The look he gives me is almost pitiful. “You are sorely mistaken if you think you can just traipse around wearing the Whitlock name.”
The blood drains from my face as he explains. This is worse than anything I could have imagined. I’d rather end up dead and broke than live under his thumb for the rest of my life. I haven’t spent my entire life fighting this hard just to stay in the same place. Then I’ll truly be another version of my mother, chained to a man who caresmore about status than if I died.
“Your uncle and I have worked hard for our reputation, and a bastard grandchild is not ruining that.”
I launch myself at the man I callgrandfather. My nails find purchase with loose skin, and I don’t hesitate. I rip. I claw. I throw my hands out over and over again until my shoulder collides with the hard surface of the floor, and pain pangs down my spine.
I’m yanked back onto my feet in the next breath, and my mouth opens with a silent scream. Agony radiates out from the throbbing point in my ribs. The searing pain reaches every inch of my body, feeling like I’m being struck by a thousand bolts of lightning as all my muscles spasm at once. The crackling sound of static can barely be heard above the silent scream lodged in my throat.
The tension releases from my muscles as soon as the sound stops. Throwing my arms out, I try to push the guards away, but the room seems to spin as I do. I fucking hate getting tased. My legs give out beneath me, and I struggle to get back up. The world moves as I try to make sense of my shifting surroundings. My eyes refuse to move into focus as I’m dragged down a set of stairs that I’ve never seen before.
“Where are we going?” My voice comes out garbled and distorted, but there’s a slight echo to it. “Stop. Let go of me.”
I jerk at the hold around my arms and try to hold my own weight as the temperature drops the further down the stairs we go. A whimper breaks through my chest when my back crashes against a rough stone wall.
The sudden impact clears away the bleary haze enough for me to notice the three fluorescent lights hanging from the high concrete ceiling. The musty smell of the windowless room makes me scrunch my nose. Benches and shelving push against the walls surroundingthe tub in the middle.
I gasp when my blazer is torn off me. My shoes follow the pile on the floor, and I kick out, narrowly missing Boris. They tug me forward, and everything seems to pause and focus on the tall metal tub.
They’re going to put me in there.
They’re going to put me in the water.
Images of falling into a frozen lake flash in my mind. I’d kick my feet and move my arms, and it won’t matter how hard I try to make it back to the surface; the darkness drags me under. I’d scream for help. Beg to a god I don’t believe in to save me. My lungs would burn in search of oxygen, and then I’d make the mistake of opening my mouth. Water then pools into each crevasse of my organs until, eventually, there’s nothing.
“This is not right.” Dr. Van der Merwe’s voice echoes through the stone room. “I do not approve of this treatment—science has proven that this does nothing to help a patient. This—this istorture.I will not stand for it.” I throw a futile glance at the doctor, silently pleading that he’ll demand they release me.
“You know where the door is,” McGill says simply.
Dr. Van der Merwe gives me one long, tortured look. “ECTs are board approved, based on fact, science, andreason. It canhelppatients. If you put her in there, you will do more harm to her than good. What you are doing is barbaric, unethical, and beyond any realm of acceptability.” He backs away, shaking his head.
My pulse ricochets against my skin as panic rises up my throat. “Stop it.” My voice commands no authority with how much it cracks.
The pebbled surface of the water comes into view, and energy floods back into my veins. “I’m not going in there!” I scream, gnashingmy teeth and thrashing my limbs about.
The two guards are too strong for me to fight off. My feet hit the outside of the frozen tub, and I use it as leverage to kick back. I manage to swing my elbow back and knock one of the guards, but he recovers quickly. The two guards change tact. Boris grabs both my legs and throws them into the tub.
“Settle down, Marie,” I think I hear my grandfather say.
A shrill cry bursts out of me as the cold bites into my bones. I try to catch my footing, but I slip further into the water each time I do. The near-frozen liquid absorbs into my uniform, clinging to me like a second skin. My hands meet the guard’s flesh over and over, slapping him. Scratching him. Punching him. I have to get out of here. They can’t—they can’t put me in here.
My burning eyes turn to my grandfather’s. “No. No. No. No. Please don’t! I’m sorry! I’ll stop! I’ll stay away from them! I promise! You don’t need to do this!”
The ice bobs against my skin and clatters against the metal, growing louder and more violent each time I move.
“Did you know they called this the ‘water cure’ during the eighteen hundreds?” Grandfather says coolly.
My eyes dart to McGill, praying he’ll see that even this is too far—that even the doctor thinks this is so far beyond the line of what is acceptable. But all I find is a man on a leash, hanging on to my grandfather’s every whim. Fuckingcoward.
Boris places a canvas sheet over the bottom half of the tub, stopping my legs from trying to escape. “No. No. Please. I’m sorry, okay? I’ll be good. I won’t go near them. Please, Grandpa.”
Another guard runs down the steps as the two men wrestle my arms into the tub. Boris’s gaze catches mine and the satisfactionstrewn across his features makes my stomach churn. My eyes burn with unshed tears as I look between my grandfather and McGill, hoping to find even a glimmer of compassion.
I don’t want to die in here. I want to breathe. I want to feel the wind and taste the fresh air. I want to move my arms and not feel trapped.
“I’ll leave them alone. It won’t happen again.Please.” I sob.
The third guard slides the second half of the sheet in place, keeping everything but my head beneath the tub. My fists collide with the cold metal as I feel around for a latch of some sort.
