Not on Her Watch (The Serpent Experiments Book 1) Page 4

  "You must build up your strength," Doctor Despair said. He held up another forkful.

  For the first time, Nathaniel rejected a bite. "My strength? Why?"

  Between talking with Nathaniel and asking for Nathaniel to correct his English, the doctor spoke perfect English, albeit with a thick accent. Nathaniel could now speak fluidly himself. The fog remained in his mind, but he could focus his lips and tongues enough to communicate.

  Other than correcting the doctor's English, Nathaniel didn't say much. He didn't want to give anything away. He didn't want to trust the doctor. After all, he worked for the Hidden Serpents.

  But Nathaniel no longer felt that terrible, oppressive heat. He no longer felt any pain. He wasn't beaten. He wasn't starved or dehydrated.

  Life wasn't perfect by a long shot, but it had been greatly improved.

  "Why do I need to build up my strength?" Nathaniel asked when the doctor hesitated.

  The doctor wiggled the fork. Nathaniel sighed and complied, opening his mouth and accepting the bite.

  "You worry too much," the doctor said. He crossed over to one of the small tables, dropped off the bowl, and walked over to another table. On the bottommost level was a printer. The doctor eyed the printout and shook his head sadly. "So much anger. So much hatred. So much fear. So much sadness."

  "What are you talking about?" Nathaniel asked, confused.

  "You and your emotions. At night, when you sleep, you experience all of these. Will you tell me why?"

  Nathaniel frowned. "That's none of your concern."

  "Ah, but that is where you are wrong." The doctor returned to the table with the bowl but did not pick it up. "At first, you used to have pleasant dreams, even during the day when you were awake. Daydreams, yes?"

  When the doctor glanced over his shoulder at Nathaniel, he begrudgingly nodded.

  "You had some moments of happiness. You had some moments of peace. Why? Where you thinking about your home? Your friends? Your family?"

  For some reason, a sense of sorrow filled Nathaniel at the mention of his family. The fog was returning to his mind.

  He glanced at the huge needle jabbed into his arm and glowered at the line that went to the fluid bag.

  "What are you giving me?" Nathaniel demanded.

  "Now, now," the doctor said calmly.

  He retrieved the bowl and hobbled over to Nathaniel. As far as Nathaniel could tell, the doctor moved easier in the morning. As the day would wear on, his gait would become more erratic.

  "I believe I asked you questions first," Doctor Despair admonished.

  Fine. If the doctor wanted to play, Nathaniel would play.

  "I don't remember." Nathaniel shrugged indifferently. "I don't remember my dreams."

  "But your daydreams," the doctor persisted. "Who did you think of? Where would you go?"

  Nathaniel hesitated.

  "Maybe the question I should be asking is why aren't you continuing to go there? Or think of him or her?"

  Nathaniel glanced over to the right. Out of reach, on yet another rolling metal table sat his shattered watch. Accepting that this torture would be his life until he was killed meant he couldn't bear to think about everything he would miss. He refused to think of their wedding. He rejected any notion of his fathering children with her. He wouldn't contemplate how many bedrooms they'd want for their first house together.

  Accepting death meant rejecting happiness. Rejecting hope. Rejecting dreams and wishes.

  Nathaniel might not be in pain, but he was in agony all the same. The doctor was torturing him in a different way altogether.

  Doctor Despair shook his head. "If you do not cooperate, I will be forced not to feed you. I will not be allowed to give you drink. You will return to your cell. Do you wish to be broken and bruised? Sliced and diced? That will be what awaits you if you do not talk to me."

  What harm could come from sharing this tidbit with the doctor? It was not pertinent information. It would not jeopardize the mission.

  The Lieutenant Colonel. Leon Barker. Jacob Sullivan and all the others.

  I do have one hope. I hope they all made it out of there alive.

  Nathaniel cleared his throat and swallowed back his sudden worry and fright that this was a ploy to trap or trick him.

  "I've accepted that I will never be free of this place," Nathaniel admitted. "That's what changed."

  Wordlessly, the doctor fed Nathaniel every last bite from the bowl and then gave him some water. It tasted metallic and had an odor, but it was cool and refreshing just the same.

  The doctor placed the cup and bowl on the table before walking back over to Nathaniel and tapping him hard on the head.

  "You are so ignorant." The doctor sighed as if frustrated. "Don't you see? You will be free one day."

  Nathaniel shook his head, rejecting any sliver of hope. He couldn't trust the doctor, wouldn’t trust him. This must be a trap.

  "You can't let me go," Nathaniel said. "Kronston Taer will never allow it."

  "Kronston Taer and I have an understanding."

  "An understanding?" Nathaniel’s head was beginning to pound. The more frustrated and confused he was becoming, the more it ached.

  "If you do as I say and trust me, you will have your body back."

  Nathaniel glanced at the watch and then down at his legs. "How long have I been strapped to this chair? My muscles are going to wither away to nothing. I'll be a cripple."

  "Ah, but no. When I knock you out, I apply this to your body."

  The doctor bustled over to a table that held shiny, sharp instruments on top. Not all of them were clean. From the bottom rack, the doctor removed a blanket that contained electrodes.

  Whistling, the doctor walked over and laid the blanket over Nathaniel’s legs. At once, his leg muscles began to twitch and jerk. It felt like his muscles were on fire. A scream was beginning to well within the back of his throat, but before he unleashed it, Doctor Despair removed the blanket. The pain immediately ceased. Instead of his legs feeling numb, Nathaniel was experiencing the same ache and burn he would feel after a terrific leg work out.

  "You see?" The doctor beamed. "Your legs are so much stronger than they have ever been before. I guarantee it. Same with your arms. Your back, I will admit, needs more work. I am not certain how I can… Maybe a table with the middle removed… Yes, that could—"

  "How long have you been doing this to me?" Nathaniel asked through gritted teeth. He never felt more violated or threatened in all of his life. "You can't just manipulate my body like that!"

  "Ah, but you see, I can. Kronston Taer has given you over to me. You are my prisoner now. I do prefer to refer to you as my patient, but it is… How do you say? Semantics?"

  Nathaniel refused to acknowledge that remark.

  "I can do with you as I wish," the doctor continued.

  "Doctor Despair," Nathaniel grumbled, trying to morph his fear into anger and hatred. "You aren't even a doctor, are you?"

  "Ah, yes, I am. A scientist of the human body, both living and dead. I know how to manipulate muscles. The brain isn't quite a muscle, but I wish very much to try and see what the brain is capable of."

  "That's why you've been looking at my brain waves." Nathaniel felt cold. His throat turned dry. That fear was returning with a vengeance.

  "Mapping your brain, yes. I need a baseline before I can start."

  "Start what?" Nathaniel almost couldn't bring himself to ask.

  "Start my experiments. Well, continue them might be more apt. Apter?" The doctor waved his hand. "When I am through with you, your body will be the strongest a body can be?"

  "And my mind?" Nathaniel asked critically.

  "We will worry about that later," the doctor said soothingly. "For now, you should rest."

  Nathaniel shook his head. He remained strapped down at all times, but his neck had loosened over time. All along, he could move his fingers, and he curled them into tight fists.

  "How can you put that thing on
my legs and I not wake up?" he demanded.

  "I told you already." The doctor clucked his tongue and shook his head, clearly disappointed. "I knock you out first. I do not wish for you to experience pain. I am not a monster."

  "Yes, you are," Nathaniel shouted. He struggled against the restraints. He had previously, but the restraints were too tight. They were thick metal cuffs. Not even the strongest man in the world could break free.

  But still, he had to try. Accepting death was one thing, but it sounded as if both Doctor Despair and Kronston Taer had plans for him. Plans that Nathaniel refused to go along with.

  For so long during the torture, Nathaniel’s sole focus had been on not talking. Now, the game had shifted. The fire of fight was burning within him once more.

  He glanced at his watch. If Nathaniel was transformed into the strongest man in the world, he would find a way to free himself. The chains of the Hidden Serpents would not ensnare him forever. He would return home to his fiancée. His future would be as he dictated, not as one of his captors would demand.

  Well, as he and his future wife would dictate.

  "Is that a smile I see?" The doctor followed his gaze. "This watch is all you have left, isn't it?"

  Nathaniel closed his eyes. "A watch means nothing to me," he lied. "I have everything I need within me."

  The doctor strolled over and seized the watch. Then he crossed over and stood so close to Nathaniel that he could smell garlic and onions on the doctor's breath.

  "Within your mind? In your heart? You fool. All of you belongs to me. You will see. You will know. You will understand and accept soon enough."

  The doctor dropped the watch to the floor and stomped on it. A small piece broke off.

  But the doctor wasn't done. He retrieved a sledgehammer from its resting place leaning against the far wall. Smash! Smash! Smash!

  The doctor kept on swinging until the watch was devastated, obliterated into thousands of pieces.

  "For now, I concede that you remain Nathaniel Strongarm," Doctor Despair said. "Soon enough, you will be who I create you to be."

  The doctor grabbed a syringe but then did not inject Nathaniel or the line for his fluids with it. Instead, he grabbed several blankets and placed them on Nathaniel’s legs, his arms, and draped more down his back and shoulders.

  All of his muscles spasmed as if overworked and exercised to the point of being ripped and torn. The agony was worse than any beating or torture Nathaniel had previously experienced. He couldn't feel fright or worry or anger or hatred. All he could feel was pain.

  He waited for his body to give out, for him to lose consciousness.

  Nathaniel never did.

  Chapter 6

  The looks the others gave Shauna on the flight over were enough to make her want to snap. She wasn’t a delicate flower. She wasn’t going to melt into a puddle because her fiancé was in danger. No. She’d go in there, kick some ass, and rescue him. Then, she’d never let him live it down and tell the story to their kids every night at bedtime. It would be perfect.

  Just like a movie.

  No one would talk to her despite their glances, and she had to move to sit next to Alejandro. He wouldn’t let her down.

  “Ugh. I ate too much chocolate last night,” he groaned, rubbing his stomach.

  “If you expect sympathy from me, sorry. No dice.”

  “Want to rub my stomach?”

  “I’m not holding your hair back if you hurl.”

  “I’m not gonna be sick. I’m too manly for that.”

  She snorted.

  “You want to figure out how we’re going to do this?” he asked.

  She blinked, confused.

  “Do you want to build a raft or have us all swim to the beach?”

  “How far away are we going to be dropped into the ocean?”

  “It would be a long swim,” he admitted, “but building a raft big enough for us all won’t be easy.”

  “We can build smaller ones,” she pointed out. “Or we can just wear life preservers and tie each of us together.”

  “I don’t wanna swim.”

  “You’re so lazy!”

  “That I would rather build rafts than swims does not lazy me make.”

  Shauna blinked a few times. “You’re an idiot.”

  “I am not. My IQ is only a few points beneath yours.”

  “Beneath is right.”

  Alejandro huffed. “I receive no credit for bringing up how smart you are—”

  “Only because you wanted to also mention how smart you are!”

  “I am smart. That’s why I picked you to be my partner.”

  “That’s not how it worked out, and you know it.”

  Alejandro shrugged. “Better me than Kent Finnegan.”

  Shauna shuddered. “The only guy more a tool than you are.”

  “If I’m a tool, I’m a hammer.”

  She shook her head. At least he didn’t say nail.

  “Or maybe your fiancé is the hammer and you’re the nail—“

  “Alejandro, if you don’t shut up right now, I am going to nail your tongue to the roof of your mouth. Then, I'll nail your mouth shut too.”

  “Geez. Testy, testy.”

  She glowered at him.

  Alejandro hung his head in shame and embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  She sighed, more disgusted with herself than with him. “I know you didn’t. It’s just—“

  “You’re upset about—“

  “The chocolate cake. A Snickers bar doesn’t quite make up for it.”

  Alejandro rubbed his chin. “Fine. All week once we get back, you get my dessert.”

  “All month,” she bargained, knowing full well that she wouldn’t accept that many.

  “Deal.”

  They shook hands on it and got to work making the rafts. As engineer sergeants, their duties required them to be proficient in demolitions, explosions, bridging, and field fortification. Building things or blowing them up. That about summed things up.

  Build up our defenses. Tear down the Hidden Serpents.

  They had more gear then most of the others, but Lela and the other Weapon Sergeant had a fair amount of firepower to bring. One could never be too protected or bring too much firepower.

  Once they reached the rendezvous point, Shauna and Alejandro dropped their rafts out onto the ocean. Then, one by one, they all dropped out of the plane, Captain Jones first and Shauna last.

  Don’t worry, Marines. We’re here to save the day. You did what you could. Now, it’s our turn.

  Chapter 7

  Now that his watch was completely broken, there was no measurement of time within the room. Had days passed? Weeks? Months? Only a few hours? Nathaniel had no way to know.

  But his legs were huge, the muscles stronger than should be possible. The doctor did fashion a hole into a table so that Nathaniel could be bolted to it. The hole allowed for blankets to cover more of Nathaniel's body. Even his calves were now targeted for muscle growth. Blankets. Hardly the right term for the terrible, monstrous devices, but Nathaniel didn't know the proper term, and he wasn't about to ask. He wasn't on speaking terms with the doctor any longer.

  But the doctor didn't seem to care. He went about his work. He fiddled with Nathaniel's fluids constantly. Maybe it wasn't for hydration purposes. Maybe it was drugs. Nathaniel had no way to know that either.

  It grew harder and harder for Nathaniel to remember before. Before the pain. Before the aches and soreness. The notion of walking felt as foreign as flying. Who was he? A man strapped to a chair. He had no freedom, no relief. He had no hope but not despair either.

  This was his life.

  Between periods of darkness, maybe blackouts, Nathaniel began to dream again. Or maybe it wasn't dreams. Visions? A video on the ceiling? He could not tell, but he could not look away.

  Over and over again, all he saw were battlefields littered with bodies and blood. All kinds of weapons and h
ow to shoot them. Demonstrations of those weapons and the people killed by them. Some of the people killed looked vaguely familiar including a lovely woman with long brown hair and steel gray eyes.Suddenly, the footage changed. It was still of battles and death, but now there was sound and smell. The screams, the wails cut short. The gunfire, the thud of dropped bodies. The foulness, the musk. The metallic tang, the horrific odor.Nathaniel either woke up or the video turned off because he could see the doctor's face looming above him.

  "How are you feeling today?" the doctor asked as he began to take Nathaniel's measurements. "Your biceps are over thirty inches. Impressive."

  "What's the point?" Nathaniel mumbled.

  "You'll understand soon enough," the doctor said soothingly. "How do you feel?"

  "Bored."

  The doctor laughed.

  "Glad I can amuse you."

  "Are you glad?" the doctor pressed. "Are you happy?"

  "Happy?" Nathaniel blinked. What did that word mean? Why didn't he know that? The fog had returned.

  "I think it is time that I give your muscles a slight rest," the doctor said. "I'm afraid there's been a development."

  Nathaniel should feel afraid, shouldn't he? But he couldn't even bring himself to feel worried. He felt numb. All the time, he felt numb. His muscles didn't even hurt anymore. Or maybe his pain tolerance had risen. Nothing seemed real anymore.Maybe this was all just a terrible nightmare.

  "You need brain surgery," the doctor said.

  "Brain surgery?" Nathaniel repeated.

  "Oh, yes. You mentioned fogginess in your mind, yes?"

  Nathaniel reluctantly nodded.

  "Very well. This surgery will help with that. What do you say?" the doctor coaxed.

  "Thank you," Nathaniel muttered.

  "Good, good." Pleased, the doctor grabbed a syringe and injected Nathaniel with something green. Then he grabbed a mask and forced Nathaniel to breathe into it. Nathaniel's eyelids grew heavy, and he knew no more.

  >>><<<

  Even more footage of death was the first thing he recognized next. It maintained that level of sound and smell from the last time.