seven
Lion Boy sat on the edge of a chair inside Captain Jackson’s flat. He gazed around, half expecting to see iron bars materialise around him. Empty bottles and crumpled clothes were scattered everywhere, and it smelt of smoke.
It was a hundred times better than a cage.
The wordfreedomechoed over and over in his mind, almost losing its meaning. He had no idea what freedom really meant.
The captain placed the bundle Dobkins had given him inside a drawer with a lock. It had to be a payment. He didn’t care why he helped.
Captain Jackson put his palms on the table and hunched his shoulders as if he were exhausted. “Do you have a name?”
He shook his head.
“No? We should give you one.” He sat in front of him on a rattling chair and studied him. “May I examine you? I need to understand if you have injuries or diseases.”
He nodded.
“I’ll have to touch you.”
He stiffened but nodded. He was calm now, and the touch wouldn’t catch him by surprise.
The captain checked his eyes and pressed his fingers to the sides of his neck. Then he examined his back and abdomen and paid particular attention to his fingernails and teeth.
“For how long have you been taking drugs?”
He shrugged, having no idea how to answer. For as long as he remembered. Murdock was an expert in potions; he’d always given him potions to drink.
The captain handed him a piece of paper and a pencil. “Write it down.”
He shook his head. Shame burned the back of his throat. Perhaps his ignorance was more shameful than his dirty hair.
Captain Jackson’s eyebrows flew high. “You can’t write?”
Another no.
“Bloody hell.” The captain rubbed the back of his neck in frustration. “No name, no voice, and no way to communicate. How can I help you?”
He fiddled with his hands, aware he’d disappointed the captain.
“We must think about something. Listen, lad.” The captain dragged the chair closer, his black eyes becoming serious. “I want to be honest with you. Vivienne is as savvy as a fairy tale princess. She knows nothing about real life, while you know too much about it. She might be cheerful and optimistic about this, but the truth is bloody uglier than someone as sheltered as her realizes. You’re facing some damn rough weeks, and when I say rough, I mean it. Drug withdrawal is excruciatingly painful. You’ll wish at times you were dead.”
He frowned.
“I thought they gave you only cocaine and hashish, but I think they gave you morphia and other drugs as well. I reckon they gave you cocaine and hashish only occasionally. The morphia was the regular drug. I can tell because you have hyperhidrosis.”
He shrugged, not understanding the word.
“Excessive sweating. And you have marks left from scratches, and your eyes sometimes make rapid movements. Lad, you are a slave to powerful opiates.”
Not that the information shocked him. Whatever the thing Murdock had given him was, it’d worked. He didn’t feel pain or tired after he drank the potion to live.
Captain Jackson narrowed his eyes. “You aren’t scared.”
His life had been nothing but pain. He gave another shrug.
“I need you to understand what’s happening to you. Your body is going to crave the drugs in a matter of hours. I’ll give you some morphia but not as much as you’re used to. Then I’ll reduce the dose day by day until you are free of that poison. But it’s going to be painful. Very painful. I have to tell you, some people don’t survive the treatment. The shock of not having the combination of drugs in your blood might cause your heart to stop, on top of the physical pain you’re going to experience. Your skin will be so sensitive a light brush will be as painful as the lash of a whip.
“But you must go through this if you want a chance at a normal life. Before you can learn to write or do anything else, you must rid your body of the drugs. Do you understand?”
