Free The Girl in the Box 02 - Untouched by Robert J. Crane Page B

it doesn’t sound like a perfect use of power to me. It sounds worrisome, and seems like it has a high potential for abuse of prisoners and people. Kind of Draconian.”
    We lapsed into a vaguely comfortable silence, not saying anything as he led the way across the campus, which was just as well. If I hadn’t been feeling so self-involved and worried about what was going on for myself, I might have thought more deeply about what Zack had been describing. It sounded ugly, but I had no time to worry about it.
    He walked me to a building on a side of the campus I’d spent little time on. It was closest to the gymnasium but wasn’t far from a host of buildings I’d never been in. Like the others, it wasn’t marked well, I suspected on purpose. He held the door for me, which was a nice touch. I pretended to be too preoccupied to notice.
    The hallways were long, brick, and like everywhere else in the Directorate they had a sterile scent to them. The building was older than HQ, the brick was faded, and it was quiet; only the hum of the overhead fluorescent lights could be heard. I wanted to believe I could hear the beating of my own heart, but I really couldn’t. I was nervous, but not off the scale.
    Zack stopped me at a solid wooden door. It had one of those silver name plates over it, and it read: Dr. Quinton Zollers, M.D. I grimaced inwardly. Not that I thought it would be easier, but having a psychologist without the M.D. appellation seemed less intimidating for some reason.
    “You’ll do fine,” Zack said. In my nervous tension, I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to kiss him or slap him, then remembered that they’d both have roughly the same effect. “Don’t forget about our date tonight.”
    I froze. “Our what?”
    “You know,” he said, casual. “We’re going to dinner, the movies, mall, all that?”
    “Yes. Sorry.”
    “Not a problem,” he said with a genuine smile. “You’ve got a lot on your mind. I’ll come by your dorm at five to pick you up?”
    “Sounds good,” I said, relieved that he missed the source of my reluctance. After all, it was infinitely preferable that he thought I’d forgotten our rendezvous than that I was taken aback by him referring to it as a date. Because, of course, he meant nothing serious by it.
    He was halfway down the hall and had not looked back when I reached for the door handle and swung it open. I found myself in a waiting room with chairs lined up against the walls and a fish tank in the corner. On the far wall was another door, solid, which I assumed led to the inner sanctum of Dr. Quinton Zollers, who would be helping me diagnose problems I didn’t even recognize I had. I found myself surprised that Wolfe didn’t have a funny comment for this situation, and then wondered if perhaps he was sleeping.
    There wasn’t another soul in the waiting room, so I made my way to the inner door and knocked, three sharp raps. A voice boomed out. “Sienna Nealon...come right in.”
    I took a deep breath, and swung the door open.
     

 
    Chapter 8
     
    Dr. Zollers rose to meet me when I entered the room and to his credit didn’t blink at the sight of my torn clothing. I had expected one of those long fainting couches, facing away from the practitioner. Instead, I was surprised to find a few comfortable chairs and an office that was set up more like a living room. A couch sat in front of me, a full sized one, and three chairs sat across from it, with a coffee table in the middle. Sitting in one of the chairs was a shorter man with dark skin that spoke of his African heritage, a goatee, and eyes that glittered as though he knew the punch line to a joke he hadn’t shared yet.
    “Howdy,” he said, not extending a hand, keeping them both clasped on the armrests of his seat. The faint smile he wore went well with his eyes, and he inclined his head in greeting. “It’s my very great pleasure to meet you, Sienna.”
    “The feeling is...” I hesitated, and knew I was