Next to me, close, is the dark-haired handler. He smiles. “Worried I’d given you too much Thorazine. You’ve been out for hours.” He reaches to brush my hair away from my face. I jump, turning my head violently away, repulsed. “Don’t touch me,” I hiss. “Don’t you dare touch me.” He laughs. “Miss Barstow, I know you’re upset. I know you’re unwell.” He leans close, his voice a whisper in my ear. “But it’s no excuse for bad manners.” I squeeze my eyes shut, thinking that maybe I should feel frightened, sad. But all I can feel is rage. They changed James. Lacey. They’re going to change me. “Now,” the handler says, “I’m going to tell the doctor you’re awake.” He touches my hair again. “I’ll be seeing you around, Sloane.” My stomach twists when he says my name. I try to turn my body away, but my hands are tied down with leather straps, buckled to the bed. As I move, my wrist hurts, and I remember how I cut myself in my room before they took me.
