A door opened and two men walked in. One wore a white lab coat and pushed a small trolley; the second wore the uniform of the security guards. She was unsurprised when she recognized Adams. Had he been here yesterday morning as well?
Faith’s mind worked frantically. How could she stop this? She couldn’t stand by and watch as someone was tortured. Even if Tara had been guilty of hideous crimes, this would still be wrong. There had to be lines you didn’t cross.
“That’s Dr. Trenton. He’s the one who’s been developing the drug. We borrowed him from one of the other departments. He’s the best at his job.”
And what was that—devising more effective ways of torturing people? Faith held the words in but her fists clenched at her side.
Tara had gone still as the men entered the room, but there was fear in her eyes as they darted from the men to the table.
“Stand up,” the doctor said, his tone completely blank.
When Tara made no move, Adams crossed the room, leaned down, and grabbed her by the arm. She whimpered as he pulled her to her feet, and Faith saw she was more damaged than had been obvious. Her left hand was cradled against her chest as though it hurt to move. Her eyes fixed with terror on the table, and she started to fight.
She was over a foot shorter than the guard, but she fought furiously, resisting every step. Faith found herself rooting for her under her breath. But it was foolish. Adams grabbed her other hand, the one held against her chest and crushed it in his fist. Tara let out a high-pitched scream and her body went limp.
Faith moved instinctively, reaching for the gun at the small of her back, then remembered she hadn’t yet replaced the weapon. Besides, what had she been going to do—shoot the colonel and the doctor and Adams and everyone else between here and the outside world?
No, she had to bide her time. She would do something about this. It had to be illegal. She would report it. Go higher up…
But she was kidding herself. This was sanctioned. By whom she didn’t know, but she was guessing she’d be blocked if she tried to follow channels. No, she had to find another way to stop this.
Adams hauled Tara across the room and onto the table, fastening her wrists and ankles at each corner. As he fastened the straps to her wrists, Faith could see the red marks, open sores, where Tara had presumably struggled against the restraints in the previous “session.”
Adams stepped back. Faith had thought her unconscious, but Tara’s head rolled to the side so she was facing the mirror and her lids fluttered open.
The expression of hopelessness in her eyes made Faith want to weep.
The doctor came to stand beside her. “We don’t need to do this.” His voice was soft and Faith had to strain to hear his words. “Tell us everything you know about Roth and we’ll stop this. You’ll be given food, a shower.”
Tara turned her head away and shut her eyes.
The doctor glanced at the mirror and the colonel leaned forward and pressed the intercom. “Go ahead.”
Faith forced herself to watch, not to look away as the doctor selected a needle and syringe from the trolley he’d wheeled up close to the examination table. The liquid inside was pale yellow. He tapped it once before injecting it into the blue vein that ran down Tara’s lower arm.
For a minute, nothing happened and Faith breathed easier. Then Tara started to convulse, her muscles jumping and jerking. Her teeth bit down on her lower lip until blood trickled down her chin.
“Tell me, and it will stop,” the doctor murmured.
Faith glanced away; she couldn’t bear to watch. Her gaze caught on the guard, Adams, who stood at the foot of the table a slight smile on his face. A man who obviously enjoyed his work.
Tara strained at her bonds now, her whole body writhing. Her head rolled toward them and her eyes opened. Faith took an involuntary step closer. Tara’s eyes were glowing with a strange crimson light. Was she hemorrhaging?
“She’s dying,” Faith said to the colonel. “You have to tell them to stop—give her something.”
The colonel must have reached the same conclusion; he reached for the button as Tara’s right hand broke free. Her fist slammed into the doctor’s face. The crunch of bone sounded loud and blood sprayed across the room. The doctor backed away as Tara kicked free of the ankle restraints. A noise was coming from her throat, more growl than scream.
“How the hell…?” The colonel pressed the comm unit. “Get out of there!”