CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Lennon pushed the cabinet door open, peeking out through the small crack. The room beyond was dim and empty, and so she climbed out of the small hiding spot, cringing as she unbent her sore legs. How long had she been in there? An hour? Maybe slightly more? She hadn’t dared look at her phone for fear the light would shine from the spaces around the door and give her away. She pulled it from her pocket now and glanced at it quickly. Yes, almost an hour. It was just a few minutes past eight o’clock, and she hoped that any dawdlers had left by now.

This was what she’d been reduced to. Sneaking past receptionists so she could hide in cabinets until the lights went off. But she’d heard noises that indicated people were arriving after the regular staff had left and knew that whatever she’d heard being referenced earlier on Dr. Sweeton’s call was, in fact, going on.

She opened the door, swallowing when a small squeak echoed in the outside hall. She waited, but when no sound came in response, she ducked out, leaving the door slightly ajar. She hurried down the hall, looking over her shoulder as she walked. There was something very eerie about a medical building after hours, and she was already freaked out as it was, by the fact that she was walking into a complete unknown.

And now she had to search the place in the near dark. The light from her phone might be seen around a corner, so she put it in her pocket, her hand running over the personal weapon that she’d taken from her home safe and had holstered against her ribs.

It was dark and quiet around the next bend, and Lennon was forced to feel along the wall as she walked. The hairs on her arms stood up, and she wanted badly to turn back. But dammit, she was here for a reason. And dark or no dark, she wasn’t going to chicken out.

She had to know.

Her shoes were virtually soundless on the carpet. When she made it to the next wing, there were milky lights along the bottom of the wall, directing her way.

She came to another bend and peered around it slowly, determining that there were no people in sight but a brighter light coming from around a corner up ahead. She pulled her shoulders back, gathering her nerves, stepped into the next hall, and pressed her back against the wall as she listened.

Her heart galloped, but above the noise of her own blood whooshing between her ears, she heard the sounds of voices and ... maybe the trickle of water? And a drumbeat? Murmurs? All of it was very faint, but she could tell it was coming from the place where the light from around the corner spilled.

Lennon pushed off the wall, and she walked on the balls of her feet, making it to the end of that hall and, again, peeking into the next. Double doors were open, bright light coming from within. The sound of flowing water was louder here, and now she could tell there were several voices—three or four at least.

There was a closed door to her left with a small window, light shining from within. She peeked in from the side and saw a large tank. Was that ... yes, it was a sensory deprivation chamber. What was this place? Some therapeutic center that Dr. Sweeton ran? And if so, why hadn’t she seen any advertisements for it when she’d looked him up?

The other doors in that hallway featured windows, too, but those rooms were dark inside, and Lennon didn’t bother to try any of those handles just yet. Instead, she headed toward the brightly lit room at the end of the hall where something was obviously going on.

There was a sort of vestibule inside the open double doors, and another door on the opposite wall that was very slightly ajar. That was where the soft noises were emanating from. Lennon pulled in a breath, her heart pounding. She walked soundlessly to the door and, very slowly, peeked in from the side, her mind giving a single bleat of alarm at what appeared in front of her.

People surrounded a woman wearing only underwear and a bra, wires taped to her skin and trailing to various machines surrounding her. That single bleat turned into resounding clangs as Lennon tried desperately to understand what she was looking at. The woman was standing in a plot of grass in the center of the room, and there was a fountain to their right, the peaceful trickle mixing with a soft drumbeat that came from a speaker overhead. Dr. Sweeton was to her left, while another person, a woman, was to her right, speaking softly into her ear. Three others stood behind her, as though she might collapse at any moment and they were there to catch her if she did. One of them was Ambrose. What the hell? Her stomach dipped, then rose into her throat. She had no idea what they were doing to the half-naked woman, and it filled her with both confusion and panic. Her heart raced, and her hands shook as she removed the gun from her holster and nosed open the door.

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.

“That’s all I ask.”

“Fine. But Ambrose, if you’re not at my apartment in an hour, I’m sending the police here.”

“I’ll text you so you have my new number. And I’ll be there. I promise.”