17 days until Roberts' crew lands, and at 5:38 this morning, I effectively dissolved the implant from Tippy's brain. I spent the majority of my sleepless night practicing again on the artificial brain, just to make sure I get everything perfect, and at about 5:30, I finally got up the nerve to try it out on Tippy.
First, insert the syringe full of sodium bicarbonate through the incision point.
Next, press the solution into the patient's brain.
Quickly remove the syringe, and replace it with the syringe full of synthetic cerebrospinal fluid to stabilize pH levels.
Use millimeter-wave radar wand to check for implant's existence. If implant is still detected, repeat process until it is completely dissolved.
I'm not worthless.
At 5:38 precisely, the millimeter-wave radar wand detected a clean brain, and at 6:00, Tippy regained consciousness.
I save living things. I'm not a monster.
I placed Tippy in one of the rat leashes Declan and I used to keep hidden in our drawers, and now, as I wait for the Immortal to awaken, I observe Tippy's movement and functions as we play on the bridge that crosses the artificial stream through the lab. I write observations in my notebook.
"Test Subject seems to be moving and functioning normally. Test subject seems to see the water and judge its dangers for him appropriately. Test subject balances well, even on the uneven boards of the bridge. Test subject smells and sees his treats normally. Test subject eats treats without complication, and holds treats in his hands without losing his grip."
This continues for a couple of hours until the Biologists begin to arrive. Dr. Guzman arrives first, his days must start early now that he's watching over my family. He stops at the foot of the bridge. "Isla... what are you doing?"
"I finished the first test of the solution. I cleared the implant out of Tippy's brain," I tell him with monotone expression. I don't look away from Tippy, who sniffs and scratches at the wood, searching for treat crumbs. "Test subject shows signs of a healthy appetite," I say out loud, forgetting to write it down.
"When did you do this, Isla?" Dr. Guzman asks gently.
"I didn't sleep. I couldn't. And I didn't want to be worthless. See? I finished the project. Now we can get the implants out of Victor and Phoebe and Joe and me. I don't have to listen to Gunther anymore. I'm not worthless and I'm not a monster."
I hear how crazy I sound, but between my lack of sleep and Gunther's words in my brain, I can't help it. "Sorry if I sound crazy. I don't want to. I just don't want to lose my mind like Mitchell did."
In my peripheral vision, I see Dr. Guzman gesturing to the other doctors to take Tippy and the notebook off my hands. He whispers for them to continue testing on a second rat, and to double check my notes, just in case. I don't fight it when they remove the leash from my hand or the notebook from my lap.
Dr. Guzman bends down to talk to me. "Isla, I'm going to take you to the infirmary, okay?"
"Okay. Any way you can give me some sort of sleeping pills that will absolutely knock me out?"
"Medicine like that won't work on you, Isla. Your DNA won't allow it." He grabs hold of my hand, which is still open as if the leash had never been taken from me. "C'mon. You'll feel better in the infirmary."
No, I think, I won't. It's not going to make me feel better seeing my mom grapple with her new metal parts or having a conversation about the baby with Eleanor. But where else can I go? Gunther is breaking me from the inside.
The hallway is crowded with people lining up outside of the infirmary, and Dr. Guzman escorts me through with gentle nudges and excuse me's. What are all these people doing here? The line continues into the infirmary, and we follow it to its origin: my mom.
She smiles, even though her cheek bulges from under the chrome patch, and she awkwardly shakes her visitors' hands with her left hand, the one that remains.
"Thank you Legislator for all you do for us," one of her visitors says.
She graciously welcomes the praise, and between visitors, pulls me to her for a kiss. Dr. Guzman has cleared off the bed beside her for me again, so that Eleanor's bed, Mom's bed, and mine are all in a line. From the smile on Eleanor's face as she collects information from Carriers who use the open opportunity to meet with her, I can tell Dr. Guzman hasn't told her about the baby yet. Or maybe he has, and she's just that good at hiding it. Eleanor's always been good at burying her pain, but never her fear. I'd at least see that on her face if she knew.
Another visitor comes, plopping down on the stool between Mom's bed and mine. "Legislator, I'm sorry for your injuries."
Mom waves it away. "The doctors made me good as new. No need for your sympathy." She's such a fabulous liar. I heard her when she was drowsy with pain killers. Her injuries have hurt more than her body.
The visitor, an older woman, bows her head in respect. "Legislator, before I go... will you be making any laws against Originals after what happened?" The woman sounds genuinely concerned, and my mom frowns.
"The Deathless is a group that takes in refugees and gives them a fair chance at life," she says, purposely looking to me as she says it. "The Originals who had chosen to stay at the camp have all been pardoned and granted access on the Immortal."
I clench my teeth and feel a fire in my chest. I didn't know that. I stand by what I said on the shore: I don't trust them. I don't want them fighting with us.
The woman peeks over her shoulder at me, and then turns back to whisper, "Even after what Judge Blume told them?"
And there it goes. Any power I might have had is being stripped away by our mixed messages, making me worthless like Gunther said. I am a joke... I mean, the judicial branch? Really? I can't believe I actually thought I would have any power. I can't believe I actually wanted any.
I bite my tongue and throw my head back onto the pillow. Dr. Guzman hooks me up to the monitors while I listen to Mom's answer, "The three branched system Executive Kunkle reinstated ensures that one person does not have full power over what happens. Judge Blume was obviously shaken and upset, I would have been too, and she made a decision any good military leader would make. However, we are not in a position to turn down survivors. Despite what happened at the lake, I pardoned them. They are currently working off their service-based punishment in the cafeteria."
I open my eyes long enough to see the woman nod. "And the cancer, how is your body handling it, Legislator?" she ask.
"Good, thank you. Dr. Guzman is taking good care of me. It won't be long before I'm all healed."
The woman stands, and briefly turns to me. "Thank you for your forgiveness, Judge," she says. It makes me feel slimy all over, and I turn my eyes away to avoid responding.
The next visitor is Dr. Rachel Sanders, with Oriana and Neo in tow. She falls onto the stool, bracing herself with one hand and holding the top of her belly with the other. "I'm so ready to pop," she says.
"Can we...?" Oriana whispers.
"Ask Isla," she tells her.
I turn my head over to face them. Oriana hops to my side and, lifting her chin above the mattress, asks, "Can we sit with you?"
Oriana waits for my answer on the balls of her feet as Neo plays with the ends of his hair, pretending not to notice I haven't immediately answered.
"Sure," I say, fatigue scratching at my throat, but the kids don't seem to notice. Oriana jumps onto the bed, helping Neo up after her. They sit on top of the blanket at the foot of the bed, and I cross my legs to make more space for them.
Rachel scoots the stool back enough to talk to both me and my mom. "How are you ladies doing?" she asks.
"I'm healing quickly," Mom replies, smiling. Rachel gives her a look. "It's a bit of an adjustment, though," she says, rubbing the area around her chrome patch.
"I can't even imagine," Rachel sympathizes. The baby must kick or something, because she holds the side of her belly and winces before adjusting her seat. "And how are you, Isla?"
I consider telling the truth about Gunther being in my head, but after what happened to Mitchell, I'm afraid to let anyone else know. Maybe if I'm strong, I can fight him out of my head, I think, but then again... if I were stronger, he wouldn't be able to hurt me so badly. But... that can't be true... can it?
"Isla?" Rachel repeats. My thoughts have been spiraling for so long, I've created an uncomfortable silence between the three of us, and now even Eleanor looks down the line at me.
"I'm fine," I say, though it's the most unconvincing thing that's ever come out of my mouth.
Neo grabs my hand. "I like your ring," he says.
"Ring?" Eleanor squeals. She rolls off her bed and runs as fast as a pregnant woman entering her second trimester possibly can until she is at my side, examining my hand to make sure it's real.
"He finally asked you?" she asks, beaming.
I smile, but only because Eleanor has transformed into another child on my bed. "Yes."
"And you finally said yes?" Her hands spring onto her cheeks in a feeble attempt to contain her excitement.
I nod, and then Eleanor shrieks with joy. Oriana laughs, and Neo puts his hands to his ears. The line has stopped chatting amongst themselves, alarmed by the shrill sounds coming from Eleanor's mouth.
She turns to the crowd. "Sorry. But actually... no, I'm not sorry, because my son Daniel Crowley and our own Judge Isla Blume are going to get married!" She yanks my hand up as if it's a trophy, and I suddenly remember why Daniel and I were so hesitant about our relationship from the start. My cheeks blush in embarrassment, but the crowd smiles and begins clapping for me.
"We have to throw a party," Eleanor announces, much louder than I think she intended.
"We're going to war," I say.
"All the more reason to throw in some happiness here and there. We can't be serious all the time or we'll die before the war even starts."
The crowd applauds for the prospect of a party, and the kids, including Eleanor, at my feet cheer. Rachel leans over and beneath the cheers that loom over me like smoke in a burning room she congratulates me. "That's truly exciting, Isla," she says.
"Thank you," is all I say.
***
I'm an hour into pretending to be asleep.
I'm not ready to face Mom yet. Between the reality of her injuries and the situation with the Originals, I don't know what I would say to her, and I'm not ready to tell her that Gunther has slithered into my brain either.
And I'm definitely not ready for more of Eleanor's excitement. She already has the menu planned and decorations chosen for the cafeteria. The party will be in two days when we stop in St. Louis to regroup. I wish Daniel were here right now instead of on the Beast.
The only person who is aware of my alertness is Winston. I'm lying on my side, facing him and Phoebe, and every now and then I open my eyes to avoid visions of Gunther or blood or Hugh. Winston sees me, but we have an understanding. I don't speak about his reason for being here, and he doesn't speak about mine.
"What's Isla's favorite color? I want to make sure she likes the banners I make," Eleanor says behind me. She's been sitting on Mom's bed with a notepad of party plans all evening.
"Blue," Mom responds vacantly, and then she whispers, "I wonder why she's here."
"Maybe she wanted to be near you," Eleanor says.
"That's not it. There was something wrong. I saw it on her face."
Eleanor sighs. "She's a kid, Bea. That's what's wrong. It's not fair for a kid to go through any of this."
"You're right. It's too much for her. Maybe we should have her stay back with you when we go to the bunker site. Or maybe see if she wants to step down from Judge? I don't know."
"She's in it now, Bea. She won't give it up, and you know you can't make her. That's not Isla."
"I don't know where she gets that from."
Eleanor laughs. "Yeah, no idea. Definitely not from her mother."
Beeps sound from the door. I open my eyes, and Winston meets my gaze. He mouths, "Guzman."
"Legislator. Mrs. Crowley. How are we feeling this morning?" Dr. Guzman asks.
"Good," Eleanor replies.
"The patch is rubbing against my skin," Mom says.
"I'll bring you an ointment to reduce irritation. Your prosthetic arm is ready too. I will suit you with it this afternoon. I want to give your wound some time to breathe first."
I hear tape lifting and the hiss of Mom sucking air through her teeth.
"The good news is that you're healing well. I'm going to leave these bandages off until I get back. Just ring if anything changes."
"And what about me, doctor?" Eleanor asks. "Any news from my tests?"
I shut my eyes.
Her mattress wheezes with extra weight. Dr. Guzman must be sitting beside her.
"Oh no," Eleanor whispers. "I'm not going to lose the baby, am I?"
I curl into a ball and hold my stomach to keep from feeling sick.
"There's a good chance the pregnancy won't come to term."
Eleanor sniffs. "I don't understand. I didn't have any problem with Daniel."
"To be honest, he was a special case. I'm not saying this baby won't also be a special case, I'm just saying that there's a chance the baby won't survive the nine months or be born premature. We will need to make sure we have all of our necessary equipment nearby at all times."
"What is it?" Eleanor asks. "A boy or a girl?"
"Girl."
Eleanor moans with grief. "I'm having a girl? I'm going to have a daughter?"
"If I can help it, yes. I can't guarantee it, though. I'm not a prenatal specialist or a surgeon in case it comes to that."
Joe could help her if he ever comes out of his coma.
Eleanor's still crying, though it's softer now, and I hear the mattress wheeze again with relief. I open my eyes and see Dr. Guzman standing in my peripheral vision. "Glad to see you're awake, Isla," he says. Way to call me out, Guzman. "Were you able to get some sleep?"
"Yes," I lie.
He sits by my feet. This must be his routine: Sit on the bed, talk to the patient, leave them in ruin. Dr. Patel was never so familiar, and I find myself missing Dr. Patel's cold professionalism.
"Julian told me about what is happening to you," he says. Dammit Julian.
"What is happening?" Mom asks, her voice alert.
Dr. Guzman looks between me and the other patients. So much for doctor patient confidentiality. I sit up, inhale deeply, and let the truth out with my breath: "Gunther got into my head, like he did to Mitchell."
I see the muscles in my mom's face tighten in rage, and Eleanor hides her mouth in her hands. Winston doesn't react. This can't be surprising to him. He's known Gunther for years.
"Why weren't you wearing your headband?" Mom asks, her voice raised.
"It fell off," I say, but I can't just leave it at that. "The first time. That's when Gunther first got into my brain. Then I had to contact Ian to see what's happening there, because the drones hijacked a bunch of the Originals."
Winston has walked toward our circle of listeners, and waits for me to continue with his hands on his hips. I continue, "I went back into Ian's brain last night. I watched his memory from earlier that day, and I saw what Gunther was up to. The needles on the drone legs are temporary versions of the implants. He is implanting everyone there... including Ian and the Sergeant Major. I saw it. While I was in Ian's mind, Gunther planted more thoughts in my brain. I'm... I can't sleep now. I see him when I sleep."
"Didn't you just say you slept—?"
"I lied. I'm sorry. I couldn't handle all of this. I'm not... I'm worthless here. I'm not strong enough."
"What are you talking about?" Mom asks. I still can't fully look at her.
Winston steps closer. "I'll talk to her," he says. "I know a little about what she's going through. If she's okay to take a walk." He looks to Dr. Guzman for approval.
"That's fine with me. Beatrice?"
Mom nods. "Yes, but Isla, I want you back here when you're done. We need to talk."
"Okay," I say, pushing myself off the bed. After everything he's done, I never thought I'd thank goodness for Winston, but thank goodness for Winston.
I follow him out of the infirmary, down the hall, past the blood-stained patio, and toward the Captain's dining room. Once inside, he crosses the room and by the spray painted word "life," he lifts a keypad cover and types in the code to enter the preservation room.
The wall opens and I allow myself to be swallowed into the blue light. As the wall closes behind us, I follow Winston deeper into the room to where I found him and Phoebe frozen that night. He activates on one of the chambers.
"What are we going to talk about?" I ask, my nerves prickling.
"Nothing," he says flatly. He continues pressing buttons on the chamber pad, programming it for something. I hope something unrelated to me, though I think by now I know better. "You're silly to think you're worthless. Without you, the Deathless would have died a long time ago. You are the reason any of us have hope."
The chamber door opens.
"Winston?"
"The only way you could possibly be worthless would be if you let Gunther keep you from sleeping. You need your sleep, Isla. We need you at your best. The cold temperatures of the chamber allow your implant to shut down completely. It's the only way you can rest without being tormented by him."
"I'm not going in there. I'd rather not sleep."
He pushes a panel open on the wall, and a drawer opens. He reaches in and lifts a syringe from it.
"That won't work on me, I'm immune to drugs," I say.
He removes the cap over the needle and flicks the syringe a few times, unmoved by my comment. "It's not a drug. It's a protectant for your body."
I'm about to turn and run out of the room when he grabs me by the upper arm and stabs the protectant into me.
"Ouch! Who the hell do you think you are?" I yell. "I told you I don't want this."
He rubs the area of injection as tears fill his eyes. This throws me off and I stop my protest.
"I don't want to see you like Phoebe or Mitchell or Alexander," he says. "Gunther has destroyed everyone I have ever cared about. I care about you, Isla. You remind me a lot of Curie. She had the same spunk. Please... don't sit idly by as he destroys you too. He wants you to have nightmares. He wants to keep you from feeling confident and happy. You'll be easier to beat then. I know this looks scary, but... let me help you. I'll be right here. I won't leave. Just for a few hours while you rest. Let me do this for you. After what I did to the detectors, let me do this."
I shift my focus between Winston's glassy black eyes and the chambers. "What if something happens to me?"
"I've been inside the chambers hundreds of times. Your dad was too, and he's fine. Declan too."
"You promise you'll stay out here?"
"I promise."
I take his hand and let him escort me up the step and into the chamber.
"I'm scared," I say as I step into the foot holds and lean back against the wall of the chamber. I swear my heartbeat is so ferocious, it's bouncing me away from it.
Winston types some more into the keypad, and metal straps shoot out to secure my body in place. He opens his palm to me. "Headband," he says. I hesitate. "I will lower the temperature before Gunther can get back in," he promises.
I take a deep breath and remove my headband. He snatches it away from me as the door closes, and cold air instantly begins blasting over me. It smells funny, like it's comprised of something other than just oxygen.
Then a thought pops into my head, and I know it's from Gunther. A Rube Goldberg machine made of a metal track dripping with blood. A silver metal ball careens toward a red button. "Tomorrow, Ms. Blume. Be sure to tune into Becker's head then," Gunther tells me.
I consciously focus on my breathing to steady it until the cold is unbearable and my teeth begin to chatter. The thought dissipates, but the memory remains. It terrifies me.
That's when my vision begins to blur, but just before I close my eyes, I see Winston smile. The smiling man, I think. I've missed him.
Focus on the smiles, I tell myself as I close my eyes, and for the first time in a long while, my mind goes blank. I'm not part of a computer, I'm not connected to anyone else's thoughts, and I'm not worrying about anything anymore. Despite the cold, a wave of warmth fills me, and I fall into a sleep so deep, it feels like I'm tumbling into oblivion.