I try to piece together my memories, but they feel shattered, as if they’ve been pulled apart and scattered. Dr Moss. The men in white. Sacred Heights. The needle. Oh God, what have they fucking done to me?
Fear claws up my throat, and my stomach churns with nausea. I try to scream again, but my voice breaks.
“Help... Help me,” I whisper, my eyes darting to the person to my right as my fingers strain to reach out.
I feel the coldness of the table beneath me, the sharp pressure of the restraints digging into my skin, and the air smells sterile, like chemicals and antiseptic. I’m somewhere in Sacred Heights.
The figures in white, their backs turned, are moving quietly around the room, preparing... something. I can’t see what the fuck it is, but I know it won’t be good. My eyes flicker across the room in desperation, scanning every corner. Shelves of bottles and jars line the walls, and I can make out tools—old, sharp things I’ve never seen before. Nothing in here looks like anything I know. Everything feels foreign. Foreign, and wrong. Like a fucking torture chamber.
The door creaks open by my feet, and my heart jumps into my throat. I glance down as Dr Moss enters, and he wears white scrubs while he pulls latex gloves over his hands. They snap tight as he finishes, the sound of them sharp, clinical.
I want to shrink away, to cover myself, to hide under this fucking table or even claw my way through the walls if I have to,but I can’t move. I’m completely naked, completely exposed and vulnerable.
He stops at the foot of the table, and I force myself to stay still, clenching my teeth to keep from crying out. I can feel his eyes on me, assessing, judging, as if I’m nothing more than a specimen to be experimented on.
I squeeze my eyes shut and bite my lip so hard I almost taste blood, trying to push the panic down, trying to convince myself this isn’t happening.Wake up, Raven. Wake the fuck up.
But nothing changes. This is real.
“Ready to begin?” Dr Moss’s voice cuts through the silence and It’s almost like he’s speaking to himself more than to me.
I can’t respond. I can barely breathe. What does he fucking mean, ready to begin?
Dr Moss steps closer to the table, his hands moving carefully across the array of tools and equipment beside him. I feel my heart rate spike, every nerve in my body firing as my eyes dart toward the machine he’s preparing.
It’s old—too old.
Wires crisscross over the surface like veins, leading to thick, metal clamps that gleam under the harsh lights above. My throat constricts as I realize what this is. My stomach lurches, and a wave of nausea sweeps over me.
Electroshock therapy.
The very thought of it sends chills down my spine. I’ve heard about it, read about it—the horrors. The way it can scramble your mind, tear apart your memories, make you forget who you are.
“No,” I whisper shakily because it’s all I can manage.
Dr Moss doesn’t even look at me as he approaches the machine. His face remains as impassive as ever, focused solely on what he’s about to do to me. He adjusts the knobs, checking the settings, and the faint crackle of electricity makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
“Please... don’t do this,” I sob, tears pouring out of my eyes.
He glances up then, a brief flash of something like amusement crossing his face. It’s sickening. My body tenses as he steps forward, stopping right beside me, his gaze sweeping over my naked body.
“Don’t worry, Ms Tate,” he says with a sinister calm. “This will help you. You just need to accept it. You’ve been broken and you need fixing.”
I hyperventilate as he shifts behind me and I feel the restraints pulling tighter as he places the metal clamps against my temples, and a fresh wave of fear crashes over me.
The cold metal sinks into my skin, and I wince as the electricity hums in the air. My body reacts involuntarily, heart pounding in my chest as I try to pull away. But I can’t.
“Please... No, please...” I beg again, desperation lacing every word.
“Quiet now. I’m going to make you feel better. Pull all those horrid memories out of you.” Dr Moss whispers, the words deceptively gentle as he moves to the control panel. He flips a switch, and the machine comes to life with a throbbing hum.
I squeeze my eyes shut, bracing myself for the pain I know is coming. I can feel the power surging, building behind the machine, and my whole body instinctively goes rigid in anticipation. I can’t escape it. I can’t even move.
“Here we go,” he says softly, but the words send a cold chill through my bones.
And then, without any further warning, it hits me.
The shock crashes through my head like a thunderclap, and I gasp, my body shaking violently against the restraints. My heart skips a beat, the world circling, the shock burning through every nerve like fire, tearing through my thoughts, my awareness.