“Well, we can start by not hanging out here, looking sketchy.” She turns and walks down the hall. I run to catch up.
“Do we need Dr. Reynolds’s fingerprint?” My heart sinks. If so, we’ll have to turn back now, before we’ve even begun.
“No . . . just someone with clearance. I think I know who we can ask.” We turn a corner, and Kay stops at a door. Again, I instantly think of Rice, but obviously, Kay purposefully wants to keep him out of this. “Who?”
“The same person who told us that Dr. Reynolds would be busy all day.”
She knocks, and after a moment there is a curt “Come in.” We step through the door into a small office, and I’m relieved to find Dr. Samuels seated behind a cluttered desk. He still wears the same yellow bow tie and tweed jacket, but looks older than I remember. Everyone’s appearance seems to have changed for the worse in the short time I’ve been gone.
Dr. Samuels stares at us, then reaches into a desk drawer and pulls out a pistol. I take a surprised step back as Dr. Samuels points it at us.
“You will not be taking me to the Ward,” he says, his face oddly calm. He raises the gun’s barrel to his temple, closes his eyes, and squeezes the trigger.
Chapter Thirty-seven
Nothing happens.
Dr. Samuels looks as shocked as I feel. Kay rips her hood off, and Dr. Samuels stares at her, his look of surprise giving way to one of glazed horror.
“I . . . I thought they’d finally come for me. . . .” He’s wide-eyed, mouth gaping, and turns to the gun in his hand. He sets the weapon on his desk, then yanks his hand away as if he’s been burned.
Kay steps over and plucks the gun off the desk. “Holy crap, when I gave this to you it didn’t occur to me you’d use it for that.” She checks the gun. “Good thing the safety was on.”
“Yes.” Dr. Samuels lets out a nervous sigh. “Quite.” He places his hand on his chest and watches as Kay removes the clip and tucks it into one of her pockets. After checking the chamber, Kay sets the pistol on the desk. Dr. Samuels stares at it. “I just couldn’t risk being taken.”
My heart threatening to pound out of my rib cage, I pull down my hood. Dr. Samuels’s mouth drops open. “Amy,” he whispers. He takes me in for a moment. “I suppose I knew you’d be back, for your sister.” He nods at the gun on the desk between us. “I thought you were one of Marcus’s men, come to take me away because of what I did for you.”
I’m still shaken by his attempted suicide, but if we want to get to Baby, we need to keep moving. “I know you’ve taken huge risks already, getting the message to us, stealing the key cards,” I say. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it. And I know you’re worried about being caught. . . . But please, we need your help again.”
Dr. Samuels looks at us silently for a long moment. “What do you need?”
“A fingerprint. To get into the section of the lab where they’re holding Baby.”
Dr. Samuels nods. “Yes, FPV. Put into effect just recently.” He straightens his bow tie, rubs his hands through his sparse, white hair.
“Will you help us?” I ask.
He rubs his temples again, then eyes the gun on the desk. “Well, three minutes ago, I tried to kill myself.” He looks up at us with a faint smile. “So obviously fear of death isn’t my problem.”
“I don’t blame you,” I say quietly. “If you thought you were going to the Ward.”
“Torture,” he says grimly. “That’s what they’re doing there, I know. That’s what they’re doing to that little girl, your sister. It’s . . . it’s an abomination. We’re doctors,” he hisses. “We took an oath to do no harm.” He gives his head a sharp shake. “We’re human beings.” He slaps his palms onto his desk and stands. “Let’s go.”
We flank him on the way back to the restricted area, where he swipes his key card and pushes his finger on the pad. The door swings open and we’re through it.
I have no idea which of the many doors hides Baby from me, yet have to tell myself not to run down the hall ahead of them. I have to control my emotions, not let them take control, or I’ll end up doing something stupid.
Dr. Samuels stops at a door, swipes his card again, and taps a code into the keypad. He scans his print. The door opens to a dorm-style room.
Immediately I suck in a breath, paralyzed by the sight of Baby sitting at a child-sized table, coloring in a book.
There are a few toys, a few books on her bed, but everything else about the room is clinical. Hard, cold surfaces. Her bright-yellow jumpsuit blazes in the glaring light.