her voice a little froggy, but she was resolute. Maisie. Jordan liked to think she’d do the same for Vince and Mirren. Hoped she would.
The Chimera officers each took her by an arm. Her heart raced. She just couldn’t help it.
The senator frowned at Jordan. Regret maybe? “It doesn’t have to be like this. Blackman and Lambert are criminals.”
“So was Agatha.”
Senator Fleight’s mouth pinched, and she turned and strode out ahead of the officers, who propelled Jordan in their boss’s wake. They proceeded down a long white hallway, making two turns. An oversized door, like the kind leading to a surgery suite, opened to the punch of a large square button. Again, like in a hospital.
Jordan’s stomach turned. She understood the rationale behind memory retrieval—a couple of notable cases had been won, serial killers taken out of circulation—but the idea still made her uneasy. She now concluded that the practice was absolutely and utterly unethical, and she would happily sign any petition or wave a sign in order to end it.
She wished she knew what Chimera would do with Malcolm. Wished they’d at least let her know if he’d awakened. Had he even survived the black market’s fall? Or had the nightmares gotten to him? At the thought, she swayed off-balance while walking, and the Chimera gripped her tighter.
Once through the big door, the officers dragged her toward a room labeled Retrieval Preparation. There, the senator left them to go speak with another official-looking man, who shook the senator’s hand and leaned in to say something to her. She laughed like a politician, measured and short.
One of the Chimera officers hit another square wall button, and the door to the prep room opened. A male nurse waited inside next to some kind of chair contraption that reminded Jordan of those weird backward seats with face rests used by massage therapists in malls.
“Please take a seat,” the nurse said.
“No, thanks.” At least she could resist. Resist like hell.
“If we have to force compliance, your memory may be damaged.”
“Yep. So I’ve been told.”
One of the officers stepped up to her side and caught her gaze with his. “You don’t want to resist,” he told her.
Yeah, she was pretty sure she did.
Jordan’s belly was weak, but she straddled the chair and put her face into the donut. Never, ever again would she look at a mall massage chair the same way. This was total bullshit.
The nurse strapped her in place—across her thighs, back, upper arms, and wrists—so that she couldn’t do anything but waggle her hands and feet. Something was fitted around the back of her head. Her breath went ragged, sweat dripping down her neck and between her breasts.
“Please don’t struggle,” the nurse said. “I have to get the IV in for your sedation.”
What? “This is not legal.”
“You’ve been identified as ‘At Risk.’”
A Chimera officer came around and held her forearm firmly against the chair’s armrest. Tears burned down Jordan’s cheeks as the needle found a vein.
“You have no idea what you’re doing!” Jordan shook the seat with her struggles, couldn’t help herself now. “The nightmares are just going to get worse. The Oneiros are helping them. The black market fell. The Agora will be next!”
But no one was listening to her.
The nurse lifted a syringe and took off the lid protecting the needle, then put it into the IV tubing.
“Please!” Jordan cried. “Don’t do this!”
A wave of warmth seeped through her, followed by a soft and swift decline in her strength. As darkness billowed up around her mind, she heard the guards talking.
“Did you see the news about that freak tornado outside DC?”
“It’s still going, man. They’re evacua—”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Sera. Shot. Every nerve of Harlen’s body had recoiled in pain so that he was simultaneously in agony and numb to the world. He dimly understood that he was being roughly handled, though
The Chimera officers each took her by an arm. Her heart raced. She just couldn’t help it.
The senator frowned at Jordan. Regret maybe? “It doesn’t have to be like this. Blackman and Lambert are criminals.”
“So was Agatha.”
Senator Fleight’s mouth pinched, and she turned and strode out ahead of the officers, who propelled Jordan in their boss’s wake. They proceeded down a long white hallway, making two turns. An oversized door, like the kind leading to a surgery suite, opened to the punch of a large square button. Again, like in a hospital.
Jordan’s stomach turned. She understood the rationale behind memory retrieval—a couple of notable cases had been won, serial killers taken out of circulation—but the idea still made her uneasy. She now concluded that the practice was absolutely and utterly unethical, and she would happily sign any petition or wave a sign in order to end it.
She wished she knew what Chimera would do with Malcolm. Wished they’d at least let her know if he’d awakened. Had he even survived the black market’s fall? Or had the nightmares gotten to him? At the thought, she swayed off-balance while walking, and the Chimera gripped her tighter.
Once through the big door, the officers dragged her toward a room labeled Retrieval Preparation. There, the senator left them to go speak with another official-looking man, who shook the senator’s hand and leaned in to say something to her. She laughed like a politician, measured and short.
One of the Chimera officers hit another square wall button, and the door to the prep room opened. A male nurse waited inside next to some kind of chair contraption that reminded Jordan of those weird backward seats with face rests used by massage therapists in malls.
“Please take a seat,” the nurse said.
“No, thanks.” At least she could resist. Resist like hell.
“If we have to force compliance, your memory may be damaged.”
“Yep. So I’ve been told.”
One of the officers stepped up to her side and caught her gaze with his. “You don’t want to resist,” he told her.
Yeah, she was pretty sure she did.
Jordan’s belly was weak, but she straddled the chair and put her face into the donut. Never, ever again would she look at a mall massage chair the same way. This was total bullshit.
The nurse strapped her in place—across her thighs, back, upper arms, and wrists—so that she couldn’t do anything but waggle her hands and feet. Something was fitted around the back of her head. Her breath went ragged, sweat dripping down her neck and between her breasts.
“Please don’t struggle,” the nurse said. “I have to get the IV in for your sedation.”
What? “This is not legal.”
“You’ve been identified as ‘At Risk.’”
A Chimera officer came around and held her forearm firmly against the chair’s armrest. Tears burned down Jordan’s cheeks as the needle found a vein.
“You have no idea what you’re doing!” Jordan shook the seat with her struggles, couldn’t help herself now. “The nightmares are just going to get worse. The Oneiros are helping them. The black market fell. The Agora will be next!”
But no one was listening to her.
The nurse lifted a syringe and took off the lid protecting the needle, then put it into the IV tubing.
“Please!” Jordan cried. “Don’t do this!”
A wave of warmth seeped through her, followed by a soft and swift decline in her strength. As darkness billowed up around her mind, she heard the guards talking.
“Did you see the news about that freak tornado outside DC?”
“It’s still going, man. They’re evacua—”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Sera. Shot. Every nerve of Harlen’s body had recoiled in pain so that he was simultaneously in agony and numb to the world. He dimly understood that he was being roughly handled, though
Similar Books
