The infirmary seemed to be less a place that helped heal people and more a place of getting inspected and sent on your way. After Reed left the room, a nurse stripped her, inspected her wounds, and announced, “You’ll be fine.”
Reed burst into the room with new clothes, barely leaving her enough time to hastily cover herself. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment, but he just arched an eyebrow and leered as he let his eyes linger on her body.
The embarrassment turned darker. Heat built within her, flashing outward. Beads of sweat broke out across her forehead. She began to shake—almost convulsing—as a memory ripped through her brain. She grabbed her head and moaned, curling up in ball.
A boy, young. Six or seven and dressed in jeans with holes and a tattered sweater. A woman, hair falling in her face, damp from sweat. An apron covered her bulging midsection. And anger written in the flush on her cheeks and narrowing of her eyes.
She started, “Rocky—”
“That’s not my name, Mama,” the boy interrupted.
She speared him with a look. “Thas what I’m callin’ you, boy. Rocky. Because you got rocks for brains.”
His lower lip trembled. “But Mama—”
“Hush, boy. Your mama is speakin’. Ain’t I teach you nothing? Rocky!” She slapped him.
“Rocky.” The word burst out of her, as uncontrollable as the memory itself.
Reed’s eyebrows dipped, his lips sliding into a frown. “What did you say?”
She met his gaze. “You’re Rocky.” His eyes flashed and the surety of the memory settled over her. The embarrassment at being naked faded. “You’re Rocky because you have rocks for brains.”
The nurse gasped.
“Rocky Reed,” she taunted.
He threw the clothes at her. “Get dressed.” He turned to the nurse. “Give me another vial.”
Sam pulled the pants on. They slid down her hips, but she ignored them and snatched the shirt, pulling it over her head.
“Sir, she’s had too mu—”
“It’s not working.”
Sam’s head popped out. Reed was staring at the nurse, a wild look in his eyes. A red stain had crept over his cheeks. She’d experienced one of his memories. She didn’t know how or why, but she had. Sam sneaked a look at him again. A memory he was ashamed of, judging by the thin line of his lips and his impatient movements.
The nurse tried again. “We haven’t had time to test the long-term effects of the—”
“I said give me another vial. Now.”
“But sir, it’s against pol—”
“Give. Me. A. Vial.”
“Yes, sir.”
Sam added, “Rocky, sir.”
He whirled on her and raised his arm. She flinched. “Do not—” He took a deep breath. “Do not call me that.” He lowered his arm and adjusted his shirt. Smoothed his tie. She tightened the drawstrings on her pants and tied them.
The nurse handed him a vial. As he turned to Sam, the nurse mouthed, “I’m sorry.”
Interesting. Sam looked from the nurse to Reed. Eyed the vial. Whatever it was, she didn’t trust it. Or him. Never him.
He slid it in his pocket and held out his hand. She ignored it. “No thanks, Rocky. I got this.”
The corners of his mouth tightened. “If I’d gotten my way, we wouldn’t be in this situation. But the boss doesn’t want you hurt. Don’t push me. Or I won’t mind a few consequences.”
The tremor in his voice belied his anger. She didn’t want to push him—not exactly—but his anger had a benefit: information. Who was the boss? And if this boss didn’t want her hurt, she had leverage. As long as she avoided tipping Reed into not caring about the consequences.
She frowned, staring at his outstretched hand. He made a disgusted noise and grabbed her arm.
“Sir, she’s already bruised th—”
“That’ll be all, nurse.” He pulled Sam to his side and arched an eyebrow at the nurse. “You’re dismissed.”
Sam didn’t want to know what was in that vial.
No, that was a lie. She did want to know. Deep down, where she’d found the heated anger and forgotten memory, she wanted to know what was going on. And how to stop it. The whole compound had to go. It wasn’t enough to escape; she wanted to destroy what they were doing here. They’d learned how take away her memories. She couldn’t imagine they’d figured it out by benign research.
The thought of destruction kept her buoyed as her hand began to tingle: he was holding her arm too tightly. She ignored it, refusing to give him the satisfaction of mentioning it. Or begging.
“Really, my dear memory-bringer. This would be easier if you Gifted simply cooperate with us.”
“Don’t care, Rocky.” But the word Gifted triggered something. An idea of two supernaturally gifted people: memory-bringers, which she was, and illusionists. And this place had neither. It had—
His fingers dug into her arm before he tossed her across the hallway, her head connecting with the wall. Stars burst in front of her eyes, the lines of his shoes blurring. She hadn’t seen anyone before he’d tossed her, but there was a hush and a few soft squishes of shoes crossing the floor.
“Sir, is she okay?” She didn’t recognize the voice. There was too much she didn’t recognize.
She heard a rustle of fabric in the pause that followed. Reed adjusting his clothes. He’d done that earlier, after he’d nearly hit her.
“She just tripped. She’s fine.”
If that was Reed’s definition of tripping, Sam didn’t want to know what being tossed into the wall meant. Pain shot through her head, cutting off any retort. She groaned.
“C-can I assist you?”
A pause. “Take her back to her cell and get back to the testing room, Jennings. And no more breaks. You’re not to be out and around.”
Jennings. He’d come with Reed earlier—the skinny one. Nothing impaired her memory of him. But nothing stuck in her head as worth remembering. Dark hair sticking out all over the place. Dark eyes. They didn’t sparkle like blue.
“Yes, sir.”
Rough hands grabbed and shook her. She squinted. A hand slapped her. “Wake up, you filthy memory-bringer.” Reed had her. Why hadn’t he left yet? She groaned again.
“You’ll need this.” Something sharp plunged into her arm. An answering sting in her ankle. She whimpered. The vial. She slumped over, her head nearly hitting the ground. Then she was weightless, being carried.
A few strides later, a whisper. “We’ll get you out of here.” Jennings.