Page 108 of Desecrated Saints
“What happened inside Blackwood Institute?”
Keeping Eli by my side, I approach the closest microphone. Everyone falls silent, too many curious gazes to count lasering their attention on my injured face.
“What do you want to tell the world, Brooklyn?” the reporter asks.
Cameras flash.
Shouting falls silent.
The world awaits a single word.
“My friends and I have been subject to a lot of speculation in recent weeks.” I take a deep, steadying breath. “Our stories don’t make for easy reading. I’m not here to profess our innocence to the world. Nobody ends up in Blackwood Institute for being sane.”
Eli’s hand squeezes mine, sending a message of strength.
“We entered Blackwood seeking treatment and rehabilitation.” I study the huge crowd. “Instead, all we received was abuse, malpractice, and exploitation. These institutes are not designed to help people. The truth is far more terrifying.”
“Is this the same institute in which you incited a riot that led to the deaths of patients and staff?” another person shouts above the shocked whispers.
Zeroing in on them, I don’t break eye contact. “This is the same institute in which clinicians engaged in illegal experimentation and psychological torture, using society’s most vulnerable people as their unwilling subjects.”
A roar of noise almost bowls me over. Too many questions to count are hurled at us both. Eli retreats several steps, his teeth gritted. I can practically taste the panic leaking off him in waves.
“Why should we believe you?”
“Where’s the evidence?”
“Are you going to surrender to the authorities?”
“No,” a rasp of terror replies.
Eli quakes all over while staring ahead for the first time. He returns to my side. More cameras flash, capturing his stormy face and the thick lines of shiny scar tissue covering his arms. He didn’t cover up before coming outside. Not even all of the guys have seen his skin, yet here he is.
Living unapologetically.
This Eli… is still afraid.
But he’s no longer letting it dictate his future.
Letting his arm envelop me in warmth, I fist the material of his t-shirt and face the cameras with resolution. I want them to see us like this. Together. United. Unbroken. He looks down at me with a hint of a smile, emotion shining in the rolling, grassy hills of his eyes.
“We will fight until every last patient has been freed from Incendia’s clutches,” I state into the microphone. “The indifference of the world towards people like us has enabled this abuse for too long.”
“What are you going to do?” another person shouts.
“We’re people. We matter, and we will stand up for our rights until society decides to give a damn. This isn’t over.”
I let Eli take me away, despite the tsunami of unanswered questions licking at our heels. The silent but steely agent escorts us back to safety, cutting off the shouting as Sabre’s entrance door seals tightly shut.
Inside, the packed foyer is spookily silent. All of the enormous screens are tuned in to the local news. They all saw us speak. Every single person standing between us and certain death.
One by one, Hunter’s employees begin to clap, led by Theo. It starts slowly, like a gathering storm stretching across the heavens, brewing into an all-consuming tsunami. I feel lightheaded, relying solely on Eli’s embrace to hold me up. The applause doesn’t stop.
“Why are they clapping?” I whisper to him.
“P-P-Proud,” he murmurs back.
If I die at Bancroft’s hands tomorrow, I’ll take comfort in the knowledge that despite everything I’ve done, I made somebody proud. Hell, a room of strangers, inspired by a dark tale told by six delinquents. As for the beautiful, broken man at my side… his pride is all I ever wanted.
