Dark Matter

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

1

The first thing Jack heard was the drip-drip of water. The first thing he felt was metal biting into his wrist.

Handcuffs?

He felt groggy, like maybe he was dreaming, stuck in those magic moments right before his eyelids fluttered open and he woke up. He tried hard to hang on. Sometimes, he could do it…fall back into the story in his head.

Jack didn’t like to wake up. Waking up meant being cold and hungry.

He felt cold, but not hungry. That was different.

“Jack?”

The voice sounded far away. Jack looked around the room, squinting in the dim light. He shivered. Someone there? Standing over him?

He tugged at his hand and heard metal rattling. Handcuffs—the real kind. A rush of adrenaline hit.

Not a dream.

He felt sick. He was going to throw up. Shit! What had he gotten himself into?

He hadn’t done a lot of drugs. Sure, there was always the occasional john who wanted to get him a little loose, giving him a few drinks. Men didn’t like to think they could hurt a kid. Jack always assured them he was seventeen, but could pass for a lot younger. He’d never tell them his real age, fourteen.

He yanked the hand strung up by the handcuff, trying not to freak out.

“You’re awake.”

The voice sounded familiar. Jack blinked up at the blurry image hovering over him and tried to focus. He remembered going to dinner last night, some fancy Italian place where he’d eaten his fill. But he’d only drunk a soda. So why did he feel so weird?

“You know what they used to call it in the old days? You’ll get a kick out of this. They called it a Mickey Finn. I slipped you a Mickey, Jack.”

Jack reached up to rub his eyes, only to have his hand stop dead, his wrist tethered to something solid and heavy. He realized he was propped up against some piece of furniture, a desk maybe.

The guy, the john from last night, leaned closer. His breath smelled minty fresh with Altoids.

“These days, they call it a roofie. You know what that is, don’t you, Jack?”

The guy said roofie like he was having fun with it. His lips wrapped around the word, giving it a slight whistle. Through the haze in his head, Jack remembered that smile. Last night, he’d thought it was nice.

They were in some kind of basement. There was a musty, earthy smell and a naked lightbulb hung in the middle of the room, giving off a bleary glow. The guy was close enough that Jack could see his even, white teeth.

A roofie was a well-known date-rape drug. Basically, it knocked you out. Eventually, when you woke up, you never knew what hit you.

“How do you feel?” the man asked.

“Like an ice pick is having a go at my head,” Jack answered.

“An ice pike? Yikes.”