Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Dani

The rigid surfaceof the chair presses into my bottom, and I shift in the seat, wincing at the dull cramping ache that shoots up into my belly. Doctor Falkenrath dictates while the recorder captures his observations, and I stare down at the blank page before me that should be filled with notes and measurements.

“Did you get that, Dani?” His question wedges into my thoughts, and I lift my head.

“I’m sorry?”

In his full suit, he twists around from where the gore of the last hour is spread out before him, in the grisly remains of the man on the table.

Through the window of his mask, I catch his eyes dipping toward the notebook and back.

“Stop the recorder.”

I press the button as requested, and a wave of tension slides along my muscles.

He removes his gloves and strides toward the sink. The abrupt flip of the faucet tells me he’s angry. Frustrated.

I’ve been waiting for this. The confrontation. The moment when I’ll unleash hell on him for lying to me.

When he returns, though, the fury I expected to see in his eyes isn’t there. “What’s troubling you?”

Training my gaze on the blank paper allows me to keep Abel at the front of my mind, instead of the concerned expression on Falkenrath’s face that somehow stifles my thoughts. I won’t say a word about Ivan and what he did to me in front of all those boys. It’s become clear to me that Falkenrath would rather cower than help me, anyway.

“I read Abel’s file.”

I don’t even care that he knows. I don’t care that he’ll be angry at me for sneaking out of the lab, and I don’t care if he sends me off to the experimental labs at this point. I’ve become nothing but a hollow shell to the tortures of this place.

“You disobeyed.”

“And you lied.” The sting across my eyes angers me, and I blink to hold back the tears. “You lied about my brother. He’s dead. I saw it.” Clamping my eyes shut, I will away the image of his face—the one that’s stuck with me, overshadowing the pain of Ivan’s roughness and agony of my humiliation. “You said he’d be safe. And protected. You said he’d be happy. That he’d never know fear, or pain, again!”

“And you told me that you believe Heaven exists. So I never lied to you.”

His words crash over me, and I bury my face in my hands so he can’t see the tears that give way. I’ve wept most of the night and into morning, and these new tears are nothing more than the exhausted remnants of what’s left in me. Everything else is numb.

“And you said you don’t believe in Heaven.”

“I said I stopped believing in God.”

“One doesn’t exist without the other.”

“It exists for you, though. It exists for others. It existed for my wife. And my daughter.”

I lower my hands, looking up in time to catch the furrow of his brow behind the plastic of his mask.

“I may not be able to save myself. But I’d like to think others can. That the ones who lived selflessly and loved unconditionally …” The quaver in his voice catches me off guard. “… will know eternal peace and happiness. Where there’s no pain. No more suffering. No more of this world.”

In the quiet that follows, I let his words settle inside my mind and absorb a small bit of the soul he’s bared to me. “You had a family.” It’s not a question. “What happened to them?”

Clearing his throat, he shuffles toward the sink, washing his hands again like he’s forgotten he just did them. Or maybe he just needs the distraction. “Both of them contracted the contagion. My wife was bitten first and passed it on to my daughter. Day and night, I did what I could to save them. But in the end, they succumbed.”

For the next few minutes, I sniffle and take deep breaths, trying to keep as indifferent about my brother’s death, because maybe he’s right. Maybe Abel is in the only safe place left. It’s a losing battle, when all I want to do is curl into myself and cry for him, though. “My brother hated the dark. So did Sarai, but she always went to my mother at night. Abel came to me. He’d crawl into bed beside me, and we’d stare up at the stars. I told them they were our family, and my father, looking down on us. I told him he should never fear the dark, because that’s when he’s most protected. He’s a star now.” My willpower is the only shield that keeps me from breaking down. “Your family. You loved them?” I ask, desperate for distraction.

“Very much. More than anything.”

“I’m scared. This is the first time I’ve ever felt truly alone.”

“It’s okay to be scared, Dani. Ironically, it’s fear that gives you courage. And for the record, you’re not alone.”