Page 104 of Brainwashed
He’s hardened them into the perfect army of near-rabid guard dogs. It’s smart… But part of me wonders how long something like this will last. After all, even the most loyal animal, when cornered, will eventually lash out at its master.
Harley Samuels weaves around me and peeks out the front door, as if he’s looking for someone. Or waiting for someone. But when he sees that no one else is out there, his shoulders slump and he lets out a breath of defeat.
I go to turn away, toward my side of the mansion, but his voice stops me. “Doctor, um… You haven’t by any chance… seen Officer Chevelle over there, have you? On that side…?”
His mossy green eyes are so wide and hopeful, I almost feel bad crushing him with my answer. But it’s the truth, so I have to shake my head.
“I’m sorry. No.”
He swallows visibly and nods, hopeless gaze going to the floor. “Thanks, anyway.”
And then he turns and staggers away, stomping up all the many stairs to the top floor. I stand there and watch him until he disappears up the corridor of their wing and out of view. I’m not one to typically feel sympathy for others, but Harley Samuels does genuinely seem like a nice person. A country boy turned New York’s finest, he’s the only one out of all the guards who gives me legitimate cop vibes. In fact, I think he’s the only one of them who was actually a police officer. Officer Josh Peters, the guard I probably associate with most, has a military background. I think a few of them do. But Samuels is the only cop.
The rest of them have been hand-picked and tailor-made into soldiers that fit The Ivory’s mold. And none more than Officer John Chevelle.
I haven’t seen him since the other day, when he attacked me and Felix in my office, and I know I should be glad, since we’ve never had great interactions. But I can’t stop thinking about how distraught Velle was over Felix’s actions. He didn’t really seem to care about O’Malley’s death specifically, but more so how it would affect him. And I’m sure he’s blamed me, which will make dinner with the Warden tonight interesting.
Still, I recall later that night, when I’d walked down to the cell O’Malley had been in and it was completely cleaned up. Body gone and reeking of bleach. And I couldn’t help but wonder if it had been Velle who’d taken care of it.
Are the guards the ones who clean up the messes on this island? And if the world already thinks these prisoners are dead, then what does it all mean?
Pushing away those musings for another time, I wander up the stairs. I stop on the large steps at my floor, eyes going up to the top, where The Ivory lives.
And a chill sheets my exposed skin.
Hours later, I’m showered and dressed in my best clothes.
I would never admit that I’m nervous, but I am. I’m unsure what this dinner will consist of, because I find Manuel Blanco to be a very elusive person. I’ve only really interacted with him once, the day I got here. Spoken with him on the phone a few times, and I email him my Darcey research findings every few days. Outside of that, I know very little about him, and I’m not sure how much we have in common.
My social anxiety will be put to the test tonight. I don’t really drink, but I might need to have a couple for this.
Walking over to the mirror, I fiddle with my dreadlocks and smooth out my freshly trimmed facial hair. I run my hands over my button-down, blinking at myself in the mirror.
My fingers lift to the collar of my shirt, and I tug it to cover my scars.
A knock at the door has me letting out a breath. “It’s open.”
The door cracks and Kent pops his head in. “Ready, sir?”
I nod, taking one last look at myself before following him out of the room. He brings me up the stairs to the third level, and then down a small corridor that leads to a single door at the end. He opens it and motions for me to go in first, which I do. We ascend a winding staircase to another door, push it open, and at last, I find myself outside, on what I’m guessing is the roof, based on what Yari said earlier.
I peek at Kent, who nods for me to walk. I wander out onto the large flat space, the cool ocean air whipping around my face. There are yellow lines painted on the surface of the roof, immediately realizing why when I hear a helicopter in the distance.
I have to admit, this is not at all what I expected when they said dinner.
The helicopter flies over and slowly lands in front of me, brushing me with even more cold air. I’m suddenly wishing I wore my coat, even though it’s been a bit too warm for it recently. Once the helicopter has touched down, Kent rushes to open the door. He motions me over and I make my way through the flutters of wind from the propellers, climbing up and into the aircraft. I’ve never actually flown in one of these before, but the pilot hands me some cans to put over my ears, then instructs me on how to secure the safety belt.
I’m just sitting here, basically vibrating with nervous expectation for five minutes before I see Kent ushering Manuel Blanco over. His porcelain white hair is mussed up from the winds as he climbs inside the helicopter, taking a seat directly across from me. He offers me a small grin while getting himself strapped in.
Kent closes the door, and the pilot asks, “All good to go, sir?”
To which The Ivory waves a hand in his direction. Apparently, that’s all the response he needs. And we lift off the roof, floating up into the air.
I can’t help how my wide eyes stick to the window, watching in fascination as we fly over the open water.
“How are you, Doctor?” Manuel Blanco’s voice comes into my ears clearly through the headsets we’re wearing.
My face shifts and I find him watching me curiously. “I’m well, thank you.”
