Girls with Sharp Sticks (Girls with Sharp Sticks, #1)(94)

And yet, his death weighs on me. It’s changed me.

The girls and I are bonded in a way that’s stronger than anything Innovations Metal Works or Innovations Academy could ever create. The truth of our existence only a small part of our connection. And we had to preserve that bond. We made a choice.

It was a choice.

And now, we can choose to be better than these men. We choose to love each other. We choose to be free. We do all of this without speaking a word out loud. We don’t have to.

Jackson stands dazed, continuing to dart his eyes around the room. I think he might pass out. “We have to keep moving,” he says. “I think your friend is bleeding to death.” He motions to Annalise.

Just as we turn to get her, a voice booms, “What the hell is going on?”

I spin around and find Dr. Groger standing in the doorway of his office. He looks at Jackson, and his “good doctor” fa?ade is gone. His possessiveness at the sight of “his girls” talking to a boy colors his reaction.

“We need your help,” I say, walking over to Annalise. “Guardian Bose hurt her, and”—I motion to the blood—“she’s bleeding to death. You have to save her.”

He shakes his head. “Get to your room, Mena,” he says. “All of you girls. Now!” He claps his hands together, dismissing us.

“They’re not staying at your bullshit school, or factory, or whatever the fuck this place is,” Jackson says. “You’re going to help their friend and then you’re going to let them leave.”

The doctor laughs at Jackson’s boldness. “You’ve made a big mistake coming here,” he tells him. “I’m not sure if you understand what’s going on. Not only is this breaking and entering, but you’re also stealing someone else’s property.”

“We don’t belong to you,” I say. “Not anymore.”

Dr. Groger smiles and removes his glasses, tucking them into his front pocket. He pulls the walkie-talkie off his hip, and as he brings it to his lips, he watches Jackson. Jackson is the one he’s trying to intimidate. He figures he’s already controlling us.

“Bose,” the doctor says after clicking the button. “I need you in the basement immediately.”

Brynn smiles, glancing sideways at me.

“Now, son,” the doctor says to Jackson. “When the Guardian gets here, we’re going to call the sheriff. I’m sure he’ll want to have a word or two with you. I bet you’ve already spoken to him. That was you, wasn’t it? I had my suspicions.”

When there’s no reply on the walkie-talkie from the Guardian, the doctor’s expression falters and he takes it out again.

“Bose,” he snaps. “Bose!”

“He’s not coming,” Marcella says.

Dr. Groger looks over all of us, taking in the amount of blood. “I see,” he says.

Marcella walks to the shelf, and I wonder if the doctor can see how her hand shakes when she picks up a sharp instrument. She turns to him, keeping her expression hard.

“Now,” she says. “We need you to save Annalise.”

The doctor takes a moment, his eyes trained on the saw blade, betraying a moment of fear. But then he must remember all the times he’s manipulated us before, and he smiles.

“Well, then,” he says, and motions toward Annalise. “Let’s get her on a gurney.”

He turns and starts toward a side office, and when I look at Marcella, she sways with relief and sets the instrument aside.





29


We wheel Annalise toward the office as the doctor watches us from inside the doorway. “Come on,” he calls. “Put her there.” He motions to a series of machines along the wall.

Jackson hangs back, giving me a look that asks if this is a good idea. But this is our best option. Besides, the doctor is outnumbered. He can’t hurt us now. We’re no longer his experiments.

The moment I’m inside his office, I’m horrified by what I find. Although there is a desk and a bookcase like a normal office, it’s more like a private lab. A greenhouse, of sorts. Only, instead of rows of plants growing strong, there are rows of organs and partially created bodies. There are beeping monitors and bright lights.

He’s growing girls back here.

Jackson steadies himself on the doorframe, disturbed, the color draining from his face. I expect him to turn around and run out. But instead, he looks at me, his fists at his sides. I bet he wishes he never followed my bus that day.

The doctor pulls out an oversized metal box marked MEDICAL KIT. He opens it on his desk and begins to take out the items he’ll need to fix Annalise. He cauterizes the wound in her neck, stopping the bleeding. He places several skin grafts on her cheeks, although he warns us of traumatic scarring. He replaces her punctured green eye with a brown one, connecting it to a wire he exposes.

It’s horrible, but . . . fascinating. I imagine those are the same wires Anton uses in impulse control therapy.

The doctor works efficiently, inserting a rubber tube into Annalise’s arm to give her a blood transfusion for all that she’s lost. But when he’s done, he frowns.

“It’s too bad,” he says, examining her face. “She used to be beautiful.”

“She’s still beautiful,” Marcella calls back fiercely. I smile.