Critique submission story concept (Patreon)

I belong to a critique group that I like to submit tidbits to to see the reaction I get. I thought it might be fun to share some of those submissions here. Most of these will be the first few pages of a story or chapters. They're all rough drafts (misspellings and bad punctuation), sometimes I put in place holders for names of people or places (***). I can't promise if or when any of these submissions would be published. I just have to see how it goes. This is for Patreon eyes only. Please don't share. 

Enjoy. 

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Milo Channing is trying to get his life back together after years of poor choices. After being release to a group home he’s offered a job with a clinic specializing in reversing neurological damage to the human body.

Edward Swanson has been a paraplegic for nine years. He’d given up on life and decided to die. Then a small private lab comes forward with the opportunity to try an experimental treatment to correct the damage done to his spinal cord, he takes it despite the possible dangers. 

As Edward begins to show signs of recovering, both men grow closer.

But as the cocktail of prions and stem cells restructure and rebuild Edward’s neurological system, more than just their friendship begins to evolve. 

This is a rough draft (very rough). Mostly just trying to see how it flows, if it’s interesting, etc. Don’t worry about commas because it’s rough and I’ll go back through with that. Any kind of discrepancies etc. please mark.

If I submit anything of a sexual nature I will alert you with page breaks and markers. 

When you come across *** in any of my stuff those are placeholders where I have not yet decided on a name for something. 

One of the things I am curious to see is how Eddie’s “voice” using the computer comes through. This will not go on the entire story, but it will be there for a while. I am trying to create a stilted beat to his communication. Please let me know if it works. 

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“His name is Edward Swanson.” Dr. Palite held out a clipboard. “Other than his basic needs this is the list of general duties you’ll be responsible for on a daily basis.”

Responsible.

Something Milo was not. Everyone said so. His parents. The police. Judges. 

Before failure meant another few months in juvie. Then he turned eighteen and things went downhill fast.

Three strikes you’re out, according to state law. Three felonies and you spend the rest of your days rotting behind bars. 

Which is where Milo should have been. Would have been if it wasn’t for good behavior and the charity of the *** Foundation. A not-for-profit who petitioned courts to give felons convicted of non-violent offences one more chance. 

And by some luck of the draw, they’d picked him.

Now his entire future hinged on that impossible word.

Responsible.

Dr. Palite walked and Milo followed. They exited main floor and entered a hallway. A few rooms, some with doors open, some closed and obviously added long after the massive house had been built. But they’d done a nice enough job the modern materials didn’t clash with the hardwood walls, floor, or ceiling. 

“Did the group home explain the living arrangements?”

“The director said I’d be staying here.” Milo pushed his bangs back, but they returned to the unruly curtain hanging over his eyes. 

“Yes, third floor.” The hall emptied into a lavish sunroom where chairs gathered around a low set table with a tiny rock fountain center piece.

Rain drops shattered on impact against the glass ceiling forming waterfalls to run down the equally transparent walls. Roses, lilies, orchids and hanging baskets overflowing with lacy leaves, added a plethora of colors only to be out done by the massive garden outside. 

Color so bright even the gloom from an overcast sky couldn’t snuff it out.

“You’ll have access to the entire first floor, the sunroom, garden, kitchen, TV room, and swimming pool in the green house when it’s not being used. If you like to read we have a library. If you’d rather play video games there’s an eighty inch screen in the game room with just about every console system you can imagine.”

And here Milo had just hoped for a job where he could prove himself worthy of not spending the rest of his life in a concrete box. 

Dr. Palite laughed. “You look surprised.”

“I thought this was a hospital.” Although he’d never heard of a hospital having only one patient. But then he’d never heard of one occupying a massive old manor on the north side of the city park.

“This is a clinic, a lab, and a hospital. We specialize in unique cases that require the complete attention of our entire team. The work we do here could one day make it possible to treat and cure people with brain injuries, spinal injuries, and even birth defects or disease.”

Milo touched the side of his head where the metal plate covered the hole in his skull courtesy of his stepdad. 

“If you’re interested in more details, I can get you the overview packet we give to the interns so they can make themselves familiar with the program.”

Milo tucked his hand back against this chest. “That’s okay, you don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I wouldn’t be able to understand it. I have a GED, but…” He shrugged.

“You took the CNA test and passed.” She said it like a defense.

“I’m pretty sure you don’t need more than a GED to pass it.” Even with a perfect score. “And we learn most of it in training not from a book.”

“Oh.” Her smile faltered. “I had no idea.”

Milo doubted someone like her could imagine not going through eight years of medical school. Although, with a job like hers, titled with words Milo could barely pronounce let alone define, she’d probably gone twelve.

“They said you only required the CNA certification.” He tried to keep the fear out of his voice.

“We do. I mean, that’s all we asked for.” 

Did that mean she wished they’d asked for more? Someone who completed high school, maybe some college, or at least an employee who hadn’t ruined their life before the age of eighteen then set fire to the remains and watched it burn into his twenties. 

“Well, if you decide you’d like to know more, I have a few information videos we utilize to help the financial donors understand the program and our progress. They’re a little over the top with special effects but it gets them to write the checks.”

Milo nodded. “Thanks. If I have time I will.” He had no idea what the workload would be. It couldn’t have been light. Not if they wanted him to live here twenty-four-seven.

His thoughts must have shown on his face because she said, “Mr. Channing, this is to be as much as your home as it is your place of employment.”

And for a moment Milo allowed himself to believe her. “Thank you.”

“Let me show you your room then take you around the rest of the house.”

The game room and TV room were just as impressive as Dr. Palite described, but it was Milo’s bed room that had him speechless. After two years in an eight by ten cell with a toilet the room at the group home he shared with three other people had seemed lavish with its one dresser and individual cots.

Sure, there hadn’t been much room to maneuver and more than once Milo had skinned his knee on a bolt sticking from one of the bedframes, but it hadn’t been prison.

Now?

He almost didn’t want to believe the wide-open space with its deep golden hard wood floors, windows covering one wall, a view of the park and the tops of buildings in the distance, was even real for fear it was some sort of cruel joke. 

Thick quilts covered the king-sized bed. A sitting place near the windows offered a small book case and chairs so fat they could only be comfortable. Bright paintings of flowers done in rough brush strokes decorated the wall. A soft pine colored dresser, bedside table, and a flat screen TV finished the look. 

Dr. Palite led him to the door off to the right. “I apologize for the bathroom. We only had room to furnish it with a combination shower and tub, but it’s large and the tub has jets.

Jets.

No broken tiles, no stains around the drains, a toilet that lacked a constant trickling sound. Two sinks, a real counter, and the posh buffed silver showerhead promising enough water pressure to actually knock off dirt. 

But there was a critical missing detail. 

Milo worried his bottom lip under his teeth.

“What’s wrong?”

“There’s only one door.” 

Dr. Palite furrowed her brow and Milo instantly wished he hadn’t answered. He should have been grateful. Another one of his many faults. Ungrateful, disrespectful, selfish.

Dr. Palite said something and Milo looked up. “Huh? I mean, yes ma’am?”

“Why would you need more than one door?”

Milo shrugged. “I’m sorry. It’s okay. I can leave the door open so people can come through.”

Dr. Palite’s confused expression melted away into realization. “Mr. Channing, no one else will be using your bathroom. Each room is private. And when the interns do stay the night they don’t use the third floor, they’ll sleep in the in-law suite. You’re the only staff member who live here full time, so you’ll have the entire second floor to yourself. At least until Mr. Swanson recovers enough to utilize one of the other rooms.”

Which would mean the end of Milo’s job. 

He shouldn’t fear someone getting well but he did.

“When do you think he will?” Another ungrateful query but Milo had to know so he could be ready.

“It will depend on how he responds to treatment. Even if he exceeds expectations, it's likely to be a year or two before he’s ready to leave. But the *** Foundation has assured us there won’t be any problems relocating you even if it’s out of state.”

“Relocating me?”

She smiled and Milo almost looked away. Because no one ever regarded him with such kindness. 

“Yes. If that’s what Mr. Swanson wants.”

“I don’t understand.”

She turned. “Come with me.” 

He did. 

At the end of the hall and down a half-flight of steps, and another right, they entered a corridor with rooms on the right where equipment and monitors dominated the space. On the left side of the hall a glass wall offered an unobstructed view of a lower level.

In the center a single occupied bed surrounded by a conglomeration of hospital equipment and machines Milo had never seen. 

A trach-tube ran from the patient’s throat to a respirator, IV lines draped both arms, and a mass of lead wires cluttered his chest and scalp.

Two people moved around the room with e-tablets in their hands. 

“This is Mr. Swanson.”

“What’s wr—” Milo snapped his mouth shut. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t…” Ask questions he had no business asking. Sticking his nose in where it didn’t belong.

“Its okay.” She gave Milo that smile again. “Nine years ago Mr. Swanson suffered damage to his brain stem and multiple fractures in the C1, C2, and C3 vertebrae.” She folded her arms and propped a hip against the railing running along the lower half of the glass. “It resulted in the loss of autonomic functions such as breathing, swallowing and all muscular function below his jaw.”

“Oh.” 

“But those are exactly the type of injuries we look for. That combined with having no family, the ability to make decisions for himself, made him the perfect candidate.”

“But he’s paralyzed.”

“Yes he is.”

“How can he make decisions…” More questions. “I’m sorry.” 

“No need to apologize for being curious.”  She watched Mr. Swanson with a kind of hopeful expression that belonged on the face of a mother not a doctor. “Before it was all pad and pen. Lots of yes and no questions and blinking out the alphabet to give more in depth answers. Very slow and very tedious. But with his cooperation we were able to get him placed into the care of the *** Foundation and transferred here.

“And thanks to Mr. Yamato communication is much easier and he can make immediate decisions involving his care.”

“Is Mr. Yamato another doctor?”

She chuckled. “No Mr. Yamato is a communications system with specialized sensors that detect the muscular movements of his forehead and one side of his face. The order of movements and amount of tension are transmitted to a computer which translates the actions into words that are played aloud or sent to the tablets we use if he only wants to address one person.

“Mr. Swanson was the one who named it Mr. Yamato because of the voice. Currently he’s taught the computer over a thousand words and a few full sentence quick replies.” Sadness pulled at her mouth. “I can’t even imagine what it must have been like for an nineteen year old kid to be confined to a hospital bed for almost eight years without any real way to communicate even if someone bothered to try.” 

Eight years?

Eight years unable to move.

Eight years unable to be heard.

“In a way we were lucky. If anyone had bothered to pay attention sooner they would have had to act on his request.” 

Milo furrowed his brow. “What did he want?”

“His feeding tube removed.”

“Why?”

“To die.” She shook her head. “The *** Foundation was made aware of his petition and approached him with an alternative of possibility repairing the damage verses death.” 

Milo couldn’t understand how that was much of a choice. 

“Mr. Swanson has virtually been alone for eight years, Milo. No friends, no family, nothing but a hospital room and nurses coming and going. It’s hard enough for someone to face what he is when they have a support system. When they don’t?” She lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “More than janitorial duties, or doing the basic personal care he needs, you will read to him, talk to him, watch TV with him. Be his friend. Something he hasn’t had in a very long time. Because doing that could very well decide whether he survives or not. Which is why if Mr. Swanson wants you to travel with him if he’s moved you will. If you’re okay with it of course.”

“You want to hire me to be his friend?” 

“No, you’re being hired to help Mr. Swanson mentally and socially.”

“Isn’t that what a therapist is for?”

“He had one of those and kicked him out after a couple of weeks. Mr. Swanson doesn’t need someone to tell him how to deal with what he’s going through he just needs someone to treat him like a normal person. To remind him that there is a whole world waiting after this. Someone he can talk to and not have them psychoanalyze him.”

“I’m not sure I know how to do that.” Milo still didn’t completely understand what she was saying.

A lock of hair escaped the twisted braid at the top of her head and she tucked it behind her ear. “Your job coach at the group home said you connected to the patients you worked with. They asked about you, they liked you, and you were kind to them.” 

Why wouldn’t he be? The elderly people in the nursing home with their repetitive stories, personal questions, and games of checkers annoyed the rest of the staff, where Milo had enjoyed talking with them. 

He figured it was because he’d never had grandparents.

And the children’s hospital? They were kids fighting for their life. If making them laugh with silly fairy tales about the origami animals he made for them helped take their minds off their illness he’d been more than willing.

Dr. Palite patted him on the shoulder. “You ready to meet him?”

No. Yes. Maybe?

Milo nodded.

She pushed off the railing and he followed.

*****

Eddie tracked the interns with his gaze as they made their notes practically unaware of him. 

The first couple of years in the hospital being treated like an inanimate object had broken him. Later it enraged him. 

Now? 

Dr. Palite entered the room with her gray streaked hair high in a bun and her lab coat trailing behind her like some superhero cape. 

“Morning Mr. Swanson.” 

Yeah, and somedays there were people like her.

Eddie tensed the muscles in his upper cheek and blinked out the quick key reply. An electronic voice spoke the words in a stilted tone. 

MORNING DR. PALITE. 

YOU LOOK LOVELY TODAY. 

HAVE YOU DONE SOMETHING WITH YOUR HAIR.

OR IS THAT A NEW JACKET.

“Actually I have done something with my hair. I washed it just for you. And instead of the egg white coat I decided I’d dress up and wear the polar bear colored one instead.”

Yeah Dr. Palite  never treated Eddie like anything but a human being stuck in an impossible situation. 

He couldn’t say the same for Dr. Henly, but it wasn’t like he was around very often.

Eddie was so used to the coming and going of interns he almost missed the tall thin guy with a mop of brown hair trailing Dr. Palite like a kicked puppy looking for direction.

The blue shirt he wore had to be three sizes too big, and the jeans had seen better days. He stopped when Dr. Palite did and wrapped his long arms tighter around the clip board he held. 

YOU ARE ROBBING THE CRADLE .

A BIT. 

DID YOU. 

EVEN.

ASK HIS PARENTS.

FOR PERMISSION TO.

TAKE HIM OUT ON A DATE. 

A dark blush crawled up the guy’s neck.

DOES HE EVEN KNOW.

ABOUT THOSE TERRIBLE OPERAS.

YOU KILL ALL.

YOUR DATES WITH.

“Hush or I’ll make you watch the all the terrible operas I have saved on DVD.”

NO PLEASE.

ANYTHING BUT DEATH BY.

BOREDOM. 

HEY. 

NEW GUY. 

I WILL DISTRACT DOCTOR PALITE.

WITH MY SICK.

DANCE MOVES.

AND YOU CAN.

MAKE A RUN FOR IT. 

If he stared any harder at the floor it would catch fire.

“Behave.” She patted the new guy on the shoulder. “Please forgive Mr. Swanson’s lack of manners Mr. Channing.” 

GREETINGS.

IT IS A PLEASURE.

TO MAKE YOUR.

AQUAINTANCE MR.

CHANNING. 

Eddie caught Dr. Palite’s gaze. NOW WHAT WAS THAT.

ABOUT MANNERS.

“Milo.” The guy spoke so soft the hiss of the respirator almost drowned him out. “Just, Milo…please.” 

Eddie tensed the muscles around his eyes, mouth. Movements that had become so innate he hardly thought about it. 

MILO IT IS. 

I HOWEVER.

SHOULD BE ADDRESSED.

AS EDWARD THE.

GREAT. 

AND TERRIBLE. 

Milo lifted his eyes, large pale green and surrounded with heavy lashes, he would have made a Maybelline cover model jealous. 

EDDIE.

FOR SHORT.

“Eddie.” Milo said Eddie’s name like it had flavor.  

SO I GUESS.

THIS MEANS.

YOU ARE.

MY NEW.

MAN SERVANT. 

HOPE YOU ARE BETTER.

THAN THE LAST ONE. 

WOULD HATE TO.

HAVE TO. 

FEED YOU TO THE HELL. 

HOUNDS.

The flush in Milo’s cheeks vanished and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down the column of his neck.

YOU ARE SUPPOSED. 

TO LAUGH. 

MILO. 

THAT IS WHAT.

YOU ARE BEING.

PAID FOR.

RIGHT?

“If you want Mr. Channing to laugh you need to get better jokes.” Dr. Palite held Eddie’s hand. She was always like that. Willing to give contact. Another trait separating her from so many doctors and nurses before.

A shame Eddie couldn’t feel it. 

THERE IS NOTHING.

WRONG WITH MY.

JOKES. 

I AM.

HYSTERICAL.

“You’ll have to forgive his snark. And terrible, terrible attempts to be funny.”

I COULD TELL.

FART JOKES. 

I BET YOU. 

WOULD.

LAUGH THEN.

Dr. Palite exhaled a sigh. “Please don’t.”

MILO. 

TELL ME. 

ABOUT YOUR.

SELF.

“W-what do you want to know?”

THE NAME OF

YOUR CAT. 

GOLDFISH. 

IF YOU HAVE.

HOBBIES. 

AND DO THEY. 

INVOLVE  CUTTING. 

OFF BODY PARTS. 

AND STICKING THEM.

IN YOUR FRIDGE. 

Milo shook his head. “No.”

ACCORDING TO.

THE BOOKS.

IT IS ALWAYS.

THE QUIET ONES THAT.

CHOP YOU UP. 

I MEAN.

IT WORKS.

FOR ME. 

THEY NEVER SUSPECT.

THE PARALYZED GUY.

Milo opened his mouth like he wanted to say something then closed it.

This guy was no fun. 

I WILL LET YOU.

IN ON.

A SECRET.

IF YOU.

PROMISE.

NOT TO TELL ANYONE.

“Sure.”

I AM NOT REALLY.

THAT TERRIBLE. 

GREAT SURE. 

TERRIBLE NOT SO. 

MUCH. 

UNLESS YOU.

ASK ME.

TO SING. 

THEN I AM PRETTY.

TERRIBLE.

“No you’re an asshole who thinks he’s funny.” Neil came from around the back of one of the computer banks, a yellow pastry in one hand oozing cream and his hair sticking up in all directions in a way that could only come from lack of hygiene not rolling out of bed.

FUCK YOU. 

GO SOMEWHERE.

ELSE TO EAT.

YOUR PASTRY DICK.

“My what?” 

YOUR EJACULATING.

CUPCAKE. 

NEIL. 

THE SPOOGE.

MUFFIN.

IN YOUR HAND. 

DO NOT PRETEND.

YOU DO NOT KNOW.

WHAT I MEAN. 

I HEARD ABOUT.

CASSIDY.

WALKING IN.

ON YOU WATCHING.

PORN.

ON THE BIG SCREEN. 

IN THE REC.

ROOM.

AND.

ENJOYING HOMEMADE.

CREAM FILLING.

Neil screwed up his face and dropped the pastry into the waste basket near Eddie’s bed. “Thanks for ruining my lunch.”

ANY TIME.

“Like I said, you’re an asshole.”

AND YOU ARE.

WHAT YOU EAT. 

“Yeah, keep on chuckles. Let’s see how talkative you are when I erase your data base and you have to blink out all those letters again.”

THEN STOP

EATING.

AROUND MY.

LIFE SUPPORT.

SYSTEM.

“I was hungry.”

DOCTOR HENLY.

TOLD YOU LAST.

WEEK TO QUIT. 

EATING. 

WHEN YOU WORK. 

“No he didn’t.” Neil glanced at Dr. Palite. “Dr. Henly didn’t say anything.”

OH NO.

YOU ARE RIGHT. 

HE DID NOT. 

TELL YOU TO.

QUIT. 

EATING AROUND. 

THE MACHINES. 

HE TOLD YOU.

HE WOULD SKIN.

YOU ALIVE IF. 

YOU KNOCKED OVER.

ANOTHER SODA AND. 

SHORTED OUT A.

SECOND MILLION.

DOLLARS WORTH.

OF COMPUTERS AGAIN.

“They didn’t short out and I fixed it in five minutes.”

“He’s right, Neil you really do need to quit eating around the equipment.” Dr. Palite gave Neil a pointed look. 

“I had a short lunch today and didn’t have time to finish.” Neil wiped his hand on his shirt adding a smear of cream to what looked like chili.

“If an hour isn’t long enough for you to eat then maybe you should stay off the console games during your breaks.” 

For a minute Eddie thought he would argue. Instead, he turned and gathered up his tools throwing them his bag among wads of candy wrappers before storming out.

Eddie curled the left side of his mouth. Another point for his team.

“And you.” Dr. Palite shook a finger at Eddie. “You need to quit harassing him.”

SOMEONE NEEDS.

TO CALL HIM.

THE DICK HE.

IS.

AND I AM.

THE ONLY.

ONE WHO.

DOCTOR HENLY.

CAN NOT FIRE.

David Wesslin the second in the current intern pairing, snorted a laugh.

“I mean it Eddie. I know you don’t get a long but he’s an important part of this team.”

HE STARTED IT.

WHEN.

HE DID NOT DO.

HIS JOB.

AND.

WACKED OFF TO.

WORLD OF. 

WARCRAFT INSTEAD.

A couple of weeks after Eddie arrived Neil had been playing video games rather than updating the scheduling software. His negligence meant no one showed up to monitor Eddie. If it hadn’t been for the secondary alert system tied to everyone’s cell phone he would have suffocated when the respirator glitched. 

Neil said he didn’t hear the alarm. Eddie didn’t believe him. Florida could hear that alarm.

No, Neil had heard, he just didn’t care. After Mr. Yamato came into the scene Eddie had the ability report Neil’s bullshit. 

Not just to Dr. Palite and Henly but through email or text to Mr. Overnmen the billionaire heading the *** foundation. After the first fuck up Mr. Overmen had made it clear it didn’t matter how proprietary the computer systems and software were, or how many years it set them back, he would kick Neil out and make sure the only place he could work was the internet company doing IT.

So far, Eddie hadn’t played his wild card. And as long as Neil did his job Eddie would keep his mouth shut about just how much of a nightmare Neil could be when there were no witnesses.

“Dr. Palite?” Patty came around Eddie’s bed.

Only a couple of interns were permanent fixtures and they spent most of their time upstairs in the labs. The ones like Patty and David would remain corralled in with Eddie until they disappeared after a few weeks. 

“The simulation is finished.” Patty handed over her electronic pad. Dr. Palite slid her finger along the surface eyes tracking whatever she gleaned from all those numbers. She’d showed Eddie once, but it hadn’t made any sense even when she did take time to explain things to him.

And she always explained any new step in his treatment specially if it could kill him.

“Go ahead and bring me the Chromogene one and two.” Dr. Palite handed the e-pad back to Patty, and she left. 

DOES CROMOGENE.

TWO MEAN.

I WILL GLOW. 

NOW.

Dr. Palite clicked her tongue. “Sorry to disappoint but glowing isn’t a part of the plan.”

AW MAN. 

I WANT TO.

GLOW. 

THEN YOU CAN WHEEL.

ME OVER TO THE.

WINDOW AND.

I CAN SCARE. 

ANY.

TRICK OR TREATERS

“We don’t need you to scare away the trick-or-treaters. Leaving the porch light off does a fine job all its own.”

YEAH BUT IT WOULD.

NOT BE.

AS BADASS.

“Eddie. Even if I could make you glow I wouldn’t.”

I HAVE SEEN THOSE.

VIDEOS.

YOU MAKE RABBITS. 

AND KITTENS.

GLOW.

ALL THE TIME.

“And that has nothing to do with making it so you can walk again.” 

WHO CARES ABOUT.

WALKING.

WHEN YOU CAN BE.

SEEN.

FROM THE. 

SPACE STATION.

Dr. Palite rolled her eyes. 

MILO. 

BACK ME UP.

TELL DOCTOR.

PARTY POOPER.

HOW AWESOME IT. 

WOULD BE.

TO MAKE. 

ME GLOW.

Milo lifted his chin. Some of the tension left his expression. “I think she’s right. Glowing probably wouldn’t be a good idea.”

WHY NOT?

Milo shrugged. “You’d keep yourself up at night.”

Dr. Palite laughed.

She actually laughed. Eddie scrunched up his nose. 

WHAT THE HELL.

DOC. 

YOU WILL LAUGH AT.

HIS JOKES.

BUT. 

NOT MINE.

She smirked. “That’s because what he said was funny.”

I THINK I.

NEED TO.

REEVALUATE OUR.

RELATIONSHIP.

SEE OTHER PEOPLE.

I AM JUST.

NOT FEELING IT. 

ANYMORE WHEN I.

AM.

WITH YOU.

Patty reappeared with one of the metal cylinders.

Dr. Palite took it from her and set it on a roll away table. “This will be the last dose of the Chromogene one and the first dose of two.” 

SO THAT MEANS.

I WILL BE GOOD.

TO RUN.

THE DOWNTOWN. 

TEN. 

K.

NEXT WEEK.

“I wouldn’t count on next week. Next year however…” She winked. “Just remember when you cross the finish line I get all the credit.” Her expression sobered. “You ready?”

He was never ready for the few seconds his brain would relive the pain of the baseball bat striking him between the shoulders and the heavy boots coming down on his back. At least Michael’s screams remained in the past. 

“Eddie, it’s your call.”

His pipe dream. The impossible miracle he’d wanted to believe. One he still clung to even though he knew it would never happen.

In three months of being injected, poked, and prodded, the only change in Eddie’s life had been the ability to communicate thanks to a fancy computer. And that lost its novelty a week after he’d taught the computer a few hundred words. The only reason he kept going was to have something to do.

YES.

DO IT.

Dr. Palite removed the eyeglasses shaped sensor from Eddie’s face then nodded at David.

“Don’t forget Eddie, I’m right here. None of it’s real. You’re safe.”

There was no color to the liquid as it entered the tubing and traveled to Eddie’s vein. There was no warning when it hit his blood stream. No way he could prepare for that shock to his neurological system that seemed to set fire to whatever part of his mind controlled his dreams.

Or in this case his nightmares.

And that was the worst. The knowing but not knowing when. 

The waiting.  

The inability to take that last breath before being jerked under the surface of reality to drown.

There was just the room, the white, the gray of the ceiling, the bright lights, Dr. Palite.

Milo watched Eddie with understanding. Another boy who had monsters hiding under his bed waiting to snatch him into the darkness. 

To crack him open and bleed him out.