The first thing Miah could think of to do was to somehow break the glass. To get in there. To physically stop the thing and take Ben away from that horrible place. She beat her fists against the glass, watching as the needle inched closer and closer to his head and yelled, “Connor!!! Help me!!!”
He held her back, saying, “Miah. The glass is too thick!”
“No!”
Her fists were doing nothing. Her knuckles and palms and fingers throbbed in pain, and she was sobbing. She buried her face in Connor’s shoulder. She couldn’t look.
Connor shut his eyes and held Miah tight. He wanted to scream. He wanted to break something. But to hold Miah and close his eyes was all that he could do.
Instead of the evil laugh Miah that expected she would hear, the man’s cold stare toward his subject ignored all else in its deliberation. He knew he could get away with this—he had already gotten away with this. It all seemed to pass too quickly for Miah to do anything, and she screamed in protest, anger, frustration, and sheer terror.
The screech of the siren rang in their ears. A motor whirred as the needle moved and pierced Ben’s skin, injecting a benign-looking clear liquid into his brain stem. A light burned through Connor’s eyelids, and he looked away and squeezed his eyes tight.
And then there was silence.
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