The ICU had a way of swallowing sound. Even the machines — the monitors, the pumps, the ventilator ports — seemed to hum more quietly here, as if the walls themselves were trying not to disturb the patients. The lighting was soft, indirect, casting a muted glow across the room where Chet lay propped up against a stack of pillows.
He looked small in the bed. Too small. Too young.
Elijah sat beside him, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped loosely. He had slept little — the shadows under his eyes made that clear — but he wasn’t leaving. Not until Chet was stable. Not until he was safe.
A federal security officer stood outside the glass wall of the room, visible through the blinds. Another sat at a desk down the hall. The proximity to the federal holding cells for Hale and Kline meant the entire wing was under heightened security.
Chet shifted slightly, wincing. Elijah leaned forward. “Do you need anything? Water? Another pillow?”
Chet shook his head. His voice was barely above a whisper. “No. I’m okay.”
Elijah didn’t believe that for a second, but he didn’t push. For a long moment, they sat in silence. The monitor beeped steadily, a soft, rhythmic reminder that Chet was still here. Still alive. Then Chet spoke. “I remember… something else.”
Elijah straightened. “Okay,” he whispered. “I’m right here.”
Chet’s fingers tightened around the blanket. “There were other kids.”
Elijah nodded slowly. “I know.”
“No,” Chet whispered. “You don’t.”
He turned his head, meeting Elijah’s eyes. His pupils were wide; his expression was raw.
“They were screaming,” Chet said. "And I… I couldn't help them."
Elijah felt something cold settle in his chest. “Chet—”
Chet shook his head, panic rising. “No. You don’t understand. The chamber… it made me move. It made me do things.”
Elijah froze. Chet’s voice cracked. “I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to, Elijah. But I couldn’t stop.”
Elijah reached out, placing his hand gently over Chet’s. “Whatever happened, it wasn’t your fault.”
Chet’s breath hitched. “What if I hurt someone?”
Elijah didn’t answer. He couldn’t. The truth was too heavy, too tangled, too cruel to offer in a moment like this. Instead, he shifted closer, letting Chet feel the warmth of another human being, someone who would not leave.
“Chet, you’re safe now,” Elijah said quietly. “You’re here. You’re not there anymore.”
Chet closed his eyes, but the tears still slipped out, tracking down his cheeks. “I can still hear them.”
Elijah swallowed hard. “What do you hear?”
Chet’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Commands.”
Elijah’s breath caught. “Commands?”
Chet nodded, trembling. “Voices telling me to move. Like where to stand. When to sit. When to hold still. And the right time to—” His voice broke. “To hurt.”
Elijah felt his stomach twist. “Chet… who was giving the commands?”
Chet opened his eyes again, and for a moment, Elijah saw something behind them — not memory, but conditioning. A reflex. A shadow.
“I don’t know,” Chet whispered. “I never saw him. But I felt him.”
Elijah’s pulse quickened. “Felt him how?”
Chet’s hand tightened around Elijah’s. “Like he was inside my head.”
Elijah didn’t speak. He couldn’t. The words lodged in his throat.
A nurse stepped into the room quietly, checking the monitors. She gave Elijah a sympathetic look but didn’t interrupt. She adjusted Chet’s IV line, made a note on her tablet, and slipped out again.
Chet watched her go, then whispered, “I didn’t want to hurt anyone.”
Elijah squeezed his hand. “I know.”
Chet’s voice trembled. “But what if I did?”
Elijah leaned forward, his voice steady. “Listen to me. Whatever happened in that place — whatever they made you do — it wasn’t you. They are responsible. It was Bergmann. It was the chamber. Not you.”
Chet’s breath shuddered. “I don’t feel like myself.”
Elijah’s voice softened. “That’s because they tried to take that from you. But they didn’t succeed. You’re here. You’re fighting. That’s you.”
Chet didn’t answer. He just stared at the blanket, his fingers twisting the fabric.
After a long moment, Elijah reached for his phone. “I’m going to call Leah. She needs to know what you remembered.”
Chet nodded weakly. Elijah stepped into the hallway, closing the door gently behind him. He took a breath, steadying himself, then dialed.
Leah answered on the second ring. “Elijah? What’s wrong?”
“He remembered more,” Elijah said. “A lot more.”
Leah’s voice sharpened. “Tell me.”
Elijah told her everything — the kids, the screams, the commands, the forced movements, the fear that he’d hurt someone. Leah didn’t interrupt. She didn’t breathe. When he finished, there was a long silence.
Then Leah said, “Elijah… this matches the blueprint.”
Elijah felt the floor tilt beneath him. “What blueprint?”
“The chamber,” Leah said. “The one in Saskatchewan. It’s designed for synchronized conditioning. Group responses. Coordinated commands.”
Elijah felt the floor tilt beneath him. “Creator…”
Leah continued, her voice tight. “The chamber in Saskatchewan — it’s designed for synchronized conditioning. Group responses. Coordinated commands.”
Elijah closed his eyes. “Creator, help us.”
“We’re moving,” Leah said. “Hayes is coordinating with the RCMP. Greyeyes is helping us map the access routes. We’re leaving within the hour.”
Elijah swallowed. “Be careful.”
“We will,” Leah said. “And Elijah… tell Chet that he did nothing wrong.”
“I already did.”
“Tell him again.”
Elijah nodded, even though she couldn’t see it. “I will.”
He hung up and stood there for a moment, letting the weight of it settle. Then he went back into the room.
Chet looked up at him, eyes red. “Are they going?”
Elijah nodded. “Yeah. They’re going.”
Chet swallowed. “They won’t make it in time.”
Elijah sat beside him again. “Why do you say that?”
Chet’s voice was barely audible. “Because the cycle… it’s already running.”
Elijah felt the blood drain from his face. Chet looked at him, eyes wide with fear. “They’re already in the chamber.”
Elijah didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
Outside the room, the security officer shifted, unaware of the storm gathering inside.
Elijah squeezed Chet’s hand. “We’ll stop it,” he breathed. “Creator willing, we’ll stop it.”
But even as he said it, he felt the truth settle in his bones: They were already behind.
And whatever Bergmann had started in Saskatchewan…
…was already in motion.