I wrapped up in the towel, went back into my room, and grabbed the phone from the bedside table. I searched for the number that I had stored under the contact LAST HOPE. I hit send.
"Cora Shaw," came the familiar voice of the man who attended the phone. "We have been expecting your call."
"Yes," I said. My voice shook slightly, and I swallowed hard. "I am ready to give my answer."
"That is good to hear, Ms. Shaw. What shall I tell Mr. Thorne?"
I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.
"Ms. Shaw?"
I heard my voice answer as if from very far away. "I want to go through the procedure. Next Friday, after my finals."
"A car can pick you up at six. Will that be acceptable, Ms. Shaw?"
"Very," I said. "Thank you."
"No, thank you, Ms. Shaw."
The line went dead.
I'd done it. I was committed.
I put my hand to my chest, so I could feel the frantic rhythm of my heart, which circulated my poisoned blood with every beat. In eight days, it would be purified, rid of the mutant cells that threatened to overwhelm my body even as they failed in its defense.
Or else I would die.
Either way, I would see Mr. Thorne again. And I would know which of my fears were imagined and which were very, very real.