Busted Flush

Pham flipped a coin. Christian added the deuce of hearts back to his deck. They repeated the process, and the ace of diamonds went back.

After shuffling and letting Tom cut, Christian dealt four cards to each player.

“Okay, gents. Ante up.”

Niobe gasped. They’re gambling, Zenobia. They’re gambling on you and Zane and Zoë.

A little salad of green bills accumulated in the center of the table. It grew as bets and raises and calls swirled around the table.

“Fifty bucks says the octopus croaks first.”

A pang of terror and anguish through the bond. Niobe stroked Zane’s head. His mantle turned ink black. “Shhh, shhh. Don’t listen to them. They don’t know what they’re talking about.”

Back at the game, Pham said, “I’ll take that action.” He dropped a few bills on the table. “Bet the octopus outlasts the chubby kid Justice brought in a few weeks ago.”

Drake  . . . ? A cold, sickly feeling took root in Niobe’s gut. Why would they say that?

Zen, that’s enough. C’mon back now.

I’ll get him! I’ll drift right into his body and—

No. Leave him alone. That goes for all three of you.

Zane ruffled his tentacles. His sisters nodded.

I need to think for a while.

He was asleep the next time they came for him, although the dreams kept him from sleeping very well. Drake didn’t really know if it was day or night. There was no clock in his room and he’d watched all the DVDs, some more than once.

Drake could barely feel his feet on the floor as they shuffled him down the hall in the direction of the interrogation room; Justice seemed to be lifting him more than guiding him. Once there, it was going to be more of the same stupid questions and he really couldn’t tell them anything.

Smitty and Dr. Pendergast were waiting for them inside the interrogation room. There was someone else, a woman who was about the same age as his teachers back at school. Her dark hair was pulled back and her eyes darted around the room like a fish in an aquarium. Drake flopped heavily into the empty chair and put his head onto the desktop. “Please let me leave. I can’t help you.” He closed his eyes, hoping it would all just go away.

“We’re going to try something different this time, Drake,” Smitty said, in his flat but somehow scary voice. “Something to help you remember. Your file from BAMC indicates a reaction to a particular type of sedative. Dr. Carlisle will be sitting next to you while you’re under. She has the ability to see into your mind somewhat and will share that with us.”

Dr. Carlisle pulled up a chair next to him. Pendergast moved around the table and stood by Drake’s other side, a hypodermic in one hand. He grabbed Drake firmly by the shoulder, and before the boy could struggle had the needle into him.

“You may feel a little uncomfortable for a moment,” the doctor said, “but . . .”

The rest of the sentence was a hopeless garble to Drake, like someone was speaking a foreign language to him from inside a well. The room tipped and rolled beneath him. The light over the table dimmed and went out, and it seemed he was falling slowly into a dark hole filled with cotton candy, but the hole didn’t have a bottom. He closed his eyes.

This wasn’t like the dreams. It felt like someone pushing open his mind and chipping bits of it loose.

He was sitting at the computer playing WoW . . . His brother Bob was behind him, yelling, saying it was his turn  . . . Drake hitting the floor, coming up punching wildly . . . one flailing fist catching Bob in the balls . . . Bob choking him and demanding that he give . . . Drake trying to get air any way he could, no air . . . Bob saying “What’s wrong with your eyes?” . . . Drake feeling like he was growing . . . A flash of light, blinding, blotting out Bob, and Sareena downstairs, and his mom and dad out by the stock pond . . . A feeling of collapsing, darkness . . .

Where was he?

Drake opened his eyes again, back in the interrogation room. His head was over a trash can and he was throwing up. Drake couldn’t believe how much was coming out of him. He hadn’t been eating much lately.

“That’s all right, Drake,” Pendergast said. “That’s what it’s there for.”

Smitty glanced up from the notebook he was writing in. Dr. Carlisle was whispering in his ear. She looked scared. “Get him out of here,” Smitty said. “We’re done for now.”

Drake tried to get to his feet, but his thick legs were wobbly beneath him. “What did you do to me? Does this go away?”

Dr. Pendergast handed him a glass of water. “You’ll feel better if you get some of this down.” Drake took this glass in an unsteady hand and balanced it against his lip, gulping down as much as he could. At least it took a little of the vomit taste from his mouth.

When he was finished, Justice tugged at him. “Time to get back to your room, Drake.”