She woke to light.
White light, flat and merciless, falling from a great round lamp directly above her. She tried to move and could not. Her wrists and ankles were strapped to a narrow table. There was a sheet over her body, cold as a sheet of ice. A mask hung loosely over her mouth, and she could taste something sweet and chemical in the air.
Where...
Her tongue was thick. Her eyelids weighed a ton.
Turning her head a fraction, she saw a rack of silver instruments. A green-gowned figure with a mask. And at the end of the room, on a second table, under a pale sheet, a still shape with a spill of long black hair.
Who is she?
"She is awake, Doctor."
"She can't be. The dose—"
"She is awake."
The old man's voice, close and gentle. She rolled her eyes and saw him standing at her shoulder, in a black suit, leaning on a silver wolf's-head cane. His face was drawn and very old.
"Miss Maya," he said softly. "Forgive the discomfort. I wished you to have a chance to say goodbye."
She tried to speak. The mask muffled her.
"There. Take it off, Doctor." A gloved hand lifted the mask from her face. "She will not scream. She is a sensible girl."
Maya sucked in air.
"Why?" Her voice was a thread. "Why me?"
"Because you are good." The old man bent closer. "Because I have watched you for years, and you have never once been anything else." He smiled, and the smile was almost tender. "I thought, there is a heart for my daughter. I waited for it to grow."
Years.
He watched. All this time.
"You can't," she whispered. "You can't. It's murder."
"It is a transfer." He straightened. "You will not suffer. You will be asleep. And in time, my daughter will wake, with a heart as true as yours, and she will remember how to laugh."
"She won't wake." Her eyelids were drooping. She forced them up. "Dr. Hale. Tell him."
Silence.
The masked figure at the table did not move. In the cold light his hands were trembling.
"Doctor," said the old man.
"Yes, Mr. Vale."
"Proceed."
No.
No no no.
She pulled at the straps. They did not give. A tear slid sideways down her temple into her hair.
The cold of the anesthetic ran up her arm. The ceiling lamp smeared into a white sun.
Rain, she thought, dizzily. It was raining when I left.
…
Somewhere far above her, very faintly, there was shouting.
A thud. A crash of glass. Another. The deep, shuddering concussion of something heavy breaking through a door. A dozen boots on the stairs, and a voice, a voice she knew, ragged and terrible, roaring a name she could not quite hear.
Maya.
Maya.
The old man's head turned.
"Hurry," he said quietly. "Doctor. Now."
"Mr. Vale, I—"
"Now."
The doors burst inward.
She saw it as through water: a tall figure in black, with a rifle, and blood on his face, standing in a doorway full of white light. His eyes found her. They stopped. In them was an expression she had never seen on any human face.
"Maya!"
He crossed the room in three strides. Something went off like a hammer; someone fell; the old man laughed, high and cracked, and a gun spoke again, twice, close. Travis flung himself across the table, over her body, and she felt his weight and his heat and the frantic tremor of his hands on her face.
"Maya. Look at me. Look at me."
"Travis," she breathed.
"I'm here. I'm here."
"You came."
"Of course I came." His voice broke. "Rourke's man lost you at the crossroads, I should have kept you in sight, I should have—" He clawed at the straps with shaking fingers. "Stay awake. Stay awake, please."
"I'm so tired."
"I know."
"I'm sorry."
"No." He tore one wrist free. "No, no, don't. Don't you dare."
"I thought..." Her lips were numb. "I thought you were like him."
"I know."
"I ran..."
"I know. It doesn't matter."
"It matters." A tear rolled down. "I ran away. I'm so sorry. I ran from..."
She saw his face above hers, blurring.
His mouth shook. He bent, and pressed his forehead to hers, and the words he said were so quiet that she almost didn't hear.
"You ran away," said Travis, "from the only person who wanted to save you."
The words struck her like a stone dropped into a deep well. She felt them go down, and down, and down.
Behind him, in the gap of the open door, a gaunt figure in green stood with his hand on his heart, and spoke in a voice that carried across the silent room.
"Mr. Travis. I'm sorry. The anesthetic is already in her blood. There was too much. She has been under for four hours." Hale's voice shook. "And the tissue... the match was perfect. Her heart is a perfect match for his daughter. A hundred percent. It was always going to be hers."
A match.
For his daughter.
A woman on a table...
Something shifted in her head. A hundred small pieces of the last week clicked together with the soft finality of a lock.
The doctor listening. Textbook.
The scholarship.
The strangers who never touched me.
He wasn't hunting. He was protecting. And the other one was
She tried to say it.
She tried to say his name.
Her breath caught.
The beeping beside her slowed.
Count the stars, she thought, from very far away. One. Two.
Three.
…
In the white room, under the white lamp, the green line ran flat and long and quiet.
Travis knelt on the floor beside the table, with a small limp hand in both of his. He did not speak. He did not move. Behind him, on the tiles, the old man lay with a hole in his chest and a smile on his face, and a woman on the far table slept on, beyond all of it, her black hair spread on the pillow.
Outside, it had begun to rain.
…
YOU HAVE REACHED A BAD ENDING: SHE WALKED AWAY FROM THE ONE WHO WOULD HAVE SAVED HER, AND THE DOOR SHE CHOSE WAS THE ONE SHE SHOULD NEVER HAVE OPENED. PLEASE RETURN TO CHAPTER 51 TO MAKE A DIFFERENT CHOICE!
