“Yes, don’t we all?” Thorpe says. “Well, just let me check in with Dr. Reynolds about this change. If you’d please just stay put until I come back?”
“Certainly,” Rice says calmly.
But as Dr. Thorpe steps through the door into her office, Rice slips in after her and, out of sight of the large lab, snatches her hand away from her ear before she can make the call.
“That won’t be necessary,” he says. His voice is calm, but his fingers bite into the flesh of Dr. Thorpe’s arm.
Dr. Thorpe’s eyes widen. “Release me at once, Richard.” Her eyes dart to me and Kay, now standing in the doorway. “What is this about?”
Before Rice can answer, I step forward. I remember Dr. Thorpe’s concern while discussing my medications with Dr. Reynolds. She pushed back against him, but in the end she relented, too scared to cross him. We need her as an ally. Careful to position my body away from the security cameras in the lab behind me, I pull down my hood and flash my face at her. Her hand flies to her mouth, her skin draining of color. She takes a step back, speechless. I pull my hood back up.
Rice loosens his grip on her arm slightly but still keeps her in his grasp. “Miranda, I know you don’t agree with all that you’ve witnessed here, everything we’ve been forced to become a part of.”
But Dr. Thorpe is looking past him at me. “Dr. Reynolds said you’d be back,” she says. “I thought he was just being paranoid. He’s been so . . . unpredictable lately.”
“He’s more than just unpredictable,” I say, “and you know it. That’s why you have to help us stop him.” Her eyes flash away to Rice, then behind her as though Reynolds might be lurking there. “I know you’re scared of him,” I say, “of what he can do to you, but he has to be stopped.”
Dr. Thorpe shakes her head. “Stop him? What are you thinking?” she hisses. “You can’t imagine he’ll step aside willingly.”
“Not willingly, no,” Rice tells her. “But maybe without bloodshed.”
Dr. Thorpe’s eyes widen.
“It can be done,” Rice says.
“Why are we wasting time trying to convince her?” Kay asks, pulling me inside the office with her and pressing the door closed with her back. “We need to figure out something to do with her before someone else comes along.”
“Do with me?” Dr. Thorpe shrinks back.
“She’s right.” I wanted Dr. Thorpe on our side. I thought I had seen something in her when I was in the Ward, but maybe I was wrong.
“Do with me?” Dr. Thorpe says again, then turns to Rice. “Oh, Richard, they’re not going to—”
“No,” Rice assures her. “We won’t hurt you.”
A quick rapping on the door turns Kay and me around. A researcher stands on the other side of the glass, an armful of folders clutched to his chest. He’s not even looking at us as he waits for the door to be opened; his attention is fastened on the chart he’s holding. There’s nothing to do but let Dr. Thorpe pull away from Rice and answer the door.
“Yes?” she asks.
The researcher hands her the chart and finally does take the rest of us in as Dr. Thorpe studies it. Like all the researchers, he looks like he hasn’t slept in a week. His bloodshot eyes move over each of us in turn but give no sign of actually registering what he sees, or the way Dr. Thorpe’s hands tremble as she makes a note on the chart and hands it back to him. “See to it that Dr. Reynolds gets that when he finishes with his psyche-evals.”
“Of course,” he responds, seemingly annoyed that she feels the need to tell him his job.
Dr. Thorpe takes a step after him as he trudges off the way he came, but Rice steps past us and takes her elbow gently, stopping her. Giving her arm a squeeze, he says, “Thank you, Miranda.”
She doesn’t look back at us, just responds with a curt nod. “I don’t wish to be a part of this. I’ll continue on my way and forget I ever saw you.”
“I don’t think we can just let her—” Kay says, but Rice cuts her off with surprising force.
“Miranda is free to go.”
“Thank you, Richard.” Dr. Thorpe takes a hesitant step and then another. She catches her stride and continues into the lab without a backward glance.
“That was a mistake,” Kay whispers as we continue on our way through a black door.
Rice leads us down a long corridor that loops back around the main lab, with window views inside. There’s no sign of Dr. Thorpe, though we just left her moments before. In fact, the room is now surprisingly empty; it looks like my high school chemistry lab.
Finally we reach our destination, a smaller lab that has little equipment but is lined wall to wall with books, mostly medical journals. Rice motions us inside and shuts the door behind him.