The Lucky Ones(83)

“Antonio?” she said gently. “Tony?”

He was a normal-looking young man in his late twenties. A little pale from a life spent mostly indoors and a shaggy haircut that wasn’t very flattering, but otherwise he looked like anyone she’d see out in the world. He slowly blinked his dark eyes as if trying to force himself to focus. His gaze wandered the room, darting here and there, into shadows and corners, before it finally settled onto her.

“Hi, Tony,” Allison said again.

He grinned at her, which she hadn’t at all been expecting.

“You’re hot,” he said.

She blinked a few times at that. Well, Michael had warned her.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Or maybe you’re not,” he said. “I don’t see many girls in here. Bar’s pretty low. I’m desperate.”

“I would be, too,” she said. That got a smile out of him. “My name is Allison. I used to live with Dr. Capello and his kids. Like you did. I heard you were in the hospital. I thought I’d stop by and see you.”

“Been here a long time,” he said. His voice was as normal as his appearance. It seemed so unnecessary for him to be chained up and sedated, but it was clear there was something in his system keeping his mind and body in low gear, and he had the same sort of cloth shackles on his wrists as on his ankles.

“Yeah, I heard you’ve been here fifteen years. I would have come sooner if I’d known.”

“Liar,” he said.

She couldn’t argue. “Yeah, maybe I am.”

“Why are you here? You can fuck me if you want.”

“That’s not why I’m here.”

“Shit.”

Allison laughed.

“You came to stare at the wreck?” he said.

“No, that’s not why.”

“They say that,” Antonio said. “They say people can’t help but stare at train wrecks. But that’s not true. If people wanted to stare at train wrecks, they’d come stare at me. Nobody comes to stare at me.”

“You’re not a train wreck,” Allison said. “You seem like a nice person to me.”

“You don’t know anything about me.” He twisted on the bed as if trying to get a better look at her. “You’re not here to stare at me?” he asked.

“I want to talk to you. They say you don’t get many visitors.”

“No visitors.”

“Do you hate it here?”

He turned his head a little as if trying to find a more comfortable position on his pillow.

“They’re nice to me,” he said.

“That wasn’t my question,” she said.

“Hotel California,” he said. “Except you can’t check out or leave.”

“You like music?” she asked.

“The cleaning lady plays music when she comes in here, Seventies on Seven. Lots of Eagles. Who needs IV sedation when you have Easy Listening blaring in your ear?”

Allison laughed. “I’ll try to smuggle some Beyoncé in for you.”

“Please,” he said. “Anything.”

“Are you always in restraints?” she asked.

“There’s a room,” he said. “An exercise room. I get to walk in it.”

“Do you ever get to go outside?”

“They take me out in the chair.”

He nodded toward the corner of the room where a wheelchair was folded up near the wall.

“How’s the food?” she asked.

“Okay,” he said. “I bite my tongue so much I have trouble tasting food.”

At her quizzical look, he clarified, “I have seizures. They have to put stuff in my mouth to keep me from biting it off.”

“Stuff?”

“A bite guard. I’m special. Mikey says that’s old school Cuckoo’s Nest shit.”

“Is he your friend here?”

“We talk about girls. We’ll talk about you.”

“Go for it,” she said. “I’m sorry you have to be in here.”

“Not your fault. Shit.”

“What?”

“I’m falling asleep,” he said. “I don’t want to. Keep talking to me.”

“I’ll talk to you all you want,” she said.

“Were you really in that house?” he asked. “With the doc?”

“Yes,” she said. “A couple years after you were.”

“What did he do to you?” Antonio asked.

“Nothing.”

“Not nothing,” Antonio said. “If you were in that house, he did something to you.”

Antonio yawned again and Allison was terrified he’d fall asleep before she had any answers.

“Antonio? Can you tell me why you’re here? You were injured, right? From a surgery?”

“I was...” Antonio yawned hugely.

“What?” she asked.

“Butchered.”

The word inspired a visceral reaction in Allison. She felt it more than heard it.

“Butchered,” she repeated. “Dr. Capello? He butchered you?”

“Tried to fix me,” Antonio said, yawning again. She yawned, too, couldn’t help herself. “Like a cat.”