“I’ll get out of here,” I say, my teeth gritted. “And when I do, Alex, I will hunt you down. I will end you. We can stop this right now—”

He flips a switch on the electroshock device and my ears hum with the charge. “You have a disease, Blakely. The necrotic matter in your mind needs to be removed so healthy cells can form. That’s what I do, who I am. I’m going to help you get healthy. I’m going to open up the dead and dormant pathways of your brain so you can feel.”

My gaze darts from his face to his finger poised on the switch. The loss of control over my situation is almost as painful as the dread encasing me as I wait for him to flip that button.

I swallow to moisten my dry throat. “You’re accusing me of being an unfeeling creature,” I say, tone low, solemn. “And yes, that’s true. I don’t feel in the same capacity the way you do. But I’m not the one with a torture device in his hands, Alex. I’ve never purposely hurt anyone. You’re making a conscious choice to harm me.”

Alex doesn’t wince. No show of emotion that my speech affects him. His determination to his project overpowers any rational thought.

“You claim I’m sick…but this, what you’re willing to do, that makes you the sick one, Alex.”

He inhales deeply and rolls his shoulders back, chin lifted high in defiance and resolution. With quick, unflinching movements, he shoves a plastic mouth guard into my mouth and straps the paddles to my temples.

“You will thank me one day, Blakely.”

Then he flips the switch.

16. Defunct

16

Defunct

Alex

Journal entry:

Subject 6 has become lethargic over the course of the first week.

I admit, I was impulsive and rash with the first round of electroconvulsive therapy. I hadn’t yet finished the subject’s emotional map. I hadn’t yet formed a complete hypothesis for her treatment. I allowed the subject to affect me, and years of disappointment coupled with her inability to feel that severe disappointment with my failure…

I halt writing, pen hovering over the journal page, as I stare at the streaming river. Dense pine trees block any wind, the basin a void of sound and life. The forest is muted by my thoughts as I search for the right word. There is no way to varnish or excuse my behavior. Blakely wounded me, and I wanted to wound her back. I wanted her to feel so desperately, it became a demand that had to be answered.