, but my empty gut conjures little but humiliation.
Someone wipes my mouth.
“Rosa,” he says kindly. “Focus for me, okay? Just yes or no questions now. Do you ever consider doing harm to the people of Ark Island?”
My chest is still heaving.
“Negative,” says a faraway voice.
“Do you ever find yourself sympathizing with the leaders of The New Republic?”
I lift my head, color and light smearing where his face should be.
“Negative,” says a faraway voice.
“Do you ever doubt—”
The jarring alarm of a distress signal goes off, a voice straining above the clangor to say, “Brain capacity is at a critical low— Thirty seconds—”
“Rosa,” he says quickly, “Do you ever doubt the actions of The Reestablishment?”
“Affirmative,” says a faraway voice.
There’s a tense pause.
“Twenty seconds before permanent brain damage—”
“Rosa.”
My lips feel strange. Rubbery. The steady shriek of the alarm still echoes through the room.
“Fifteen seconds—”
“Rosa, do your doubts ever overwhelm your loyalty to The Reestablishment?”
My head lolls backward.
“Negative,” says the voice, shouting over the din.
