John Sneeden
Betrayaclass="underline" A Delphi Group Novella
To Lyn, Cheryl, Mary, Genette, Deborah, Terry, John, Dan, Paul, Matt, Steve, Jerry, and all the others in the secret book clubs. I can’t thank you enough for your encouragement and support.
Chapter One
Painfully, the man opened his eyes to inky darkness. He blinked twice in the hope of seeing more, but there wasn’t enough light to illumine his surroundings.
Where am I?
It was a simple question but one for which he had no answer. His memory was an empty slate, and even his senses had little to report. The only thing he knew for sure was that he was on his back, his head tilted to the left. Sheets covered his chest, and a soft mattress supported his body.
As he lay there, his eyes adjusted to the gloom, and details began to emerge. The outline of a dull gray rail appeared a few inches away. I’m on a gurney. His gaze shifted upward, and he noted a window a foot above the rail. The blinds were closed tightly, but the lack of light coming through the slats indicated it was night.
Who am I?
It was an even more basic question than the first, and yet strangely he didn’t have an answer. Was it possible to exist and yet not know who he was? Was he suffering from amnesia? He shuddered at the thought.
He shifted slightly, and his knee banged against a hard metal surface. The gurney. Maybe it held a clue to his location. Maybe he’d just gotten out of surgery. If so, his memory loss could be the result of time spent under anesthesia.
He frowned. But if I’m in a hospital, why is it so dark? Even a recovery room had lighted monitors and instruments. None of it made sense.
Hoping to see more of the room, he turned his head to the right. The view in the other direction filled him with disappointment and confusion. He wasn’t in a hospital, that much was clear. There was no IV stand, no private bathroom, and no clipboard hanging by the door. In fact, the only furnishing was a table situated along the far wall. As best he could tell, it was just an ordinary room.
There was a door to the left of the table, but no sounds carried in from beyond. No nurses talking. No hum of equipment. Nothing.
Patrick.
The name surfaced out of the mist of his mind, and he knew immediately it was his own. A sense of relief washed over him. It was something he could hold on to, something he could take comfort in. Who knew, maybe it was a sign that the rest of his memory would return soon.
As if on cue, several words scrolled through his thoughts like the credits at the end of a film: One hundred twelve. Sixty-seven. Mazarine.
Two numbers and a name. The numbers were totally random. One had three digits, the other two. As far as he could tell, neither had any significance. The name was even stranger. It sounded like a race of people in the Old Testament.
His strength returning, Patrick decided to sit up. If he could get off the gurney, he might be able to leave the room and find someone who could tell him what was going on. As he rose, he felt something tug his arms sharply. Alarmed, he shook the covers off then froze at the sight that met his eyes. His wrists were handcuffed to the gurney rail.
The truth branded him like a hot iron: I’m being held against my will.
Patrick sat all the way up, his heart racing. What’s happening? Why am I being held? With his memory a blank slate, it seemed pointless to guess.
Stay calm. Panicking will only make it worse.
He took several deep breaths. As his heart rate slowed, he considered his situation. If he was being held against his will, he needed to figure out how to escape, and he needed to do it while he was still alone.
The window.
Thankfully, there was enough slack in the cuffs for him to reach the blinds. He reached out and lifted one of the slats. A half moon hung in the night sky, illuminating the surrounding terrain. He leaned closer, his breath fogging the glass. He was on the upper floor of a building, perhaps the second or third floor. It was hard to tell. He saw square patches of light arrayed neatly across the lawn, indicating other rooms in the building were lit.
I’m not alone.
He looked farther out and saw a dark forest looming at the edge of the light. Although the tall trees looked foreboding, they might actually provide cover if he could somehow get out of the building.
Footsteps approached outside the room. Patrick turned and stared at the door. It was the first sound he’d heard since regaining consciousness.
They can’t know I’m awake.
He lay back and closed his eyes. He heard a card swipe through a slot outside the room, followed by a loud beep. Two men were talking as the door opened.
“You’re still here?”
Intrigued by the sound of the voice, Patrick opened his eyes slightly. A blond man stood in the light of the half-open door. Another man with dark wavy hair stood just beyond him in the hall. Both men were in their thirties, and both wore crisp white lab coats.
“Lars claims he’s sick, so it looks like I’ll be pulling a double shift,” the blond man answered.
The dark-haired man laughed. “The second time this month.”
“The third time this quarter, not that I’m counting.”
“I guess you won’t be seeing Sandrine tonight?”
The blond man shrugged indifferently. “I don’t know what she’s doing.”
The dark-haired man lifted an eyebrow. “Trouble in paradise?”
“I’m moving on to greener pastures.”
“As in someone else?”
“Let’s just say Camille is on my radar now.”
The dark-haired man’s eyes widened. “Camille? Sandrine’s roommate?”
“She was her roommate but moved out several months ago. She was having the same issues with Sandrine as me.”
“Such as?”
“Such as the chronic whining about every aspect of her life. The never-ending sense of entitlement.”
“So you two have already split?”
“Not yet. I just need to find the right time to break things off. She’s going to go ballistic.”
The dark-haired man nodded toward the open door. “How is Ten?”
Patrick tensed in response to the question. He’s talking about me. I’m Ten.
“Just giving him another injection to get him through the night. His programming starts tomorrow.” He nodded down the hall. “What about Eleven?”
“Her programming is going well so far. In fact, we may—”
A loud beep cut him off. Frowning, he pulled a phone from his lab coat and read something on the screen. After putting the phone away, he said, “Looks like we have an issue on the second floor. Three is having another relapse.”
The blond man waved. “Have fun.”
“Of course.”
Leaving the door ajar, the blond man entered without turning on the lights. Patrick closed his eyes tightly and remained perfectly still. He’d expected the man to approach the bed, but instead he walked to another part of the room. Curious, Patrick opened one eye and saw the man was bent over the table. His arms moved, but it was hard to tell what he was doing. A few seconds later, he straightened and turned slightly, a hypodermic needle clutched in one hand. He mashed the plunger, and a few drops of liquid oozed from the needle’s tip.
Patrick knew what would happen next. The man would inject him with more of the powerful sedative, enough to keep him under for the remainder of the night. He also knew his programming started tomorrow, and whatever it involved, it couldn’t be good. People weren’t restrained unless they were being subjected to something bad.