Page 82 of Two for Joy

He slumped back, breathing heavily. Romeo closed his eyes, murmuring incoherently to himself. He could feel Zander watching him, studying him, and then he left to check on someone else.

Romeo repeated the performance again, and again. All day.

He complained of a headache, of bad vision, and in general, acted confused, but Zander didn’t do anything. He looked worried, made a note on his clipboard, then gave Romeo more painkillers, probably too many, but he wasn’t concerned about his patient accidently overdosing, he was more worried about making a mistake.

Zander helped him get to the bathroom, but he made sure he appeared unsteady on his feet, leaning heavily on Zander for his support.

In the morning, Romeo cracked an eye open, and it wasn’t just Zander watching, but the prison governor, stern-faced, military haircut, and Paul and Fred. He hoped—no, he prayed his performance had been enough.

“Where am I?”

The governor frowned, enough that his bushy black eyebrows met in the middle. He looked at Zander who hesitated, then approached the bed.

“You’re in the hospital wing.”

Romeo looked at the bed, the machine beeping beside him, Zander’s clothes.

“Hospital … why?”

“You were punched in the face.” Paul said. “You walked up to Justin’s cell on purpose.”

“On purpose?” the governor asked.

Paul nodded. “Yeah, I saw him do it, he wanted to be punched.”

The governor turned to Fred who shuffled on the spot. “Well?”

“I didn’t see, Paul was in front of me.”

Romeo carefully pressed his cheek. Still swollen, still tight, he hissed, tried to move his other hand to cup his face, but the cuff clunked, and he stared down at it.

“Why—why have you chained me to the bed?”

“Calm down.” Zander said, trying to keep him still.

He focused on the pain, the dreams about magpies, Chad being tortured, and his heart started to thump, the speed picked up until the machine beside him started beeping more urgently, flashing colors.

Paul and Fred both backed away, but the governor came closer, darting looks between the beeping machine and Romeo struggling against Zander. He tried to make it look authentic, muttered, frowned a lot, acted confused.

“You can’t seriously believe him?” Paul said.

The governor hummed. “He could be faking it.”

“Faking what? What the hell is going on?”

“I think we should take this seriously.” Zander said.

The governor bunched his lips together, then nodded. “Sedate him.”

“What?”

“You heard me, sedate him.”

“But if it’s a concussion—”

“Just do it.”

Zander released Romeo, then pressed the button by his head. More men in white suits appeared, and the thrashing and panicking were no longer fake. He didn’t want to be sedated. He didn’t want to fall asleep and see the killer breaking his magpie, but he had no choice.

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