Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 111860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
The door gave a soft squeak, which caused the people surrounding the woman to look up, Dr. Sweeton’s mouth falling open as the woman who had been whispering in the patient’s ear drew back slightly and let out a soft gasp. The mostly nude female with the wires coming off her startled too.
“Back away from her,” Lennon told them, moving her gun from one to the next to indicate she was speaking to all of them. “Now!”
The woman let out a high-pitched squeal. Ambrose moved around the patient and then in front of her in one fluid movement, blocking her and holding his hand out, as though to ward Lennon off.
“Lennon, please, back out,” Ambrose said, and though his voice was soft, it was also emphatic. She heard the plea, and she heard his distress. Her gaze bounced over the people behind him, wide eyes and stark looks of dread.
“What the fuck is happening here?”
The woman in the bra and underwear with wires taped to her skin moaned behind Ambrose, and Lennon saw her head moving back and forth beyond his shoulders.
“Please, Lennon,” Ambrose said. “Her mind is very vulnerable right now. You might break her with an unexpected noise.” His voice had lowered further, a mere whisper.
Break her? Lennon’s breath came out in one sharp exhale, the gun in her hands shaking as she pointed it directly at Ambrose. The volume of the drumbeat overhead increased, and she realized that at least one person, but perhaps more, were beyond this room, responding to the unfolding situation. The woman’s movements slowed, then stilled. She realized that if she shot Ambrose, she’d also shoot the woman, who was obviously drugged or anesthetized or something that made her incapable of controlling her own body.
“Please,” Ambrose mouthed, tilting his head to indicate that Lennon should leave the room. Her mouth set, she gestured her own head, demanding that he go with her. The woman in the pale-blue lab coat behind him said something very softly under her breath, and Ambrose’s eyes moved to the side as he listened to her, gave a slight nod, and then took a step forward.
He approached Lennon, their eyes meeting, and even in her anger and confusion, she felt the connection between them, some unknown something that flared to life as he drew nearer. She stepped aside, motioning with her gun that he should pass by her and leave the room first. He did so, and she followed, the volume of the drumbeat lowering as she shut the door softly. Ambrose had already moved through the vestibule, and she followed, stepping into the hallway, where he turned to face her.
“I know this must look—”
“It looks like I should call someone to come help that woman,” Lennon said, her jaw tight, heart beating swiftly. Why was she even hesitating in calling the SFPD and having them all arrested? What were they doing to her?
“She is being helped. She’s being cared for. Loved, even. She’s going to wake up a new person with her whole life in front of her.”
“Who is she?”
Ambrose paused, his mouth forming a thin line for a brief moment. “Her name is confidential. I can’t tell you that, Lennon.”
“What is she? A prostitute? A drug addict? A victim of abuse?”
“She was those things, yes.”
“And Dr. Sweeton is . . . what? Brainwashing her?”
“He’s doing nothing of the sort. He’s resetting her nervous system and helping her revisit her trauma in a controlled setting. She’s being monitored and walked through the process, step by step.”
She massaged her forehead. She didn’t even know where to begin. “Oh my God. This can’t be legal.” She turned, pacing one way and then the other. “Of course it’s not legal. You’re performing this treatment after hours in the back corner of a medical facility. You told me I might break her. What if you break her? You’re using these people as guinea pigs. This is wrong!”
A noise from the room where the treatment was ongoing made Ambrose turn his head before he looked back at her. “I have to go. Please, Lennon. I will explain everything. Go back to your apartment, and I’ll meet you there. Please. Listen to your heart and just wait for me to explain.”
“Why should I trust you? You’ve lied to me about everything since the moment I met you.”
“Not everything. You know that. Listen to your gut, Lennon. I know I’ve told you lies, but that was only because I was protecting people.”
She was so torn, so confused, and yet . . . no one was trying to stop her from leaving. They were trusting her. Or at least trusting Ambrose.
“Please, Lennon,” he said again. “Don’t just trust my word. Trust your gut.”
She looked at him, and for whatever reason, the story he’d told of that songbird blossomed in her mind. She looked away. “I’m not making any promises other than hearing you out,” she said.