The Angel with Papery Wings [prequel]

ch.11 Holy beings

"Escort Mr. Styles to the seat, please," Sheperd announced coldly.  I jumped up from my bed. The seat? What's going on? 

Sheperd stared at me blankly as Connor and Parker unlocked my cell.

"Look, Shep, I'm sorry I was a pain in the ass during most of our sessions, but I was just mad, ya know?" I gave a half-assed apology.

Sheperd merely nodded.

"Harold, this is for your own good, alright?" he told me, pointing a pen at my chest.

I swallowed hard. The guards tugged toward the room I had seen on one of my first days here. The one with the wires and machines.

Connor and Parker half-shoved me down on the cold seat and clasped rusted handcuffs onto my wrists. I grumbled under my breath when Connor pressed too hard.

Dr. Sheperd placed an iron cap that had strange wires poking out of it. Two of the wires had tiny, sticky little circles and he stuck them to the sides of my forehead, like the tentacles of an octopus.

Parker adjusted the sizable monitor to my left. The sign on the far right said "Dangerous. High Voltage."

"Relax, Harry," Parker mumbled. "This is standard procedure."

I shifted around in my seat, trying to get comfortable; I knew I was going to be here for a while.

"Is this thing even legal?" I spoke up, nodding at the contraption.

Sheperd and the two stuffy guards erupted in a hoarse laughter that pissed me off. Who knows if they were even allowed to do this. Half the shit that happened in this building and this town, Westwood, in general was corrupt.

"You murdered your father and you want to know if a silly little machine is legal?" Sheperd raised a brow.

"Yes," I answered.

My stomach twisted when he declared the crime I had committed. It's not like I can hide it by not saying it allowed; it's just that Sam doesn't know. She knows I killed someone, but she doesn't know it was the man that helped give me life...and who beat me all through my life, up until I took revenge.

But who cares what Sam thinks? She broke up with me. She doesn't give a rat's ass about me.

Sheperd turned to the guards and laughed it up a bit more. Then he patted his chest and took a deep breath.

"Anyway, since our sessions don't seem to be doing you any good, I thought I'd take things a step further, get better results," he grinned, rubbing the side of the fancy machinery. I couldn't even read anything on it. It was all a load of jibberish. And I they say doctors are smart.

"What are you gonna do? Torture answers out of me?" I spat.

Sheperd bent down until we were eye level with one another.

"No. Of course not. What kind of a man do you think I am?" he asked, pretending to be all innocently surprised and shit.

"A weak one," I answered pretty boldly. I didn't mean to be rude, but everything with Sam was making me angry at everyone else.

Sheperd's grin disappeared. "You've got quite the nerve," he hissed through clenched teeth.

"Thank you," I smirked.

"For the love of God! Keep your mouth shut, Styles," Sheperd growled. He gripped my already handcuffed wrists. I merely glared at him. I've been through some tough shit. A couple wires won't do me no harm.

I just sat there, trying to keep my mouth shut for the time being.

"Good, boy," Sheperd nodded, patting my head like I was his personal golden retriever. "Now, I'm going to ask you a series of questions and I want you to answer them as honestly as possible. No BS, ok, Styles?" he told me.