She heard a sudden noise. Something shifted nearby. Memories floated to the surface and she was transported to another time, another place. Disorientation. Nothingness. Whispers of words too faint to understand. Smoke touched her face, heat singed her skin.
Her arms and legs were held down. She stretched out her finger and fumbled for something, anything to tell her she was still alive. Somewhere in the distance she thought she could hear screaming again. Terror flooded her body and for a single moment she thought she might lose control.
When the lights flickered on she was blinded and hopelessly disoriented. The flashback had been vivid and had almost put her over the edge. She blinked as shapes swam into focus, and held on with all her might, biting back her scream.
"You're awake," the doctor said. She flinched. He was standing just inside the door. "Good. It's time we talked this out. Long past time, actually." He bent to undo the straps on her wrists, hesitated. "There are three men tight outside the door. You'll behave?"
She nodded. His skin was slick with sweat. She had never seen him with a single hair out of place until now, and it disturbed her more than his expression.
She studied him as her pounding heart shook her thin frame. His face had changed for her, and something deep inside had broken because of it. His face, a source of warmth and comfort for so long, was now cold and the light had gone from his eyes.
She reminded herself once again that she was the cause of the change. She had been very bad. She had done something so terrible, so unforgivable, that it could never be taken back. Never.
The straps fell away, and she sat up on her narrow mattress. This room had a dresser in it, and a lamp on a table by the bed, but the walls were bare. An upholstered chair faced her. There was a window across the room, with a shade pulled down and taped tightly to the window trim, to keep any light from entering. She knew there were heavy bars on the other side.
Dr. Evan Wasserman sat down in the chair across from her and crossed his legs, being careful to keep the creases in his pant legs straight. He smoothed the fabric with his palms and folded his hands in his lap. He patted down his hair with one hand. Then he looked at her, his gaze searching her features. His eye twitched. She could not tell whether he was satisfied with what he found there.
"Modern Catholic thought holds that each person is sacred," the doctor said. "The church believes in the inherent dignity of the human form. Do you know why that is?" He did not wait for her to respond. "The idea is grounded in the belief that man is made from the image of God. The human form is the clearest and most obvious example of God living among us."
He pulled out a white napkin from his pants pocket and dabbed at his face. "It's rather hot in here. We should have lowered the temperature. But this is an old building, you see, and the controls are not very accurate. If one were to lower the thermostat here, the lower levels would become uncomfortably cool. Do you know why I mentioned God? This is important. I want you to listen carefully." He leaned forward in his chair, hands in his lap again. He twisted the napkin as he spoke. "I mention these things because I want you to understand what you've done. By murdering another person you are, in essence, killing a piece of God himself. You are committing a mortal sin, one that cannot be undone. And, perhaps worst of all, by taking another person's life you are acting as God. That. Can. Not. Happen." He twisted until something ripped. His eye twitched at her. "You have something inside you that can be dangerous. That part you must keep tightly bound. The rest are parlor tricks. You must always remember that."
She was trembling. Wetness streaked her face, and she wiped at the snot running from her nose. A single, choked sob escaped her lungs. "I didn't mean . . . to . . . to . . ."
"But you did. You lost control and two people died. You forgot that whatever God has cursed you with, you are no different than anyone else on this earth. No different. You live, you breathe, you shit and piss, and you are here because someone else has willed it to be. I have willed it to be!" He stood up abruptly, knocking the chair backward against the wall. "This, above all, you must remember. I am in charge. I decide what you do and when you do it. You will not shut me out anymore."
He was breathing heavily now, and his eye twitched violently. She stared at him through swimming tears, as the light refracted into a multitude of colors and blurred his features. She wanted him to go away now, please, leave me alone.
Wasserman took a step closer. "I say all this because we will resume our lessons tonight."
"No!"
"You must learn control. The world demands it. God demands it."
"I won't do it! You can't make me!"
The lightbulb in the lamp blazed brightly for a moment, popped, and went dark.
Wasserman glanced over at the lamp, and at the cord that had been unplugged from the wall since he came in. He stared down at the little girl on the bed, and chose his next words very carefully. "Your new friend. You like her, don't you? I want you to understand something. She comes under my supervision, and only as long as I say so. Would you like to continue her visits?" He waited for her nod. "If you don't cooperate, she can never return to this place. You will be alone. We will lock you away downstairs, and you will never see the light of day again. You will never be allowed to see anyone except for me and the person who delivers your medication. If you do not learn to control yourself, you are not fit to rejoin the rest of the human race. The risk is too great. This is why we must continue, tonight."
Fear bloomed deep within as her emotions battled each other. Above all, she did not want to return to the Room. She did not want the needle. Did not want to begin all over again. What if she could not hold herself in, what if it happened again? She could not bear to think of that, the smell of the burning, the screams.
But to refuse would mean the end of all hope.
"You have the opportunity to make amends," Wasserman whispered, leaning over her. "You have taken lives, but now you have the chance to save one."
For a moment, his face was full of naked fear. She realized that this pan of what he was saying was very important to him, as important as life and death. She didn't know why, but she thought that maybe she had found something else she could use.
Finally, she nodded. Wasserman smiled, reached out as if to pat her head, then thought better of it. "Good."
He opened the door. Three large men in open white lab coats entered the room. They regarded her as a zookeeper might study a dangerous animal. Weapons were strapped to their waists; she could see the bulge there, and caught the flash of black as they moved.
"She's cooperating," Wasserman said. "But I'll want you to follow at a safe distance. Should something happen, you know what to do."
***
They strapped her to a gurney and rode up in the creaking elevator in silence. Her stomach cramped and burned, her pulse raced as they rolled down the familiar hallway toward the Room. She studied the patterns on the ceiling and tried not to scream.
They prepped her quickly. A nurse bent over her to administer the shot. Panic overwhelmed her, and she tried to twist away. No needles! But it was too late. Prickles of fire ran up through her shoulder, through her body. "Stay calm," the nurse said. "This is going to make you feel a little strange. That's normal. You're going to do just fine." She touched Sarah's wrist. The light pressure of her fingers tingled. Then she was gone.