Chapter 90. She Meant Us

Deacon's fingers bite into my arm as my legs, like jelly under me, try to keep up with his long, fast stride. I end up clinging to his side like a needy child, aware my gown is sliding off, and I catch sight of the doctor one last time as he follows us out into the hallway, and I strain back to see.

He looks sad, defeated, and as he watches me get dragged away, I lock my eyes on him one last time as I piece together a plan of sorts in my head that might give me a tiny hope of getting out of this. I throw him a desperate backward glance in an attempt to communicate.

“I volunteer. Take your tests. I want to know why I’m white, and I’m not going to be doing anything else for two days.” I lie impulsively, loud enough for my voice to echo this hall. The doctor is a soft touch and knows something about Sierra. Maybe I can convince him to let me go or see her and determine why she brought me here. It’s clutching at straws, and my brain is trying to figure how this will help, bu