Chapter 26 Right Question

Chapter 26 Right Question
NYLA’ POV

That reply “The hybrid child” made me fall to my knees. I fell and wrapped my hands around my tummy.

“Do you mean there is something in here?” I looked at Owen.

He gave a wicked smile and nodded.

“You are evil!” Zane screamed and ran at him. 

Garrett intervened. “What do you stand to gain in all of this?”

“Alot!” Owen replied before Garrett landed. 

Zane came towards me to help me get up but my knells failed me. While being distracted, Owen signaled to Troy.

“Fire!” Troy and the security fired us with serums. Serums rained on us like water. We lost control and felt weak. 

“Take them back.” That was the word I heard before my eyes closed.

When I opened my eyes, I met myself inside a room. I looked around because I was clueless. I got out of the bed and I observed my surroundings.

“So this is where you put people when you stop calling them staff,” I said out loud, because the room was listening whether I wanted it to or not.

The door had locked behind me with that soft final sound Helix liked, the one that pretended it was gentle, and I stood there with my hand still on the handle and said, 

“You are locked from the outside,” 

just to hear myself say it and make it real, and then I added, “That feels important,” and waited for the fear to spike, but it didn’t, not sharply, not like before, because I had already crossed that line hours ago.

I walked the room slowly and kept talking because silence felt like consent, and I opened the drawers and said, “Empty,” then I checked the wall and said, “No terminal,”  I crouched near the bed and said, “No access panel either,” and then I sat on the edge of the mattress and pressed my hands into it and said, “You are not researcher housing,” and then softer, “You are a subject room,” and that one landed and stayed.

When the food tray slid in later I knelt automatically and said, “Thank you,” because habit is stubborn, and then I laughed under my breath and said, “You don’t answer,” and pushed the tray back in place I ate because hunger was not optional.

On the second morning the door opened and I stood up straight and said,

“Good morning,”

because I had decided manners were still mine to keep, and the woman who stepped in nodded once and said, “Good morning, Nyla,” like she had practiced saying my name.

I said, “You already know who I am,” and she said, “Yes,” and I said, “Then you can tell me who you are,” 

“Dr. Voss,” she said.

and nothing else, and the lack of anything else was deliberate enough that I noticed it immediately.

She moved like someone who had done this too many times and she said, “I am here to complete your intake examination,” then I said,

“Intake into what?”

“Your new care protocol,” she replied without looking at me.

“You skipped the part where I agreed,” I said.

“Agreement was not required,” she said coldly.

She checked my vitals, asked questions and wrote things down. 

I answered because not answering had never stopped them before, and she said, “Any changes in appetite?”

“No,”  I replied.

she said, “Sleep,” and I said, “None,” and she said, “Dreams,” and I paused and said, “Yes,” and she looked up then and said, “Describe them,” and I said, “You already have them on file,” and she said, “I am asking you,” 

I said, “Then they are not dreams,” and she wrote something down and did not argue.

When she took my wrist I felt it again and my breath caught and her fingers stilled just slightly and I said, “You recognize that,” and she said, “Hold still,” and I said, “That was not denial,” and she said, “I am almost finished,” and the space between those answers mattered more than anything else she had said.

I watched her pack her kit and said, “Am I allowed to ask questions,” and she said, “You are allowed,” and I said, “Will you answer any of them,” and she said, “No,” and then she stopped at the door and added, “Not yet,” which was worse.

That afternoon the technician came in and she did not look at me properly and she said, “Monitoring,” 

I said, “You can look at me,” and she flinched and said, “I am sorry,” and rushed through the checks and when she pressed something to my wrist she whispered, “Do not react,” so quietly it barely existed, and when she left I read the paper and said, “He found it,” and then again, “He found it,” and my hands were shaking now but my thinking was clear and I said, “Okay,” because okay meant next steps.

That evening the door opened again and I said, “You came back,”

Dr. Voss stepped in without a kit and closed the door behind her. 

“You are as pretty as your mother.” she said.

She then sat down like this was not a risk and like she had already decided something.

She looked at me for a long time and I let her and then I said, “You knew my mother,” and she closed her eyes once and said, “Yes,” and I said, “Not as a colleague,” and she said, “No,” and I said, “As a patient,” and she said, “Yes,” and that word carried too much.

“Did she survive?” I asked.

“She did not lose function,” she replied.

“That is not what I asked,” I said.

and she said, “She survived the procedure intact,” 

My chest tightened and I whispered, “Where is she?”

and she stood and went to the door and said, 

“Some questions are more dangerous than the answers they produce.” 

“She is still here,” I leaned.

She said without turning back “You are asking the right questions now.”