Today, I was painfully aware.
Today, all three of the worst people I’d ever met would be in the same room. The unholy trinity of evil.
My dream of Mira was fresh in my mind as I walked to the showers with the other women from my ward. That memory had been near the end. Only a week later, she’d been screaming in the operating room, and I’d snuck in to see her after they’d carried a screaming baby out. I’d seen the light leave her eyes and?—
I forced my thoughts away from that particularly dark memory. I couldn’t go over it again or I’d lose my mind. That had triggered the start of the heavy medications. Before then, I’d been on something light... but what I’d seen had changed everything. Three years ago. Three long and terrible years.
My breath grew short, and I struggled to stay calm. I couldn’t let them know I was off my medication. If I did, I’d be drugged up again in minutes, or worse.
You might still end up like Mira. I wonder how much your organs are worth these days?
I didn’t bother shushing the voice in my head. The terrible question haunted me while I washed and dried my butt-length hair. I tied it into a braid then helped the girl in the room next to mine with hers. If we were good, then we’d get extra dinner tonight and maybe a communal movie. If we were bad, well, that really didn’t bear thinking about.
My nerves were jumping by the time we were told to line up in the hallway, waiting for Father Vargas and the director to arrive. I was watching through the windows when an expensive car pulled up. It was flanked by men on motorcycles and another two black utility-sized vehicles. It was a large security presence for the director of some random, backward institute like ours. I’d long suspected that Centrium Group had a lot of fingers in different pies and Hallow Hall was just one of them. How exactly they made enough money here to justify the expenses I had no idea.
I told you—an organ harvest can bring in a pretty penny.
I felt sick. Surely the company that owned this place had no idea what Vargas was doing. He was just taking advantage of a situation where he had access to vulnerable people no one would miss. If not, why would he go to such trouble to put a professional, respectable face on the place whenever the director came to see his investment?
A flurry of whispers erupted along the corridor; our VIPs appeared in the entrance.
Father Vargas was just as I remembered him, tall and severe in ceremonial robes, but everything holy about that man seemed performative. He swept inside and waited for the director to follow. The man entered with an entourage of black-clad bodyguards. He didn’t look like any CEO I’d ever seen on TV or in movies. He had a squat build and thick shoulders. His bald head gleamed under the lights overhead. His hands resembled ones that had suffered busted knuckles more than once and were adorned with rings. He appeared bullishly strong. The man was more like a brawler than a businessman.
They walked along the hallway, glancing this way and that at the patients they passed by. Benedict and Pavol led the way, and I felt dizzy at the sight of them all together in the same place.Father Lucciano was conspicuously absent. Maybe because he was new? Would I feel reassured or more afraid with him present? I had no idea.
I wanted to kill them all. I wished I had even half the power Father Lucciano commanded. Just the way he moved told me he had lethal skills. His body was a weapon, and he knew how to use it like one. I was jealous. If I were like him, I could take them all out and make it as bloody as I wanted. My savage thoughts were shocking, honestly. For a girl who had grown up spending every Sunday in church, learning goodness from my mother’s side, Hallow Hall had changed me, damaged me.
Ruined me.
The director was silent for the most part while Vargas rattled on, gesturing around with expansive movements. They stopped here and there, never for more than a few seconds, until they reached me. To my horror, Father Vargas stepped forward and put his hand on my shoulder.
“And you remember Katarina Dmitrova.”
The director stared me up and down, a suffocating inspection. He nodded slowly.
“Buongiorno,Katarina. You look well,” he said slowly in stilted Italian. He had a mildly Eastern European accent.
I held my tongue, unsure what to say. Pavol, Vargas, and Benedict all watched me expectantly.
“You won’t speak to me, child?” The director pushed. “I said you look well.”
I shrugged. “I guess appearances can be deceiving.”
“Katarina!” Vargas snapped, anger transforming his serene expression into one of ugly rage before he quickly smoothed his features.
The director chuckled and held out a hand to me. “Don’t worry,Michal, I like a woman who speaks her mind. I’m Sergei. Nice to meet you.”
I just stared at his pale tattooed hand. Why was I being singled out like this?
I shook his hand limply and willed this to be over.
“How old are you, Katarina?”
I shrugged. “Twenty-five, I think.” Well, that was what Father Lucciano had said yesterday, so I was going with it.
“Twenty-five, already. I have a daughter your age,” Sergei said, staring at me with an intensity that made me feel like something was on my face.
“We are going to tour around the institution and then have something to eat,” Sergei continued. “Would you like to join us?”