PART 3 — SUBJECT NUMBER SEVEN
Aaron raised one finger to his lips.
And smiled.
For one terrible second, nobody in the imaging room moved.
The security monitor showed him standing alone beneath the fluorescent lights at the far end of the secured corridor, his black medical case open at his feet.
Syringes.
Vials.
The silver cup.
All arranged neatly inside.
The same way he used to arrange instruments on the bathroom counter before giving me what he called my vitamins.
Dr. Reed moved first.
“Hit the emergency alarm.”
The nurse pressed the button.
A sharp tone sounded somewhere beyond the room.
Aaron’s smile disappeared.
He closed the medical case.
Then he started walking toward us.
Not running.
Walking.
Slowly.
Calmly.
Like this was his hospital.
Like I was still his patient.
Like nothing had changed.
“Police are already in the building,” the nurse said.
Dr. Reed grabbed the wall phone.
“Security, imaging room three. Unauthorized individual in the secured corridor. Male, approximately six feet, white physician’s coat, carrying a black medical case.”
She paused.
“No, he is not authorized.”
Another pause.
“Yes. Immediately.”
Aaron continued toward the camera.
Thirty feet away.
Twenty-five.
Twenty.
My son moved violently inside me.
I wrapped both arms around my stomach.
“Why isn’t he running?”
The question escaped before I realized I had spoken.
Dr. Reed looked at the monitor.
“Because he thinks he still has control.”
Aaron reached the door.
The handle moved.
Once.
Twice.
Then stopped.
“Aaron,” I whispered.
He leaned toward the small window.
Our eyes met.
There was no panic in his face.
No anger.
Only disappointment.
The expression a parent might give a child who had broken a rule.
“Anna.”
His voice came through the door.
“Open it.”
Nobody answered.
“Anna, sweetheart, you’re overwhelmed.”
Dr. Reed stepped between me and the window.
“You need to leave this area immediately.”
Aaron ignored her.
“I know what they told you.”
My mouth went dry.
“You don’t know anything.”
“I know exactly what they found.”
Dr. Reed looked at me.
Then toward the device visible on the imaging screen.
Aaron tapped softly against the door.
“Anna, listen to my voice.”
Those words.
I had heard them before.
Many times.
Usually after the silver cup.
Usually when the room became soft around the edges.
Listen to my voice.
You’re safe.
You’re tired.
Let me handle everything.
I stood.
Dr. Reed reached for me.
“Anna—”
“No.”
For once, I wanted him to hear me while I was completely awake.
I stepped closer to the door but remained several feet away.
“What did you put inside me?”
Silence.
Aaron’s jaw tightened.
“Something designed to protect you.”
“From what?”
He didn’t answer.
“From what, Aaron?”
“Complications.”
“Dr. Reed says there was an incision.”
His eyes flicked toward her.
That tiny movement told me more than words could have.
“You cut me.”
“I performed a minor procedure.”
“In our bedroom?”
“You were comfortable there.”
“I was drugged.”
His expression changed.
Barely.
But I saw it.
“Who told you that?”
“My blood did.”
That landed.
For the first time, my husband looked frightened.
Not because I was afraid.
Because I had evidence.
“You don’t understand the results.”
“Then explain them.”
“I will.”
“Now.”
“Not through a locked door.”
I almost laughed.
“You spent years locking every door around me, Aaron.”
He stared at me.
“You took my car.”
“For your safety.”
“You blocked my parents.”
“They upset you.”
“You controlled my appointments.”
“Because I’m a physician.”
“You drugged me.”
His voice sharpened.
“Be careful what you accuse me of.”
There it was.
The real Aaron.
Not the gentle doctor.
Not the concerned husband.
The man beneath both.
I looked straight at him.
“Did I consent while fully awake to having that device implanted?”
Aaron said nothing.
“Answer me.”
Nothing.
“Did I?”
He finally leaned closer to the glass.
“You signed.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Behind him, footsteps echoed.
Aaron heard them too.
His eyes moved toward the corridor.
Security.
Two officers appeared around the corner.
“Dr. Mitchell!”
Aaron immediately raised both hands.
“I’m unarmed.”
“Step away from the door.”
“I’m a physician. My pregnant wife is experiencing a psychiatric episode.”
My stomach dropped.
Of course.
He had prepared this explanation long before today.
The officer repeated himself.
“Step away from the door.”
Aaron backed up.
“My wife has displayed increasing paranoia throughout her pregnancy. I have documentation.”
Dr. Reed muttered something under her breath.
Then she opened the door only after one officer positioned himself between us and Aaron.
“I’m Dr. Natalie Reed,” she said. “Mrs. Mitchell is under my care. She has requested that her husband not have access to her.”
Aaron looked offended.
“She’s my wife.”
“She’s my patient.”
“She’s unstable.”
“She has an unexplained surgically implanted foreign object in her abdomen.”
The corridor went silent.
Aaron’s face changed.
Dr. Reed continued.
“Her blood also contains substances she says she did not knowingly take.”
One officer looked at Aaron.
“Sir, put the case down.”
“It contains medical supplies.”
“Put it down.”
Aaron slowly lowered it.
The second officer opened the case.
His expression hardened.
“What are these?”
“Prescription medications.”
“Prescribed to whom?”
“My wife.”
Dr. Reed stepped forward.
“By whom?”
Aaron looked at her.
“Me.”
“You’re her husband.”
“I’m also licensed to practice medicine.”
“And are those prescriptions documented in her medical record?”
Aaron didn’t answer.
The officer closed the case.
“Sir, turn around.”
“Officer, you’re making a serious mistake.”
“Turn around.”
Aaron stared at me.
For one second, something desperate passed across his face.
Then he said something that made everyone freeze.
“If you remove that device, the baby may not survive.”
My hands flew to my stomach.
“What?”
Dr. Reed turned sharply.
“Explain.”
Aaron looked directly at her.
“You heard me.”
“What is the device?”
“I’m not discussing confidential medical information in a hallway.”
Dr. Reed took one step toward him.
“You implanted an undocumented device in a patient who says she did not consent. You are going to tell me exactly what it is.”
“It monitors physiological changes.”
“What changes?”
No answer.
“Does it administer anything?”
Aaron’s silence lasted one second too long.
Dr. Reed’s face hardened.
“Does it release medication?”
I stopped breathing.
“Aaron?”
He looked at me.
“It regulates certain conditions.”
“What conditions?”
“Anna—”
“What is it putting into my body?”
His eyes dropped toward my stomach.
That was the answer.
I backed away from him.
“Oh my God.”
“Anna, please.”
“You’ve been dosing me from inside my own body?”
“No.”
“Then tell me what it does!”
“It was never supposed to hurt you.”
“WHAT DOES IT DO?”
My scream echoed down the corridor.
My son kicked so violently that pain shot across my abdomen.
I doubled over.
Dr. Reed caught me.
“Anna?”
Another cramp.
Deep.
Tight.
Different.
Dr. Reed immediately checked the clock.
“Tell me exactly what you’re feeling.”
“Pressure.”
“Where?”
“Lower.”
Aaron moved forward.
One officer stopped him.
“I need to examine her.”
“No.”
“I’m her obstetrician!”
Dr. Reed snapped toward him.
“You are not touching her.”
Another tightening seized my stomach.
Dr. Reed guided me back inside.
“Get fetal monitoring.”
The nurse ran.
Aaron began arguing with the officers.
His voice grew louder.
“You don’t understand what you’re dealing with!”
Dr. Reed shut the door.
The monitor was attached quickly.
My son’s heartbeat filled the room.
Fast.
Beautiful.
Terrifying.
I cried when I heard it.
“Is he okay?”
“For now.”
“For now?”
“Your uterus is contracting.”
“No.”
“It may settle down. We’re monitoring.”
The nurse entered carrying a phone.
“Doctor.”
“Not now.”
“It’s the laboratory.”
Dr. Reed took it.
She listened.
Her eyes narrowed.
“You’re certain?”
Another pause.
“How much?”
She turned toward me.
My fear returned immediately.
“What?”
Dr. Reed hung up.
“They identified the second substance.”
“What is it?”
She hesitated.
“It’s a hormone-related compound.”
“Why would Aaron give me that?”
“We don’t know that he did.”
“Dr. Reed.”
She took my hand.
“At certain concentrations, substances in this class can influence uterine activity.”
I stared at her.
“You mean contractions?”
“Potentially.”
The room disappeared around me.
I heard Aaron’s words again.
If you remove that device, the baby may not survive.
“He can control it.”
Dr. Reed frowned.
“What?”
“The device.”
I looked toward the security monitor.
Aaron was being searched.
His phone.
Wallet.
Keys.
A small electronic object.
One officer removed it from Aaron’s pocket.
“A remote.”
Dr. Reed turned toward the screen.
“What?”
“That’s why he came inside.”
The nurse enlarged the security image.
The officer was holding a small rectangular device.
It had one button.
Dr. Reed’s face went pale.
“Call the officers.”
The nurse picked up the phone.
“Tell them not to touch that button.”
But before she finished speaking, Aaron lunged.
Everything happened at once.
One officer grabbed him.
The other dropped the object.
It struck the floor.
I heard a tiny electronic beep.
Then pain tore across my abdomen.
I screamed.
The fetal monitor changed.
“Anna!”
Dr. Reed lowered the bed.
Another contraction hit.
Then another.
Too close together.
The nurse shouted numbers.
My son’s heartbeat accelerated.
Dr. Reed’s hands moved rapidly across my stomach.
“Get obstetrics down here now.”
The room filled with people.
Someone started an IV.
Someone placed oxygen beneath my nose.
Someone asked my name.
Someone asked how many weeks pregnant I was.
But I could only stare at the security monitor.
Aaron was pinned against the wall.
And he was shouting.
“Turn it off!”
Dr. Reed looked toward the screen.
“What?”
Aaron screamed louder.
“TURN THE DEVICE OFF!”
An officer shouted through the door.
“He says there’s an emergency shutoff.”
“Where?”
Aaron’s face was pressed against the wall.
“My phone!”
The officer held it up.
“It’s locked.”
“Give it to me!”
“No.”
Dr. Reed stepped into the doorway.
“Tell us how.”
Aaron looked at her.
“Give me my phone.”
“No.”
“Then you’re risking both of them.”
“Password.”
He hesitated.
Dr. Reed shouted.
“PASSWORD!”
“0714.”
The officer unlocked the phone.
Several medical-looking applications appeared.
One had no name.
Only a small blue circle.
“Open the blue icon,” Aaron said.
The officer tapped it.
A screen appeared.
Seven numbered entries.
SUBJECT 1.
SUBJECT 2.
SUBJECT 3.
SUBJECT 4.
SUBJECT 5.
SUBJECT 6.
SUBJECT 7.
My blood went cold.
“Open seven.”
The officer did.
My name appeared.
ANNA MITCHELL.
STATUS: ACTIVE.
Below it were several readings.
And two controls.
DELIVERY.
TERMINATE.
Dr. Reed stared at the screen.
“What does terminate mean?”
Aaron didn’t answer.
“What does it mean?”
“Disable.”
“Disable what?”
“The device.”
Dr. Reed pointed toward the phone.
“Do it.”
Aaron shook his head.
“Not like this.”
“Why?”
“It requires a sequence.”
“What sequence?”
“I need the phone.”
“You’re not getting it.”
Another contraction hit.
I cried out.
My son’s heartbeat dipped.
Dr. Reed looked at the monitor.
“Now, Aaron!”
He closed his eyes.
“Tap terminate.”
The officer did.
A warning appeared.
CONFIRM DEVICE DEACTIVATION?
YES.
NO.
“Press yes.”
The officer pressed it.
Nothing happened.
Then a second screen appeared.
AUTHORIZATION REQUIRED.
Dr. Reed stared at Aaron.
“What authorization?”
“My fingerprint.”
The officer took Aaron’s hand.
Aaron resisted.
“Sir.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Give me your hand.”
“If you deactivate it now, you’ll lose everything.”
I looked at him through the doorway.
“Everything?”
He looked at me.
And suddenly I understood.
He wasn’t talking about me.
Or the baby.
He was talking about his experiment.
“You care more about that device than your son.”
His face twisted.
“That’s not true.”
“Then turn it off.”
“Anna—”
“TURN IT OFF!”
The officer forced Aaron’s finger against the phone.
A tone sounded.
DEVICE DEACTIVATED.
The pain didn’t disappear immediately.
But after several minutes, the contractions began spacing farther apart.
My son’s heartbeat stabilized.
Dr. Reed stayed beside me.
“That’s it.”
I cried quietly.
“He’s okay?”
“He’s recovering.”
I closed my eyes.
For the first time since entering the clinic, I felt something stronger than fear.
Rage.
When I opened my eyes, Aaron was being handcuffed.
He looked at me.
“Anna, please understand.”
“No.”
“I was trying to protect our family.”
“You were experimenting on us.”
His expression collapsed.
“It wasn’t supposed to become this.”
“What was it supposed to become?”
Aaron didn’t answer.
One officer led him away.
Then I remembered.
The phone.
“Wait.”
Everyone looked at me.
“There were seven subjects.”
Dr. Reed turned toward the officer holding Aaron’s phone.
“Can we see the others?”
The officer shook his head.
“We’ll need to preserve it as evidence.”
“Just tell me one thing,” I said.
He hesitated.
“What?”
“Are the other six still active?”
The officer looked at the screen.
Then his face changed.
“What is it?”
He slowly turned the phone around.
Subjects one through five displayed:
INACTIVE.
Subject six displayed:
ACTIVE.
Subject seven:
DEACTIVATED.
“There’s another woman.”
Dr. Reed nodded.
“Possibly.”
“Pregnant?”
“We don’t know.”
I remembered the containers in our garage.
The names.
The dates.
“Find her.”
The officer immediately called another investigator.
I lay back against the pillow.
My entire body felt empty.
Then my phone rang.
Mom.
I answered.
“Mom?”
Her voice was shaking.
“Your father woke up.”
I covered my mouth.
“Is he okay?”
“They think he was sedated, but he’s awake.”
I started crying.
“Can I talk to him?”
“He keeps asking for you.”
A weak voice came through the phone.
“Anna?”
“Dad.”
“Sweetheart.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No.”
His voice cracked.
“You have nothing to apologize for.”
I closed my eyes.
“Dad, what happened?”
Silence.
“Dad?”
“I went to your house.”
“I know.”
“I confronted Aaron.”
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“He told me you were sick.”
“He lied.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Because I saw you.”
I opened my eyes.
“What?”
“Not you exactly.”
He coughed.
“I saw a video.”
The room became silent around me.
“What video?”
“On a monitor in the garage.”
My skin prickled.
“What was on it?”
“You.”
“When?”
“Sleeping.”
My stomach turned.
“What do you mean?”
“There were recordings of your bedroom.”
Dr. Reed looked toward me.
My father continued.
“Dates. Times. Medical notes.”
I could barely speak.
“What else?”
“There were other women.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“Videos of other women.”
“How many?”
“I don’t know.”
“Dad, did you recognize anyone?”
He became quiet.
Too quiet.
“Dad?”
“One.”
My fingers went numb.
“Who?”
“I didn’t know her personally.”
“Then how did you recognize her?”
“Because her picture was on the news years ago.”
Dr. Reed stepped closer.
“What news?”
My father breathed slowly.
“She disappeared.”
Every hair on my arms rose.
“When?”
“About three years ago.”
Three years.
Aaron and I had been married for four.
“What was her name?”
My father tried to remember.
“Rebecca.”
“Rebecca what?”
“I’m trying.”
Then he whispered it.
“Rebecca Lawson.”
The nurse immediately searched the name.
Seconds later, she turned her screen toward Dr. Reed.
A news article appeared.
MISSING PREGNANT WOMAN.
Rebecca Lawson, 29.
Last seen leaving a prenatal appointment.
My stomach twisted.
“Who was her doctor?”
The nurse scrolled.
Then stopped.
“Oh God.”
“What?”
She looked at me.
“Her obstetrician was Aaron.”
The room fell silent.
My father was still speaking.
“There’s something else, Anna.”
“What?”
“The video I saw wasn’t from three years ago.”
My heartbeat slowed.
“What do you mean?”
“It had a timestamp.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
I stared at the phone.
“That’s impossible.”
Rebecca Lawson had been missing for three years.
“Dad, are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Dr. Reed took the phone.
“Mr. Mitchell, where exactly did you see this monitor?”
“In the garage. Behind the refrigerator there was a hidden panel.”
“Did the video show where Rebecca was?”
“No.”
“Anything recognizable?”
He paused.
“A wall.”
“What kind of wall?”
“Concrete.”
“Anything else?”
“A metal door.”
“Windows?”
“No.”
Then my father said something that made Dr. Reed slowly sit down.
“There was a clock behind her.”
“What time?”
“That wasn’t what was strange.”
“What was?”
“The clock was running.”
My mouth went dry.
It wasn’t an old recording.
Rebecca Lawson was alive.
Somewhere.
Dr. Reed immediately contacted the officers.
The search of our house expanded.
Detectives arrived.
The garage was sealed.
Aaron’s computers were seized.
Sylvia was detained outside the clinic.
And for the next two hours, I remained under observation while investigators began pulling apart the life I thought I knew.
Then an officer entered my room.
“Mrs. Mitchell?”
“Yes?”
“We found something beneath your house.”
I sat upright.
“What?”
“A concealed staircase.”
My hands started shaking.
“Where does it go?”
“We don’t know yet.”
He paused.
“The door at the bottom requires electronic access.”
Dr. Reed looked toward me.
“Can Aaron open it?”
“We’re working on that.”
Then the officer placed an evidence photograph on the table.
It showed the hidden door.
Steel.
Heavy.
Industrial.
And beside the electronic keypad was a small plaque.
Seven circles had been engraved into it.
Six were black.
The seventh was white.
My stomach turned.
“Seven subjects.”
The officer nodded.
“We think so.”
An hour later, they opened the door.
I wasn’t there.
I only learned what happened from the officer who returned afterward.
The staircase descended beneath our basement.
At the bottom was a corridor.
Three rooms.
Medical equipment.
A locked cabinet filled with files.
And a monitoring station displaying live physiological data.
One signal was still active.
SUBJECT 6.
“Rebecca?”
I whispered.
“We believe so.”
“Was she there?”
The officer hesitated.
“No.”
My hope collapsed.
“But we found something that may tell us where she is.”
He handed Dr. Reed a photograph.
It showed a wall covered with maps.
Six locations had been circled.
Five were crossed out.
One remained.
An abandoned private maternity facility approximately forty miles away.
At the bottom of the map, Aaron had written:
PHASE TWO.
TRANSFER BEFORE DELIVERY.
I looked down at my stomach.
“Transfer what?”
Nobody answered.
Then another officer entered.
He looked shaken.
“Doctor, we need you.”
Dr. Reed stood.
“What happened?”
“We opened the files.”
“What did you find?”
The officer looked at me.
“I think Mrs. Mitchell should hear this too.”
He placed a photograph on the table.
Seven folders.
Each numbered.
He opened the photograph of Subject 7.
My folder.
Inside was an ultrasound picture.
My son.
I recognized it immediately.
But beneath it was another ultrasound.
Another pregnancy.
Different date.
Three years earlier.
Rebecca Lawson.
The officer pointed toward handwritten notes connecting the two images.
Dr. Reed read them.
Her face went completely still.
“What does it say?”
I asked.
She didn’t answer.
“Dr. Reed.”
She looked at me.
“Anna, according to these notes, Aaron wasn’t primarily studying the mothers.”
My heart pounded.
“Then what was he studying?”
She turned the page toward me.
A single phrase had been written across the bottom.
FETAL RESPONSE — SECOND GENERATION.
I stared at it.
“Second generation?”
The officer removed another photograph.
This one showed a document with two names connected by a line.
REBECCA LAWSON.
ANNA MITCHELL.
Beneath them:
SUBJECT 6.
SUBJECT 7.
And beneath that was my unborn son’s name.
A name I had never told anyone except Aaron.
SAMUEL.
My breathing stopped.
But beside Samuel’s name was another name.
A child.
Male.
Age: 3.
I looked at Dr. Reed.
“What is that?”
She didn’t answer.
“WHO IS THAT CHILD?”
The officer quietly placed the final photograph on the table.
It showed a little boy standing beside Aaron.
About three years old.
Dark hair.
Brown eyes.
Aaron’s eyes.
On the back, someone had written:
SUBJECT 6A.
And underneath:
FIRST SUCCESSFUL BIRTH.
I stared at the child.
Then at Aaron’s face beside him.
And suddenly the investigation was no longer about something my husband had implanted inside my body.
It was about what he had already done before he ever met me.
The officer’s radio crackled.
Everyone turned.
A voice came through.
“Unit Twelve to command. We’ve entered the maternity facility.”
Static.
Then:
“We found Subject Six.”
My hand flew to my mouth.
Rebecca.
“Is she alive?”
The officer pressed his radio.
“Confirm status.”
Several seconds passed.
Then the answer came.
“Alive.”
I began crying.
But the voice wasn’t finished.
“There’s a child here too.”
The photograph of the three-year-old boy sat between us.
Dr. Reed stared at it.
“Is it the boy?”
The officer asked.
Static.
“No.”
My heart stopped.
“What do you mean, no?”
The radio crackled again.
“The child here is an infant.”
Nobody moved.
Then the officer at the maternity facility spoke five words that changed everything again.
“Subject Six delivered last night.”
Dr. Reed gripped the edge of the table.
I stared at my stomach.
My son moved beneath my hands.
And then the radio came alive one final time.
“Command, we have another problem.”
“What problem?”
“We found records for an eighth subject.”
I looked at Dr. Reed.
“There were only seven.”
The officer listened.
Then slowly lowered his radio.
“What?”
I whispered.
He looked directly at me.
“Subject Eight doesn’t have a woman’s name.”
My throat tightened.
“Then whose name does it have?”
He turned the radio toward us as the investigator at the facility read the file aloud.
“Samuel Mitchell.”
My unborn son.
And beneath his name were three words.
PROCEDURE AFTER BIRTH.
One Comment on “PART 3: I decided to visit a different gynecologist. My husband had always used the word “protection” whenever he removed something from my life. Then Dr. Reed switched off the ultrasound monitor and asked me to sign an emergency imaging consent form after quietly telling me, “There is something inside your body that should not be there.” Meanwhile, my husband kept calling from outside.”