“You think you can steal from me?” Francis Malone was a big man. He wore his pin-striped morning suit too tight and the smell of cigar smoke was all over him.
I wanted to spit on him, but the leather gag in my mouth prevented that.
“Then, you go and run your mouth. You stupid slut. You think you’d get away with that?”
I wasn’t going to cry.
“Well, when my friend is done with you, you won’t be doing any of that anymore. You’ll be nice and quiet. A pretty, pretty little doll for me to play with.”
He jerked his thumb at me, and the orderly in white came forward. I knew what the object in his hand was. An orbitoclast. For…lobotomies. I jerked against the straps of the metal chair, desperately praying that someone would come in. Anyone.
This was a hospital, surely someone would know I wasn’t a patient? Someone would help me?
The orderly pressed the point of the instrument to the corner of my eye and raised the hammer.
“You’re going to be a good girl,” Malone said.
As the orderly pounded down, I jerked, sending the spike further than intended. Then—there was nothing.
I shook my head out of the memory and gripped my legs tighter. My resurrection had healed the injuries of flesh, but my hair was still shorn by the hands of cruel men to make me look insane. I grunted, unable to take the broken silence and swung out of bed. I padded into the bathroom and opened the cupboard next to the sink. A pair of sharp scissors beckoned me from one shelf. I flicked on the light and lifted the scissors free. I took a quick look in the mirror, chewing meditatively on my lower lip for a moment.
You’re long dead Francis Malone. Long dead and you won’t control me.
I took hold of the first hank of hair and took a snip with the scissors. I took a breath, and set to work on the rest. When I was done, I set the scissors down, and at last managed to settle into a form of sleep.
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