I’m wearing a nightgown, like the ones at the hospital. I shift my legs with the jolting realization that a catheter has been inserted. My bladder is empty. I’d be humiliated, if not for the very real awareness that something far more sinister is looming.

I take stock of my surroundings. There are no windows. White cinderblock walls prevent any sounds of the outside world from leaking inside. Which means no one can hear me outside of them. There’s an exposed ventilation system, but the shaft cut into the ceiling isn’t large enough to fit through. I’m sure Alex has thought this through and taken every measure to keep me hidden and trapped.

Underneath the antiseptic smell that infuses this room, I catch the faint scent of water. Not chlorinated water that comes from the tap—but earthy fresh water, as if there’s a source somewhere nearby.

I inch upward on the gurney and touch my forehead. The chains connected to the leather restrains clink against the metal rail of the gurney, reminding me that I’m a captive. I’m drowsy from the anesthesia. I remember him…and the needle…

You’re sick, Blakely, and I’m going to cure you.

He’s delusional. Or just plain fucking crazy. Either way, he’s playing mad scientist and I’m his patient. What the hell did he do to me while I was under?

As I comb through our conversation, looking for any hint of a way out of this hell hole, one thing stands out.

His sister.

Her murder was gruesome. I saw the news report about a doctor being lobotomized a few years ago, and I recall the killer—but what I need to find out is everything Alex knows about Dr. Mary what’s-her-name.

She’s his reason, his purpose. That means she’s his weakness.

The hollow clang of a door opening reaches my ears, and I take note of the sounds of a metal bar sliding back and the squeak of door hinges. This place might be old. Some warehouse. Which means there could be another way out.

I need to get out of this bed. Before Alex enters the room, I test the restraints. I’m weak and groggy, and the cuffs are latched tightly.

The curtain draws back. Alex is wearing a white lab coat and his glasses and tussled hair, looking every bit his part the mad scientist.

“What did you do to me?” I demand.

He rests a finger over his mouth as he assesses me. “Nothing too invasive yet,” he says, then turns to roll a computer cart closer to the gurney. It’s the yet that I find disturbing.

“I knew you wouldn’t cooperate and hold still for the scan,” he continues, “so I had to put you under. Not ideal for the best results, but we just needed a baseline.”