He was wearing a white lab coat. You couldn't help thinking it looked inappropriate on him, like a five-star Michelin chef in a Kiss the Cook apron. You wondered if it was some sort of deception or if he was truly employed at this hospital. You wondered at your ability to wonder that while he was pressing a scalpal to your throat.
You'd known something was wrong as soon as you woke up. You remembered the accident, but whatever was in your IV wasn't the usual favor bag of morphine handed out to hospital guests.
Aubrey had been sitting in the visitor's chair. She'd smiled when you opened your eyes, but it hadn't taken her long to realize something was wrong either.
She'd pressed the call button. And he'd come.
Moving with a speed you'd rarely seen, but always known him capable of, he was at your side before you could make a sound. He sat on the edge of your bed, half next to you, half under you, so he could hold you down, but that wasn't really necessary with all the drugs in your system. He was using his fingers to spread your neck, thumb under your chin, keeping your carotid artery exposed. His other hand held the scalpal as if it were a pen.
Aubrey gasped, but other than that, neither of you moved. You couldn't, and she seemed to realize right away that she shouldn't. She'd always been quick. It was what you'd liked about her. After that initial gasp, she pressed her lips together so no sound could escape. Though that wasn't really necessary either, the way the monitors were screaming.
"Shh," he soothed. "Shh, shhh. Calm down, Will. Trust me. You don't want the doctors to come."
That seemed funny to you, and you had to fight the sudden desire to laugh. You took shallow breaths, feeling the pressure from his fingers, feeling it increase whenever you swallowed.
Finally, he said, "If you move or call for help, I will kill you and your friend. Do you believe me?"
"Yes," you whispered.
"Tell her why you believe me."
"You've done it before."
"I imagine I left quite a scar."
His eyes darted to the waistband of your patient scrubs, and you were suddenly grateful his hands were occupied. Aubrey had seen your scar, but not under such harsh lights, such harsh truths. That first night, you'd mumbled something about another accident. There hadn't much talking after that.
"I believed I had killed you," he said softly. "It is the only time in my life I have ever had cause to feel regret. Now I find that not only are you not dead, you're Henry Selwyn. Your friend looked surprised when I called you Will, so I assume you've told her nothing about me, at the instruction of the marshals."
His thumb made the quick trip down your throat to your jugular notch and back up to your chin. "How do you see this ending, Will?"
"Bloody."
"How do you want this to end?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"You have a chance."
"We were supposed to leave."
He hesistated. "We were. But you did not want it."
You hesitated longer. Licked your chapped lips. Said, "I do now."
"Why?"
"I don't want her to die."
He nodded slowly. "An honest answer. I appreciate that."
"You're welcome."
For a moment, he looked delighted by you, like you were back in his office and you'd just made some witty aside about god or death. Then he said, "An honest answer, but not the one I wanted."
"You can make the one you wanted."
"What are you suggesting, Will?"
"You've done it before. The lights. The drugs. You made me think I was crazy. You can make me think anything you want. You can make me anything you want."
He stilled. "It is easier if the subject does not know they're being driven."
You laughed and nearly cut yourself. "You killed people and served them to the police who were trying to find them. You don't like easy. If you liked easy, you wouldn't like me."
There was a long moment where the only sounds were the steady hum of the monitors and Aubrey's quiet sobs.
You pressed him. "I'll go with you. I'll do whatever you want. I won't fight it. Just promise me you won't hurt her or her family."
He looked almost sad. "Would you trust such a promise?"
"You could make me."