“It’s unlocked, open it,” he said. Troy hesitated and then turned the knob. This was her fault. She should have trusted Emma. She should have let her keep them away from this house. The light rain must have stopped because sunlight was forcing its way through dark blue curtains.
This is a boy’s room. Must be Jake’s. No, the furnishings are too juvenile, or maybe it was decorated when he was younger and it hasn’t been updated.
A faint ammonia-like smell hung in the air, but it was quickly pushed to the far reaches of Troy’s brain as her eyes focused on the figure huddled on the floor next to the bed.
“Oh, my God,” Troy cried.
Dry blood had crusted the side of his face and his right eye had swollen shut. Emma tried to push her way past Troy. Troy was shaking her head. “No, Emma. I think he’s dead.” She stopped and turned to Jake. “There was a woman at the hospital. She was cut open like your parents. Was that one of yours, too?”
The look on Jake’s face was the same surly one she could remember placing on her own face when confronted.
Troy released Emma’s arm so that she could step over the blood puddle on the floor and bent to look into the man’s bruised face. “He’s breathing,” she said.
Jake laughed loudly. “They’re all breathing. Didn’t you notice?”
Troy looked at Jake, shocked. She’d thought she had imagined it, but maybe she hadn’t.
“Your parents? They’re still breathing even after…”
“Yeah, isn’t that fucking sick? You can’t even kill people anymore. I put a knife right through this cop’s chest over on Northwest Taylor, and he fucking went right on breathing.” His words had bravado to them that his eyes didn’t.
“Why are you doing all this? What did the cop do to you? What did that woman at the hospital do to you? Did you even know her?” Anger and desolation swept through Troy as she spoke. This boy was crazy. He had no problems hurting people, and she had led Emma right to him. She hadn’t protected her; she would be responsible for her death.
“What difference does it make? I told you,” Jake said blankly, “I didn’t kill them. You saw. No matter what I do, they keep breathing.”
“Jake…” Emma stopped speaking as Jake’s dead eyes turned on her.
“That’s not my fucking name. Stop fucking calling me that.”
“What’s your name, then?” Emma asked, her voice gentle and cajoling.
“Hoyt. Hoyt Pokorney.” Troy recognized the name, but struggled with placing it. A murderer. The kid was taking on the name of a murderer. The memory sharpened until a face, like Jake’s, but older and more sardonic, came to mind. Her fear doubled. Emma’s body rocked as she, too, placed the name.
“Your library card said your name was Jake Ostroph. That’s how we found you.” Troy’s voice dropped to a casual, conversational level.
“That’s their dead son’s name. He was hit by a car when he was three. He would have been the same age as me,” he said with disgust.
“You were adopted?” Troy asked.
“No.” Jake’s tone had taken on a defiant petulance that Troy recognized and latched on to. This she understood.
“Foster kid?”
“What’s it to you?”
Troy shrugged. “I just know how fucked up that is. I was a foster kid, too.” Troy wanted to add, but it wasn’t in a nice house like this, you spoiled demon spawn, but she kept her eyes turned toward Emma and leaned casually against the wall, as if she was just visiting a friend. She finally had his attention.
“How long?” His curiosity was grudging.
It was always like that with kids brought up in foster care. An immediate camaraderie that, in this case, made Troy feel like she had licked a public toilet seat.
“All my life,” she answered lightly, and he grunted as if she had confirmed what he already knew. He mimicked her pose against the other wall. Troy pictured herself diving for the gun, but Emma was squatting right in his line of sight. She didn’t dare risk it.
“How many houses?”
“Just one,” she said.
“Me, too. Just this one.”
“They made you change your name because of what your dad did, huh?”
“Fuckers made me think I wanted to change it. By the time I realized she’d tricked me, it was too late.” Jake’s voice dripped with self-loathing.
“That’s messed up.”
“They make you change your name?” the boy asked, looking hopeful.
Troy shook her head. “Didn’t have to. If I had a name before, I never knew it. I was left in a church when I was about six months old…by my mother probably, but I don’t even know that for sure.”
“That’s messed up, too.”
“Ain’t it, though?”
Emma’s shoulders looked tense as she pretended to focus all her attention on the injured man. “I think he’s waking up.”
“See? Told you I didn’t kill anyone.”
“Can I have some water for him, please? Maybe a little sewing kit?” Emma’s voice was soft and respectful, not confrontational or accusing.
Good, Emma. Good. Don’t make him mad. Troy looked at Jake and raised her eyebrow in what she hoped was a “What do you think?” gesture.
“I don’t have a sewing kit,” Jake said in a petulant voice.
“The water, then? And some towels?” Emma pressed.
Jake seemed to consider the request before turning to the door without speaking. He stopped and pointed the gun in Troy’s direction, causing her heart to leap violently.
“You need to get over there with them.” He waved the gun for emphasis.
Troy moved toward Emma and the man on the floor. The boy backed out into the hall and asked casually, “You want a beer or something?” He only looked at Troy when he asked.
Troy started to say no, but then changed her mind. “A beer would be great. Hey, you got any food? We haven’t eaten all day.”
He gave a small grunt and pulled the door shut, not taking his eyes from Troy as he did so. Troy heard the padlock click into place. She squatted down next to Emma.
“How is he?” she asked.
“He’s awake,” Emma said. Troy’s stomach roiled as she got a closer look at the deep gash.
“Can you talk?” Emma asked softly. He seemed to have trouble speaking, probably due to the swelling of his mouth.
“Yes.” The “s” in “yes” sounded as though he were sucking on his own blood.
“Who are you? What are you doing here?”
“Dr. Abe Dunham. I came…” His body jerked in an effort to contain a harsh phlegmy-sounding cough. “Oh God, that hurts,” he wheezed.
“Maybe we should turn him over,” Troy suggested.
“I thought about that, but the cuffs are too short. We’d need the key.” Troy noticed that Emma looked more concerned then she had before.
“He’s got some internal damage. He’s been worked over pretty good.”
“I can see that,” Troy said somberly. “He was fine last time I saw him.” She leaned closer. “Why in the hell were you chasing me?”
Emma looked from Troy to Abe and back again.
“I thought you killed Reba Stef…the woman back at the hospital.”
“Why in the hell would I do something like that?” Troy asked.
“It had to be you,” he labored on each word, “or the boy.” He looked at Emma. “I knew you didn’t leave your home. His parents never told me about his history. I didn’t even know he was a foster kid. When you just showed up while I was cleaning up the mess, it just seemed obvious.”
“Nice call, idiot. You could have killed me.”
“I thought you were a murderer. I was trying to stop you.”
A floorboard creaked, signaling Jake’s return.
“Keep him talking. Keep making him think you’re on his side. Use me as the scapegoat if you have to. If you see a chance to get that gun away from him, take it.” Abe’s voice was so low that Troy almost didn’
t hear him, but she could hear the desperation in his voice. “If we stay too long, it won’t matter anyway. We’ll be stuck here, permanently.”
Abe looked as if he wanted to say more, but the padlock was being removed from the door. Jake walked in carrying the gun in one hand and four sloppily made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in the other. He gave the sandwiches to Troy and walked back into the hall where he had left the towels. He gave those to Emma and finally returned with two frosty bottles of beer. The exchanges were made in silence. Troy took a bite of her sandwich and leaned against the wall.
Emma put the two sandwiches she was given aside and began wiping Abe Dunham’s face with a light gray towel. Troy looked away, wondering how the man had managed to stay alive. All right, focus on keeping you and Emma alive.
“So, I got to ask,” Troy said, careful to keep any accusation from her voice, “what’s with the padlock? You put that on because of him, or what?”
“Nah, the Ostrophs did it a few months after I moved in. They said it was because I sleepwalk and I might hurt myself.”
Troy took a sip of her beer and looked at the bottle. She lifted it toward him, as if offering a toast. “Not bad,” she said after she swallowed. He had taken a sip of his own beer when Troy asked, “Do you? Sleepwalk, I mean.”
“Nah,” he said. But Troy had a feeling he did. She had a feeling the padlock was more for their protection than his. She stifled a shudder; it would be hell having someone you were afraid of sleeping in your house every night.
“So, is that why you killed them?”
“That wasn’t my fault.” He pointed to Abe. “It was his.”
Abe was already shaking his head. “I had nothing to do with this.”
“You’re trying to tell me that woman I saw isn’t dead,” Troy said, looking at Abe.
“No. I think she’s dead,” Abe said before he dissolved in a fit of coughing. It sounded to Troy as if every word he spoke left the door open for more blood to flood into his windpipe. “I didn’t—cut her open.”
Jake seemed unconcerned by Abe’s unspoken accusation. “I didn’t think she would actually die. The others didn’t.”
Troy nodded, as if what Jake had said made perfect sense. Then she turned back to Abe. She closed her eyes for a split second and hoped she could continue to tolerate being close to something so evil. “The point is she wouldn’t have been there if you hadn’t done whatever it is you did to us. You’re responsible for her death. Just like Hoyt said. What about those people sleeping on the street? What did you do to them?”
Emma was pretending to treat a wound on Abe’s face but Troy could tell that she was listening to every word that was said. Troy raised the beer and hoped Jake didn’t notice how the bottle quivered before she took a swallow.
“The people out there aren’t dead. They aren’t anything. They don’t exist. His parents aren’t cut up. Look, all of this? It isn’t really happening. It’s taking place in your head. You were all given an experimental drug and a hypnotic suggestion.”
“Who gave you the right to do any of this…to play with our lives?” Emma demanded.
Emma’s voice was calm, but Troy could see the tension in her body. Don’t forget what we’re trying to do here, Em.
Jake’s body language was relaxed and unthreatened; he seemed fascinated by the exchange.
Good, Troy thought. Just keep that damn gun at your side.
“I gave you back your lives.”
“Gave us—? You arrogant bastard. You aren’t God.” The words dripped from Emma’s lips like venom. Troy stifled the urge to go to her. She might not get another chance like this.
Abe was attempting to sit up. Emma had scooted away from him and tossed the bloodied towel into a corner. Jake was sipping absently at his beer now, watching the exchange among the people in front of him like it was a soap opera.
“None of you had a life before I gave you this. You were…”
Emma opened her mouth to say something, but Troy spoke first.
“We were like them,” Troy said softly. “Something happened to us and we were asleep.”
“Then how did you get here?” Emma asked Abe.
“Coma can be induced.”
“But what happened to us?” Troy asked. But she could guess what happened to herself even though she had no memory of it.
“The boy shot himself in the head, probably with that gun or one very similar. His parents said it was an accident, but who knows.”
The boy’s expression didn’t change.
“You were hit over the head by a meth addict as you were leaving work one night,” Abe said to Emma. He held Troy in his gaze. “And your girlfriend drove you off a bridge. Your injuries healed, but something in your minds kept you from waking up. That’s how we picked you. All of you were in a coma but shouldn’t have been. I was the last hope for each of your families. It was either me or waste away in some care facility for the rest of your lives.”
“I don’t have any family. Who’s paying for all this?” Troy asked.
“You have a lot of friends. I believe the folks you work for took up a collection. Messengers around the world sent in money, I was told. They were able to raise quite a lot of funding. It wasn’t enough, of course. They had to rely on charity for the majority of your medical expenses. My charity.”
“You used us like lab rats.” Emma’s voice had lost all of its fire.
“I didn’t use you. You took part in a very successful experiment. You’re talking right now because of me.” A fit of coughing shook his body, and Emma placed her hand on his chest, but her face had turned a dull red. Troy only hoped Abe’s words were having the same effect on Jake. “You all should be thanking me.” Then Abe looked directly at Jake. “Especially you.”
“What are you talking about?” He sounded bored, but Troy knew he was paying attention.
“The Ostrophs returned you to the custody of the state so they wouldn’t have to keep you on life support.” He canted his head toward Troy. “At least she had friends that tried to pay for part of her treatment. But you…you, you were nothing but a charity case.” Once again the effort of speaking seemed to be too much for Abe and his body was racked by a fit of coughing. He leaned away from Emma and spit a large glob of frothy-looking blood.
“You’re lying!” Jake screamed.
Emma jump as Jake’s beer bottle crashed against the wall. “The Ostrophs wouldn’t have given me back.” His voice softened. “They were going to adopt me.” Bits of beer bottle and foam crawled down the wall and seeped into the baseboard.
Abe glanced at Troy. It was a brief look, but she picked up on it.
Here we go, Troy thought and took a slow deep inhale, careful not to draw Jake’s attention from Abe.
“That’s not what they told me. They said they were scared of you. They said the only way they could sleep in this house was to padlock you in.”
The boy’s thin body was ramrod straight now. He seemed to have forgotten about the gun.
Abe began to cough again.
Please keep talking. Troy felt nauseous from both fear and the overwhelming smell of beer and the bloody clot that Abe had spit onto the floor.
“They told me they were happy when you shot yourself. It was an easy way to get rid of you without their friends having to know they had brought a murderer’s son into the neighborhood.”
Troy saw the thin arm tense just before he raised the gun. He yelled something unintelligible, and Troy leaped on him just as the gun went off. She slammed the heel of her hand into the boy’s nose twice, and he slipped to the floor.
Troy caught sight of Emma kneeling over Abe’s leg. “Emma?”
“Right here. I’m okay, but he’s been shot. Are you all right?”
“Fine,” was all Troy could manage as she bent down and picked up the gun. She replaced the safety and dropped it into a side pocket of her pants. Her ears were ringing as if someone had set off a bottle rocket close to her head
/> “Damn it,” Abe said through gritted teeth. The unpleasant phlegm sound had returned to his voice.
“Hand me that towel over there,” Emma said.
Troy glanced at Jake one more time before reaching across his splayed form to retrieve the towel for Emma. Their eyes met briefly before Emma turned away and pressed the towel into the wound on Abe’s leg.
Troy folded her arms in front of her and tried to get her breathing under control. “He has the key to the cuffs in his back pocket,” Abe said.
Troy was loath to touch the boy again, but she checked his pulse. She found it strong, and flipped him over onto his stomach. She handed the key to Emma, and Emma removed the cuffs. Abe tried to look at his watch, but his eyes were swollen shut.
“Can you tell me what time it is?” he asked Emma.
Emma looked at Abe as if he were a bug under a microscope.
“What time is it?” he said louder. “I can’t see my watch. Tell me what time it says!”
“It’s ten past ten.”
“All right.” He took a deep breath and fresh blood oozed from the gash on his head. “All right. I want you two to leave me and the boy here.”
“What are you going to do?” Emma asked.
Abe smiled. “If I’m lucky, I’ll be dead before he wakes up.”
“Dead?”
“I’ve been bleeding for some time. I doubt I can survive all the damage this little sadistic fucker has done to me. If Reba’s any indication, if we die here, we really die. At least our mind thinks we do. You have about fifty minutes before my partner starts bringing you back.”
Emma looked at Troy in astonishment. “So you were telling the truth? This isn’t real?”
“It’s real. You created it. You created your own private hell. Mine, too, since I won’t be making it back.”
“But how did you do it?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. None of you made very good test subjects.”
“What do we have to do?” Troy interrupted.
“You need to go back to where you were when you woke up.”
“The hospital?” I don’t want…”
Never Wake Page 23