“No,” says Mona, glancing down at me. “No, it won’t hurt. Don’t complicate it, Stephen.”
Try to get up and my body feels like there are weights tied to my arms and legs – not straps. Drugged. Muscles like poured lead.
Can I move my arms?
Why am I asking that?
“Actually, we’d prefer it if you stayed as you are.”
Mona clears her throat.
“The reason, Jill” – I swerve my eyes and there she is, and I’m holding her in my shaky sights hoping she doesn’t invade me, trying to be strong – “is that your body needs to be sedated for this to work.”
Her fingers wrap around my cheeks again, only this time it feels as if moving will hurt me. Another set of hands – his – take hold of my right arm … my left? Half the time it feels like I’m floating, rolling my shirt sleeve up, goosebumps, one hand
