Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83040 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83040 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
I like the privacy.
So does Olive.
And it’s reassuring that what we do in our little prison cell of a home is all us.
We’re not prisoners, though. One of the guys on the compound was an engineer in the Green Berets and came up with a prototype Faraday helmet. It looks stupid as fuck, but it’s nice to be able to keep doing PT with the guys every morning and work with Cross’s puppy for a little bit each day.
Olive uses it to hang out with Lowyn and Rosie—Collin’s and Amon’s women. Neither of us are allowed to leave Edge unless we’re being escorted to the lab by Boone and his team.
Therapy also occurs inside a Faraday-cage lab and, little by little, Olive and I are starting to piece together our lives.
Will we ever get the truth?
Well, I’m not countin’ on some bad guy showing up to spill his guts in the final scene like it happens in the movies, that’s for sure.
If we want the truth, we’ll have to go look for it.
Epilogue - Brose
I think for her, she acts for me.
“Ambrose? Can you hear me?”
I think for her, she acts for me.
“Ambrose Sinclair? It’s time to wake up now.”
My mission is you and your mission is me.
“You’re awake and on the count of three, I would like you to open your eyes. One. Two. Three.”
I blink. Find myself lying on my back in a room with a black ceiling and in water that is deep enough to gently lap at my earlobes. On the ceiling are thousands of tiny pinpricks of light.
A woman leans over so I can see her face. It’s young and she has smooth pale skin. Her eyes are wide and blue with perfectly arched eyebrows. She smiles, drawing my attention to her lips, which are shimmering with some kind of gloss. “There he is.” Her voice is soft and sultry. “Do you know where you are, Ambrose?”
My neck is stiff, but I force myself to turn to the right. It’s a black wall, just like the ceiling. Then I turn to the left and find another wall. “I’m… in the Cube.”
“Very astute. Yes. You’re in the Cube. Do you know why you’re in the Cube?”
I blink again, trying to remember. At first, I can’t. I can’t find any memories, it’s just waves of darkness. But after a few seconds, a bit of it starts to come back. “It’s the quiet room.”
“Good. Yes. That’s what your grandfather called it when you were little. How old are you, Ambrose?”
“Ten.”
She smiles at me, but it’s a worried smile, not a real one. “No. You’re not ten. Not anymore. How old are you, Ambrose?”
I blink. “I… I’m not sure.” But she’s right, I’m not ten. That’s not the voice of a ten-year-old.
“You’re twenty-seven. Can you remember what you’ve been doing for the past seventeen years?”
“My head hurts.”
“Of course it does. We’ll give you something for the pain, but first, you must answer the questions. Think hard now, Ambrose. What have you been doing for the past seventeen years?”
I open my mouth to tell her I don’t remember, but she places a fingertip on my lips. “Shhhh. Think hard.” Her voice is stern now. “You only get one more chance and I like you, Ambrose. So I don’t want you to fail.”
I push her hand away. “I’m not Ambrose. My name is Brose.”
Her real smile returns. “Very good. Tell me more.”
“Why?”
“Your questions will be answered at another time.”
I scoff. Then I’m up, out of the water, and I’ve got the woman by the neck. I put her in a choke hold, drag her to the wall, look up, find the cameras, and snarl, “Open the fucking door or I’ll kill her.”
I count the seconds of silence as they tick off.
Four.
The door opens, and even though the light outside the Cube is dim, it hurts my eyes enough that I have to squint. I stumble forward, throw the woman aside, and then find myself inside a small room with gray walls and staring into a mirror. It’s a two-way mirror, I know this because the memories are flooding back now, but it’s still reflective enough to see that I am naked.
And grown.
Twenty-seven, she said. Looks about right.
I’ve got stubble on my face, but it’s not a beard. Not anything close to a beard. I rush the mirror, pounding my fists on it as I look him straight in the eyes. I know he’s there. He’s always there. He’s always watching. “How long?” I ask. “How long was I in and what the fuck did you take from me this time?”
The speaker crackles a little, announcing his answer. “Two weeks.”
“Two weeks?” The breath rushes out of me in a wave of relief. Two weeks is long, but it’s not even close to the longest. When I was a kid, he used to put me in the Cube for months.