Cold metal grates pressed into my cheek, as I lay on my side, the muscles in my stomach clenching with the shivers that wracked my body. They’d placed me in the same small box in the middle of the room, where Eli’d been caged, only I was fully clothed and no one had touched me that way. Not yet, anyway. I’d been given a daily dose of something that made me sleep, mostly. At least, I thought I was sleeping. Every day, maybe every few hours, I couldn’t tell, Gideon and Fox would hold me down and shove a needle into my arm. At first, I fought them, but after a while, I welcomed the sleep, because I didn’t think of Eli when I blacked out.

Sometimes, I’d see things and hear things that weren’t there. Like my father’s voice calling out to me, telling me I was safe.

Other times, I’d hear foreign voices, ones I didn’t recognize, talking about me. Sometimes, they asked me questions. Couldn’t remember if I’d answered. Maybe I did on occasion, because it seemed like they’d ask me more questions. So many questions, my head ached from all the noise. The beeping. The low hum of chatter.

There were too many voices right then, crowded around me, talking as if they didn’t see me in the cage. I slammed my hand against the bars to make noise, to break their conversations, but they didn’t hear me.

Just kept talking.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Whatever they’d given me had taken away my voice. My tongue? Did they cut out my tongue like Eli’s?

Their conversation was clear, and my mind conjured the image of a glass of water, filled halfway. I was floating inside the glass, pressed to the edge, listening to their words, amplified in my ears as though I’d been submerged underwater.

“His urine tested positive for barbiturates, which effectively placed him into a medical coma.” The disembodied voice pounded inside my ears.

A noise finally leaked from my lips, a loud and horrible sound, with a razor edge of pain, and someone reached inside the cage, gripping my shoulders.

“Jamie! Jamie, calm down!”

My eyes flipped open to a familiar face. A warm face. A face I’d prayed too many times to see.

No, it had to be a dream.

It had to be what they’d given me.

A trick, just like the other tricks they’d played on me. Telling me things that filled my brain, to the point I couldn’t remember their names, or how I’d gotten to that house. I couldn’t remember the night with the wood chipper because their lies seemed more like the truth, the more I listened.

But I remembered. Right then, I remembered everything, and all the memories crashed into me at once, stealing my voice.

I scooted back away from that face, couldn’t trust that it was real, and something tugged at my arm. A needle, like the one they’d put in me. Only the one in my arm right then was connected to a tube, and I glanced around to find I’d been placed on a bed. A white bed, with white sheets, and the smell of cleaning products and disinfectants in my nose.

A hospital?

Had they taken me to a hospital? Had I died in that house?

“Jamie? Take it easy, son.” The voice dragged me back to the face, my father’s face.

“Are …” My voice pushed through the tight throb in my throat, a dry, itchy lump. “You real?”

Tears formed in his eyes, as he set his hand on mine and gave a nod. “Yeah, son. I’m real.”

I lurched toward him, wrapping my arms around his neck, limited by the tubes and wires hanging off of me. My whole body shook with a sob, as I held on to him, not wanting to let go, for fear I’d wake up. I’d wake up and still be trapped inside that cage in the dark room.

“What happened to you, Jamie?” he whispered in my ear, still holding me.

I shook my head and more tears broke.

It was a dream. No, not a dream, a nightmare.

A loud squeal, like feedback in a speaker, slammed through my ears, and I clamped my eyes shut, shuttering the noise with my palms. Clutching my head, I curled into a ball, my teeth grinding out the spasms of pain hammering against my skull.

“What’s happening to him?” The panic in my father’s voice rippled down my spine, stoking the fear that branched through my veins.

“It’s the effects of the drugs he was given,” the voice from before answered.

“He seemed fine yesterday, when the investigator was here,” my father argued.

“It’s going to take some time for him to come to grips with what happened. Once he stabilized, I put in a psych consult, and according to his chart, Doctor Gregory from neuro has also visited him once. He seems to be suffering nightmares and delirium.”

Fox’s voice inside my head rose above the noise, and I could smell the menthol cigarettes on his breath, mingling with the disinfectant odors burning my nose. “You’re all right. Son, we found ya in some black meth junkie’s house. You got beat up pretty bad. Looks like he tortured ya a little. You’re gonna have some hallucinations for a bit. Your buddy didn’t make it. That junkie killed him. Didn’t leave a trace of ‘im.”

The story was all wrong, though.

“No. It was Fox and Gideon,” I murmured, as the memories spilled over the lies. “They …. They killed Eli.”

“Jamie?” With a frown plastered to his face, my dad tipped his head and glanced back toward the man standing behind him in the white lab coat, who I guessed to be a doctor. “Who are Fox and Gideon?”

“They … took us. They’re the ones who kept us. They tortured us and killed Eli.”

“Jamie, you told the investigator it was a meth junkie. Some black guy living out of an abandoned house. They made the arrest this morning.”

I shook my head. “Th-th-that’s wrong. It wasn’t a black guy. It was Fox and Gideon. And another guy.” With the heel of my hand, I thumped my temple. “I didn’t know who he was, some guy in a suit. They kept Eli in a cage.”

“Yes, that’s what you said. But you told the police that one guy acted alone.”

“Police?” A nauseating confusion settled over me, as my eyes shifted to the doctor and back. “I …. I never talked to the police.”

Fox’s voice filtered in again, clearer than before. “See, I got friends in high places, boy. Police. Lawyers. Hell, even a few doctors. All friends of mine. You tell them exactly what I told you. Not a word more. And nobody else has to get hurt.”

“Jameson, do you know where you are?” the doctor asked.

“Hospital,” I answered weakly.

“That’s right. And do you know how long you’ve been here?”

I shook my head, trying to estimate the time it must’ve taken to wake up from whatever Fox and Gideon had given me. “Few hours?”

The doctor’s eyebrows lowered, and he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his lab coat. “You’ve been here nearly two weeks.”

“What? H-h-how did I get here?”

“Some kids found you unconscious, in a field near the Packard Plant. They recognized you from the news reports. You appeared to have been heavily drugged, and there seemed to be signs of torture, as well.” The doctor lifted a large green folder from the bed table at my feet and flipped through it. “According to the EMT’s who picked you up and brought you here, you were hypotensive and required mechanical ventilation, so we’re guessing you weren’t there long.”

Rubbing my knuckles against my temple, I tried to make sense of what he’d said. “Two … weeks? I … don’t remember.”

“Two out of the three times the police have come to interview you, you’ve told them the same story,” the doctor kept on. “Nearly word for word.”

A creeping numbness snaked beneath my skin, seizing my breath. “They … Fox and Gideon … they brainwashed me. They told me to say that.” Panic wrapped around my lungs, squeezing my chest. My focus switched back to my father, who sat rubbing his chin, his refusal to look at me like a punch to the gut. “Fox and Gideon killed Eli!”

“Son … the police … they found Eli’s blood and hair all over that house. Only one guy was there. The junkie you described.”

“The police are in on it! Fox and Gideon have connections. To police. Lawyers. Doctors.” My gaze lifted toward the doctor standing across from us, my thoughts stirring suspicion. “You’re in on it, aren’t you? That’s why you don’t believe me?”

Arms crossed in front of him, he tipped his head. “In on what, Jameson?”

“Covering up Eli’s death!”

“Calm down, Jamie.” My father sat forward, setting his hand on my arm. “You get worked up, and they’re going to have to restrain you again.”

“I’m not crazy, Dad. I know what I saw. It was real. It was real!” I yanked at the line sticking out of my arm. “I’ll show you! I’ll take you there!”

A force against my arms slammed me back against the mattress, and I peered up at my father. Betrayal whirled a vortex of nausea in my stomach. “What are you doing?”

“Nurse!” the doctor called, pinning my legs.

I wriggled and flailed to get free. My body seized under the weight of them, and for a brief moment, it wasn’t my father and the doctor, but Fox and Gideon staring back at me, holding me down. They shoved a needle into my arm, and a warm fuzzy sensation settled over me, like Christmas Eve by the fireplace. Felt so good. So … warm.

I let it pull me into the darkness.

* * *

I blinked my eyes open to a dimly lit room and the incessant beep in my ear. For a moment, I didn’t know where I was, until I glanced around and found my dad slumped over in the chair beside me, his mouth gaped open, catching flies. The sight of him made me chuckle, and the slight sound must’ve woken him, because he jerked forward, like he’d had one of those cliff jumping dreams.

He blinked and rubbed his hand down his face. “Hey, Champ.” He sat forward in his chair and massaged his eyeballs. “How you feeling?”

“Better. How long was I sleeping?”

“Two days? I guess? You kind of freaked me out the other day. Talkin’ kinda …” He smiled, patting the bed, and shook his head. “Doc says it’s the drugs, and some post-traumatic mumbo jumbo I didn’t really understand.” He sighed, his thumb rubbing against my hand. “Your Uncle Hank went through a bit of that himself. It can be scary, but I’m here for you. I want you to know that, son.”

“Dad? There’s something I have to tell you.” The sting at the rims of my eyes threatened tears, and my breath stuttered with a deep inhale. “I don’t know … if I can say it.”

Brows knit, he sat forward in the chair. “Hey, you can tell me anything, Jamie.”

Could I? Did love extend so infinitely that he could listen to me confess that I’d disposed of my best friend’s body without judging me? Without thinking that he’d done something wrong in raising me? Blaming himself for yet another misfortune in our family. Could he bear to look at me with pride ever again?

“Something …. Please, just … don’t hate me.”

“Ain’t nothin’ you could do to make me hate you, Jamie. Nothin’.”

I sniffed and wiped the irritating mist of tears coating my eyes. “You have to believe me. Every word.”

“What is it?”

“Promise me. You’ll believe every word I tell you. If you don’t, no one else will.”

He took a moment to contemplate it, and set his hand atop of mine, giving a squeeze. “I … I promise.”

“I wasn’t lying about Fox and Gideon. They’re real. They tortured Eli, and … some guy in a suit … he was there one night.” Clearing my throat failed to dissolve the croak in my voice, where the tears touched my words. “And he … did really bad things. Horrible things. He was someone Eli recognized. So they cut out Eli’s tongue, and Gideon shot him.”

“I want to believe you, Jamie. I do.” Eyes shuttered, he huffed, and opened them again. “But they got the guy who did it. He confessed to it.”

“He was forced to confess. They forced him, because the guy in that suit? He was a lawyer, or something. Maybe the one Jo works for, I don’t know. Eli knew him. I heard him talking about Fox’s brother and defending him. There’s a house on the corner of …. I think it was Medbury Street. There’s a yellow machine in the back. A wood chipper. They … after they shot Eli.”

The panic pounded through my veins, my heart echoing its pace with rapid thumps in my chest. That was the moment he’d see me in a different light. I’d no longer be his son, but an accomplice, as Fox had referred to me, to murderers. A traitor to my best friend. He’d never look at me the same.

A tear slipped free, and more followed in an unbroken stream, until I sobbed. Every breath I inhaled splintered with my cries. “They forced me. They forced me to do it. I didn’t want to, but Fox said he’d let me go. He’d let me come home.”

I glanced to the side, where my dad’s eyes glistened in the harsh fluorescent lights. I’d seen him cry only twice in my life—when my grandpa died, and when my mom left. A tear rolled down his weathered cheek like rain on an old cracked window pane.

“What happened Jamie?”

“They made me throw him into the wood chipper.” The punishing blow of those words was more than I could keep inside, and I finally let them break me, drawing my knees up to settle what felt like a hole in my gut.

My dad shot to his feet, wrapping his arms around me, the warmth of him settling my mind, and for a moment, I just wanted to stay there, in the silence. “Oh, God, Jamie. Oh … fuck!”

“And they filmed it. They filmed me doing it. Fox told me if I said anything to the police, he’d send them the tape.”

“No.” Gripping my shoulders, my dad looked me in the eyes, and the anger swirling in them wasn’t for me, I could see that much. “Don’t say anything to the police. Nothing about Fox, or Gideon.” He glanced up toward the door and back to me, lowering his voice. “You keep this between me and you. Just stick to the story you told them.”

“But, Dad, the man they arrested … he didn’t do it. They’re going to put him in prison, and he didn’t do it.”

“I’ll figure something out.” He gave a squeeze to my shoulders, lips pressed in a line of determination. “But you don’t say anything more about this. Understand? I’ll take care of everything.”

Relief washed over me. I’d purged my darkest secret to the only person I could trust with it. “Yeah. I understand.”

“Just hang in there. I promise everything will be all right.”

* * *

I lay on my side, tucked into a ball, staring through the window to where the tree outside had gone from a vibrant orange-red to a lifeless brown. Its leaves hung like a man dangling over a cliff, holding on with his last bit of strength, before falling one-by-one out of view.

The clear tube of whatever the hospital staff had given me cut through the scene, and I followed the path of the line to my hand, where the needle sat lodged, pumping the kind of drugs into my body that made everything feel like a dream. I twisted on the bed to find the curtain separating me from my roommate, who lay quiet. Only the flicker of his TV could be seen over top of the curtain hanging from the corner of the room, and I narrowed my eyes on the image of the burning house and the news reporter’s head bobbing beside it as she talked.

“A man trapped inside his burning home on the east side was discovered by police early yesterday morning. Investigators say David Cross, a forty-two-year-old ironworker, was home last Thursday—Devil’s Night, as it’s known throughout the city—when it appears his house was set on fire by arsonists. Gang members are suspected, and witnesses say, a group of four individuals dressed in black were seen lurking around the man’s home earlier that evening.”

A dream. That was all it was. A bad dream. I turned back over in my bed and stared out through the window once again. Another leaf wriggled in the wind, holding on.

And then it let go.