Part 7: The Final Harvest
Part 7: The Final Harvest
My mother shoved me toward the servant’s staircase. 'Go! The key leads to the old clinic on 4th Street! Save her, Elena! Save yourselves!' I didn't look back. I ran down the narrow stairs and out through the kitchen, grabbing my car keys from the hook. I heard my father’s voice booming through the house, calling my name, no longer the calm Judge, but a predator who had lost his prey. I drove like a maniac toward the city, my eyes fixed on the road, the silver key 'Room 4B' burning a hole in my pocket.
The 'clinic' was a nondescript brick building in a derelict part of town. It looked like an old warehouse, but when I pressed the key into the service entrance, it clicked open. The interior was high-tech, a jarring contrast to the decaying exterior. It smelled of ozone and bleach. I found the elevator and pressed '4.' My heart was in my throat. When the doors opened, I saw a row of reinforced glass rooms.
I ran to 4B. Inside, Elise was strapped to a bed. She looked even worse than before. A doctor was standing over her, adjusting a series of tubes that were connected to a terrifying-looking machine. 'Stop!' I screamed, slamming my body against the glass. The doctor looked up, startled. 'You’re not supposed to be here, Miss Elena. Your procedure isn't scheduled until tomorrow.'
'Procedure?' I gasped. I looked at the monitors. The machine wasn't just taking blood. It was prepping for a full organ harvest. My father wasn't just 'maintaining' me; my condition had worsened, and he was planning to kill Elise to 'fix' me one last time before the wedding. He needed me alive and 'perfect' because my marriage to Mark—the Governor’s son—was the final piece of his play for the Supreme Court. I was his ticket to ultimate power, and Elise was the fuel.
May you like
I found a fire extinguisher and smashed the glass. The alarm began to blare, a high-pitched wail that set my teeth on edge. I rushed to Elise, fumbling with the straps. 'I'm getting you out,' I sobbed. She opened her eyes, and for the first time, there was a flicker of hope. 'Elena,' she croaked. 'The files... the 'Project Castor' files... they have the evidence of the murders.'
'I have them,' I promised, pulling her upright. We began to limp toward the elevator, but the doors opened before we could reach them. My father stepped out, a silenced pistol in his hand. He didn't look like a judge anymore. He looked like a devil. 'It’s a shame,' he said, leveling the gun at us. 'I really did grow fond of you, Elena. But a parasite that realizes it’s a parasite is no longer useful.'
