Page 134 of Eight of Swords, Part Two

One night, he bites his own wrist hard enough to break skin, and it heals too fast, but it leaves a scar in the shape of a spotty crescent moon.

Riley likes it because it reminds him of the boy he dreams of, although his dreams are becoming increasingly faint.

Locked up, locked away, left alone.

There’s no one. Only him.

Only Riley in all the world.

And the world is a room in a tower.

✴

‘This is your own fault,’ Troy tells him again, and Riley doesn’t know why he bothers, given that he thinks Riley is deaf and stopped asking him to speak a while ago. ‘No one else’s.’

The chains he’s holding make loud noises that irritate Riley, but he doesn’t show it. He never shows anything except the hatred he feels for being caged and kept from people who might love him.

Troy doesn’t love him.

Riley has always known that.

But it’s strange how the older man is almost talking himself into this, like he’s hoping any moment now Riley will say, wait, don’t, I’ll be good.

Riley cannot be good.

They both know that.

In the time he’s been confined to this room, Riley has bitten six people who came inside when he wasn’t tied up. The last person he bit lost a finger. It came loose in Riley’s mouth, landed heavily on the floor when he spat it out. Troy doesn’t look at him the way he did once when Riley was younger, and maybe there was no love in it, but there was something during those weeks he brought Riley those books.

Now he looks at Riley like he’s one of the men he shot in the head.

Like he is someone who soon will see no more.

Currently tied to the bed with rope, hands by his sides, Riley is forced to be still. Troy kneels down beside it and clamps the manacles around his wrists, pausing when he sees the bite scar, but makes no comment.

When both are securely on, he gives a testing tug.

Riley is motionless, blank, doll-like.

He is just waiting for Troy to let his guard down one of these days and then the wild thing inside him will leap out teeth first and rip him to shreds.

The chains are long. Troy takes them into the bathroom where, Riley assumes, other changes have been taking place. He hears a few heavy clanks and then two snaps of something locking into place. Pulling on them to test them, Troy comes into the bedroom once more.

‘All right,’ Troy says, taking out a knife. Riley doesn’t wince, although Troy has never used a knife on him before, so if he does, it’ll be something new. But it’s not for his skin, it’s for the ropes.

Troy backs away towards the entrance, though not fast enough because Riley is quick. His muscles are always primed for movement. He chases Troy, desperate to hurt him, rip into his skin, bite bite bite him to death, but the chains yank backwards and Riley’s own arms trap him.

Troy has six feet of space to look at him in a new way.

‘I’m sorry,’ he tells Riley.

Riley soon realises why.

✴

The chains don’t come off.

They’re connected to oval rings set into the wall, which sit beneath two large hooks anchored deep in the concrete. Riley has a fair amount of leeway. He can easily reach his own bed and has free rein in the bathroom, but he is undeniably shackled to the wall.