She had no idea how much time had passed when a thought filtered through her reverie, a solitary ray of light on the shadowed forest floor. She'd remembered a car ride home in the dark, when Peter had been trying to explain himself, after the near-kiss incident in Jacksonville (the thought almost made her smile to herself in the darkness). You called us a family.
And they were, or they had been. Slightly unconventional, sure. But it was the closest thing she had, besides Rachael and Ella. It was a strange thing to think. She'd looked out for herself for so long that it seemed foreign and unexpected (Peter had told her once that she was no good at letting people help her). But it felt good. It felt better than good—it felt right. For some reason the thought reminded her of being quarantined at Vetros Petrol. Peter had said, "I thought that was the point of having people you care about in your life—to have someone to talk to when you're scared." And she'd looked at him, slightly surprised, thinking, but I have you.
Abruptly she was filled with a steadfast, burning conviction. She sat up straight, clutching her candy bar (the wrapper crackled). She knew two things. The first was that although she didn't know exactly what they had planned for her here, she was confident that they weren't going to decide that they had had enough and let her waltz out the door some day. The thought filled her with a raw, stupefying terror, but the rational portion of her mind had accepted it. There is only one way this captivity can end.
The second thing that she knew was that she wasn't going to down without a fight (if she was honest with herself, she'd known it would come down to a fight since the beginning. Had she really thought they'd just let her go free?). She had a home; she had a family to return to. She knew what it was like to live in solitude, and now that she had people to share her life with, she sure as hell wasn't going to let Walternate steal that away from her. She would fight her way out, or she would die trying. I will find my way back to you.
All of a sudden she felt relieved, as though the weight of a heavy decision had finally been lifted from her shoulders. Her only opening would be when they came to take her out of the cell for tomorrow's session. She didn't have a plan—she'd have to hope that something came to her before then. She'd have to be quick, before they managed to dose her with a sedative. For now, she needed sleep. She crawled shakily onto the cot and lay down with the candy bar in her hand, tucking her face into her left arm. When she slept, she dreamt of Peter.
She woke when a shaft of light pierced the darkness as they slid a half-gallon of lukewarm water into her cell through a door in the wall. She tucked the candy bar into her breast pocket and eased herself up into a sitting position on the cot, trying to ignore the pounding in her head. Slowly she made her way over to the wall. She screwed the cap off and drank thirstily, gulping, water dribbling down her chin. Then she very carefully poured a little bit of water onto the cuff of her sleeve and started dabbling delicately at the dried blood on her face. When she was finished she could almost open her eye, but it was still very swollen. She sat against the wall and put the cap back on the jug.
She must have dozed again because the next thing she knew, she was jarred awake by the sudden illumination of her cell. She squinted and blinked in the bright lights as they made her eye water. She stood up quickly (she had one hand on the wall for support) and faced off against the door. This was generally how they took her. She hefted the water jug in her hand, bracing herself. Instead, the shade on the window slid up and Walternate pressed a piece of paper to the glass. She took a step forward, fixed him with her best scowl, and crossed her arms. She wasn't going to rise to his bait, not this time. He waited for a minute or two, then raised his other hand and pushed an unseen button—the intercom.
"I had thought that you'd be interested in what became of my son, Peter. But I see that I was mistaken." He started to drop the paper, and she was at the window before she could think about it, hands against the glass. He raised the paper and held it for her to see. It was a photograph of Peter getting out of a car with a woman. The woman had long, auburn hair. Olivia squinted, having difficulty focusing. It was her! Or rather, it was the Other her. With Peter! Her stomach dropped horribly as a strange rushing sound filled her ears. They have no idea that I'm gone. They don't know she's not me—and of course they trust her. She's there with Peter, Walter, Astrid… Rachael and Ella… They are all completely at her mercy. An awful, agonized wailing filled the room—it sounded primitive, guttural, the kind of sound a wounded animal would make, and it took her a second to realize that the sound was coming from her own chest. Hardly aware of what she was doing, she began pounding her fists on the window, screaming, drowning in a sea of rage and panic. Flecks of blood flew everywhere as the lacerations on her wrists opened up. Walternate smiled, and slowly slid the shade down. The cell went dark.