Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 124341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
“I can’t have children!” he shouted, taking a step toward her, looming. Attempting to scare her, not because he wanted to but because she needed to be scared, and he had to make her see why. She arched her back but stood her ground.
“I’m sorry they took that from you without your permission. There are other ways to create families if we decide—”
“If we decide? There’s nothing for us to decide.” He stepped away from her, grabbed his duffel bag, and then moved toward the door. “Let me go, Autumn. You deserve far more than what I have to offer.” Nothing. You deserve far more than nothing.
He heard his name fall from her lips, pleading, as he stormed out the door, and his stomach muscles clenched in agony. But he kept walking anyway, because Sam had saved her once, and he intended on doing it again, only this time would be far more permanent. This time, Sam would save her from himself.
Chapter Forty-One
There was only one possible person to turn to now, and he stood in front of the man’s house, staring bleakly at it, the last glimmer of hope barely glowing in his chest.
Sam had nothing except a few items in a duffel bag. But Dr. Heathrow would help him, wouldn’t he? He was the only father Sam had ever known. Maybe it was Dr. Swift and others like him who pulled all the strings. Maybe Dr. Heathrow was like Autumn’s Salma, caught up in an endeavor he thought was good and just and was tricked like Sam. Like all of them. Please, please, please.
Despite the sense of desperation, he managed to keep putting one foot in front of the other. The doctor would help him find a place to go at least. Sam hadn’t asked him for help when he’d dismissed him from the program, because he’d planned on ending his life. But that had been delayed and then delayed again. He’d probably go through with it now in one manner or another. Perhaps it was time. All their programming hadn’t compelled him to do it, but his weakness, the probability that he would never be able to fully let Autumn go, might very well be the reason he needed. The monster inside would always claw for her, reaching, reaching, and he simply couldn’t let it happen. Refused to hurt her more than he already had. Didn’t want to live a life of never-ending misery.
Let me go. The words had come from his mouth, but inside he’d been screaming, Keep me. And maybe she would, for a time, but not forever, and that would kill him just as much as a bullet to the head or a knife to the heart, only worse. He’d left so he wouldn’t suffer more than he already had. And because he loved her and he wanted her to have her dreams. Because he’d left, now she was safe.
He walked slowly up the steps. The house was massive, with a white brick facade and black shutters, the landscaping as groomed and pristine as the hospital gardens. Not a leaf dotted the expanse of fall-faded lawn.
He pressed his finger to the doorbell and heard that distant chime within. Footsteps sounded, and a moment later, the door was pulled open. Dr. Heathrow stood there, the color draining from his face as he stumbled back. A small gasp emerged, and his hand came up as though warding Sam away.
Sam stepped inside, reaching out to the doctor who continued backward. “Please,” Sam said. “I need help.”
Dr. Heathrow stumbled into the room next to the foyer, pointing a finger at the phone and then back at Sam. “Stay back, monster!” he said, tripping on a chair leg, almost falling but catching himself. He came to stand against a wall, cowering, as Sam advanced.
Sam’s throat closed. Devastation. The thing he’d known but hadn’t wanted to confront was staring him dead in the eyes. This man had not been tricked or mislead by a pharmaceutical company or by others who had misdiagnosed Sam and then asked the doctor to perform surgeries he didn’t know were unnecessary. He’d done it all knowingly and then profited from the missions he sent his creations on. You created me. You made me what I am.
Sam stopped, that hollow feeling inside opening impossibly wider. He stood for a moment, staring blankly at the man he’d once thought…loved him? No, no, he hadn’t felt that. But he’d thought he cared. He’d thought he tried. He’d thought he’d felt sadness to see Sam go.
“You knew,” he said. “You knew I was never sick. Were any of us?”
Dr. Heathrow’s gaze darted around the room and then back to Sam. He swallowed, straightening. “Not in the traditional sense of the word. But you needed saving.”
Sam’s blood slowed, a part of him dying, though he couldn’t say what. “Saving,” he repeated.