No . . . as Dacia swings it toward her.
“You?” I yank my arm away. Dacia’s nails carve shallow grooves into the underside of my wrist. The mental probe leaves my head so quickly that I can almost hear a pop. “But she tried to protect you!”
I can’t remember. Did Molly ever say that it was Cregg who killed her? And does it even matter if Cregg was the one forcing Dacia?
Was he the one forcing Dacia?
I lean forward and put my head between my knees, fighting against the queasy, dizzy feeling that came in the wake of our sudden disconnection. My arms are clutched tightly to my sides. Does she need skin-to-skin contact in order to read me? Or does that just boost the signal? Either way, I don’t want her to touch me again.
But when I raise my head, I can tell that Dacia’s exhausted. She’s leaning back against the couch cushions, eyes closed.
When she finally opens them, they brim with loathing. “If Graham did not want you unharmed, I would find something heavy to hit you with.” The words are harsh, but her voice is flat. Tired. “And then you’d see that I made it quick for Molly. Quicker than he would have.”
Dacia is slightly unsteady as she stands, the way she was at the police station. She stares back at me when she reaches the door, and for an instant, her eyes seem . . . wounded, I guess. Did she actually believe that killing Molly was an act of mercy?
“Much quicker than I would for you.”
And with that parting shot, she leaves me alone to wait for Bellamy II.
The cafeteria is empty by the time we arrive, except for two uniformed employees talking at a back table and a few cafeteria workers cleaning up. The air smells like there might have been hot food earlier—chili, maybe?—but the only options available now are packaged sandwiches, bagels, cookies, yogurt, and such.
As we get closer, I see that one of the two uniformed employees is the guard who was with Dacia at the police station. His head jerks up when he sees me, and he exits quickly. There’s no sign, however, of the guy that I’m more and more certain is actually Daniel.
Back in my room, I unwrap the bagel I selected. One bite is enough to make me realize I should have grabbed another sandwich instead. It’s not that the bagel is awful, although the round shape is pretty much the only thing it has in common with the ones Joe makes at Carver’s Deli. It’s more that the bagel triggers a wave of homesickness. Joe wasn’t simply a boss. He was a friend. If there were extra hours up for grabs, I got first dibs because he knew I needed the money. If I helped him close up, he’d drop me at home rather than letting me walk at night.
Simply put, he was kind. I don’t get the sense that there’s much of that in this place. I miss Kelsey, I miss Molly, I miss Aaron, and most of all, I miss Deo. I’ve been here almost an entire day and I don’t seem any closer to finding him and securing his release than I was when I woke up on that gurney last night. Bellamy II refused to answer any questions when she locked me in. Her only comment was that someone would let me know when my next tests were scheduled.
My conversations with Sam and Kelsey echo in my head, and I know they were right. It was naive to think that I could waltz in and negotiate for Deo’s release, and it seems even less likely to happen now.
Before, I thought I was dealing with Dacia, Cregg, Lucas, and maybe a few other goons. Now, it looks like I’m dealing with an entire organization. How many of the kids I saw in the cafeteria are missing children? Were they snatched off the streets at random for testing? Or worse, as guinea pigs for the drug used in the Delphi Project?
And now I’m not even certain of things I thought I knew. Did Molly hide that it was Dacia swinging the pipe? Or did I simply jump to the conclusion that it was Cregg all on my own?
Does it matter? If Dacia wants to sit me down tomorrow for a second round of hide-and-seek, I’ll play her game, no matter what it costs me. Like I told Aaron, as long as they have Deo, they call the shots.
I toss the rest of the bagel into the trash.
“AN . . . NA.”
I’m stretched out on the bed, eyes closed, listening to another chapter in my book. Even though I don’t recognize the voice, every hair on my body is at attention before my eyes open.
Because Molly knows it all too well.
I spring upright and breathe a sigh of relief when I see that Lucas is not in the room with me. His voice is coming from the TV. Someone apparently cranked the volume way, way up when they came in to make the bed and empty the trash while I was at testing.