Page 135 of Eight of Swords, Part Two

The chains are iron.

They’re heavy, noisy and hideous.

No matter how hard he pulls, yanks or even bites at the metal, it doesn’t budge. The twin wall hooks have a different use, a much worse one he cannot yet imagine at thirteen years old.

It’s unbearable.

Now, when anyone comes into the doorless room, Riley could throw himself at them and all it’ll do is dislocate his shoulders. If his clothes and towels aren’t by the door, they won’t get washed.

No books.

No freedom.

No light that isn’t electricity.

Céliane didn’t come back for him.

He’s lost the blurry dreams of the boy he thinks might be his brother.

At a certain point, Riley gives up.

He stops eating. He stops drinking. He stops sleeping in his bed. He curls up in the bathtub and loses time, waiting to die.

But even that, Troy won’t allow.

✴

They talk about him.

He hears it even three floors up.

They say, ‘Kid’s crazy. Lost it. Harker should put him down.’

‘Fucking psycho,’ they whisper.

Riley supposes they’re right.

Non-verbal, violent, chained up.

What would anyone think?

Twice a week, Troy comes inside with five others and if Riley doesn’t kneel with his hands raised, they’ll tase him into submission. He kneels roughly half of the time, is shocked until kitten-weak the rest. Either way, once he’s where Troy wants him, they drag him into the bathroom and loop the chains closest to his wrists over each of the hooks on the wall. Once Riley is restrained, Troy does the worst thing imaginable.

He keeps him alive.

Every single time, he offers Riley a way out.

‘Spaghetti and meatballs,’ he’ll say, or some variation of the disgusting food Riley hated even when he used to willingly eat it. ‘Nice and hot, sharp cheddar too.’

It’s not a lie.

It’s always right there on a tray.

If Riley is feeling especially low, he might spit in Troy’s face.

Troy will punch him if he does that, and occasionally, Riley won’t have to be conscious while the feeding tube is forced down his throat and cold, nourishing sludge laced with sedatives is pumped into his stomach. He’s left dangling while the food settles and the drugs kick in, and then he wakes up on his bed hours later, too late to throw it up.

A year passes in this way.