Page 138 of Eight of Swords, Part Two

‘Listen to me,’ Troy says, pulling Riley close for the first time in his life. ‘I know you hate me. I know that, but I’m not gonna leave. I’m here with you and we’ll get through this together. You have to calm down or you’re gonna have a heart attack.’

Riley is losing himself to paroxysms of merciless violence that rip his nerves apart like strands of hair breaking beneath the force of a pull.

‘P-please.’

‘Tell me what you need.’

‘Kill… m-me.’

‘No. No, I won’t do that,’ Troy whispers in a weird way, like he’s sad, like he cares, like he’s crying. ‘I promised I’d keep you safe.’

The pain is becoming sharper, focusing.

Riley screams so loud his throat ruptures. He tastes blood.

Troy holds him the entire time.

‘It’s gonna pass. You’ll see, and when it does, everything’s gonna be better, Riley. I promise. I’m so sorry. I’m so… fucking sorry, kid.’

Riley isn’t sure if he’s imagining it. Probably is. One last bubble of fictional niceness before his body gives out. Telling stories to get through.

But then…

Oh God.

He feels a searing, wet split of something in his lower middle.

His lungs deepen to take a breath that could fill the skies.

Riley knows that something inside him has just torn, sliced apart by the white-hot pain of whatever this is. His eyes roll back and he waits to die.

Death would be mercy. Death would be love.

But in this life, it seems Riley is entitled to neither.

He stays locked in his body, feeling it all.

After a while, a new, more bearable agony settles in, and the absence of that other pain leaves Riley euphoric, sweet relief flooding his system.

When he looks down at the water, it’s turning red.

Troy follows his gaze. ‘Riley…’

A fresh burst of that former agony kills any words he might have said in response to his name and this time, it’s combined with pressure coming from inside, like something needs to get out, like something—

Riley makes a ragged sound of astonished horror as something membranous emerges from his body between his legs, bobbing to the red surface. Globs of stringy, pale tissue and pink foam.

Riley goes cold all over, instantly dizzy.

He hears himself say, ‘Dad,’ and then he’s gone.

✴

He wakes in bed, no chains, only covers.

The back of his hand hurts because there’s something in it.

A clear tube taped to his skin is feeding fluid into him, drop by drop.