To the Garden. This time, I knew enough to look around for Teel. He was standing right behind me, dressed as the doctor I knew and loved. Well, not quite loved. Lusted after. In a completely safe, Master Plan–approved way. “Fourth wish?” he asked, as soon as he caught my eye. The demand got my back up. No “hello.” No “how are you?” No “I’m looking forward to seeing you at dinner tonight.” Maybe Teel wasn’t going to be a work-around for the Master Plan. I was sick and tired of hearing about my last wish. “Take me back,” I said, locking my eyes on him to avoid becoming queasy. “I thought that if I gave you a little time, you’d figure out what to wish for.” His voice was calm, reasoning. I heard everything I’d fallen for back in the hospital—the man who had been worried about me, about my mental health, my physical well-being, even as everything around me was spinning out of control. “Don’t be angry with me.” “You used your tattoo to control me.”
