Looking at him with pleading eyes, I try to get King to read what I can’t say out loud in my face. Today is not the day to piss off the staff.
“Meet you at our spot, beautiful?” King asks, nodding toward the windows that overlook the courtyard.
I give him a relieved smile. “Sure thing. Have a good session.”
Before I stop him, he leans in and kisses my cheek, winking at me as he pulls away. “You, too.”
Claire’s hand on my lower back leads me away from the dining hall, but I’m hardly aware of where my feet are taking me. I can still feel the brush of his lips, the scratch of his stubble, smell the honey-sweet trace of his scent on my clothes. So when Claire opens the door to the treatment room, I’m startled by the half dozen people standing inside.
Dr. Stuart is chief among them, his assistant close by with a laptop poised on a rolling desk. Two technicians I recognize are setting up a machine, but there are two men in suits talking with Dr. Stuart that I don’t recognize. At the sound of our approach, Dr. Stuart looks up, a cold smile spreading across his face.
“Omega Montgomery, excellent! Right on time!” he says, a glint in his eyes I don’t like.
I sniff the air surreptitiously but instantly regret it. The alpha pheromones in the air turn my stomach, and I flinch back. Even with the state-of-the-art air filtering system, I can smell the distinct notes of peanuts, dust, and ink emanating off the men in suits, making me wrinkle my nose.
“We’re going to try something a little different. Let me introduce you to our guests,” Dr. Stuart says, his false charm sweet enough to make my teeth hurt.
He motions me closer, and Claire stays with me as I approach, my guard up. My instincts are running wild, my fight or flight response making my heart pound and my muscles twitch, ready to sprint away at the first possible opportunity.
“I don’t know if you remember him, but this is Detective Barnes, the one handling your case,” Dr. Stuart starts, motioning to the shorter of the two strangers.
Now that I’m closer, my blood runs cold as I recognize his face. The world-weary droop to his jowls is worse now than the last time I saw him, but his deep brown eyes are just as bloodshot, his dyed-brown hair fading to show hints of gray hairs. His suit jacket hangs off of him while his belt cuts a harsh line through his gut.
“Ms. Montgomery,” he grunts, the distinct rasp of a chain smoker in his words.
“And this is Dr. Richards. He’s going to assist in a new treatment program to help you recover your memories,” Dr. Stuart goes on.
I look at the tall, lanky man, my nose wrinkling as I realize he’s the source of the raw peanut smell. His bald head shines in the bright lights of the room, though he has enough flaxen-colored eyebrow and mustache hair to make up for what’s missing on his scalp. His dark brown eyes are bright, looking down at me with a fascination bordering on manic.
“I’m very excited to work with you, Omega. I won’t make any guarantees, but I’ve had multiple successful recoveries before,” he says, his voice reedy and thin.
“And there’s no time like the present to begin. If you please,” Dr. Stuart interjects, a hand going to my arm to guide me toward the center of the room.
A reclining exam chair sits directly under a massive spotlight, everything sterile and bright, almost like I’m about to have dental work done. I’m guided to sit down and lay back, the technicians swooping in with electrodes in hand.
“What’s happening? What are you doing?” I ask before I can stop myself.
“This is an EEG machine. We’re just going to be monitoring your brain activity during the treatment,” Dr. Stuart explains.
“What’s the treatment?” I ask, capitalizing on the burst of defiance in my chest.
“We’re going to get you into a state of deep mental relaxation, and then we’re going to see if you can access any memories that your conscious mind might be trying to block,” Dr. Richards explains, his tone suggesting an attempt to soothe me, but his face is far too intense for it to be effective.
“Hypnosis?” I ask flatly.
Dr. Richards scoffs. “I wouldn’t use such a crude term.”
I raise one eyebrow at him skeptically. Of all the wild things we’ve tried before, this has got to be the weirdest.
“Please relax so we can prepare you for the treatment,” Dr. Stuart says, a bit of his bark coming through to force my hand.
I lay back and try to breathe, closing my eyes against the bright lights. It doesn’t take long for the techs to attach what feels like a hundred sticky nodes to my head and neck, and I hear the scrape of wheels on the floor.
“Now, let’s just do some breathing exercises, Omega. Follow my counts, in and out,” Dr. Richards says, his pitch dropping almost an entire octave.
A shiver runs down my spine, like an ice cube has been slipped down the back of my shirt. My body responds to his commands even as my mind doesn’t recognize the instructions. Dr. Richards keeps talking, and my body gets heavier and heavier. After only a few minutes I can’t open my eyes, even if I wanted to.
“Don’t fight it, Omega. Just let go, that’s a good girl.”