Page 34 of Fortress
Jake had seen Toby’s face that blank once before: years ago, in that goddamn camp, when Toby had sat down before himin the interrogation room. Though even then, he’d been able to stare at his hands. Now...
“Toby, Toby, hey. Hey, I’m here.” Jake grabbed his hand, then recoiled at the cuff strapping Toby’s wrist to the side rail. “Fuck—what the fuck did they—” He stopped himself, trying to rein in climbing panic and fury. Hewasn’tgoing to lose it, especially now. He struggled to undo the strap but couldn’t release it.
Motherfucking sonofabitch . . .
He had to focus. Focus on what was important, which was comforting Toby. Even though he didn’t fucking know how. This, all of this, was exactly what Jake had sworn would never happen—and now, with every pretense of safety collapsed around them, Jake couldn’t get the fucking straps off Toby’s wrists.
At least he was in the same room now, and they were alone, even if Dr. Turner was sure as hell watching them from behind that goddamn glass. Jake pulled up a chair and sat as close as he could. Toby hadn’t moved his head at all since Jake had arrived. “Toby, I’m—I fucked up, and I can’t even start making that up to you, but look—we’re going to get out of here ASAP and drive real fucking far away, I promise you that, and whatever else you want or need, we’ll get it. I mean it.” Swallowing wasn’t usually this painful, not unless he was sick. Fucking hospitals. “Toby, can you hear me? Just, you don’t gotta talk to me, justlookor something,please.”
For a long minute, nothing. Then Toby blinked once. That could’ve meant nothing, but Toby’s gaze shifted, away from that god-awfulnothing, toward Jake.
Jake’s breath caught, and he squeezed Toby’s hand. Not much, but he’d take it. “Hey, Toby,” he said again, and hoped his voice didn’t sound as strangled to Toby as it did to him. “I’m—I’m here. Not going anywhere until we get you out, as quick as Ican, I swear.” Promises cheap and hollow as an empty bottle of beer flung into a barroom corner, but Jake had nothing else to offer.
Toby’s hand didn’t so much as twitch within Jake’s, and the blankness didn’t flicker. For all Jake knew, Toby hadn’t even recognized him. But Toby’s eyes stayed on him, which was something. Everything.
Then Toby spoke—or, more accurately, his lips moved, and Jake bent close to hear.
“They won’t let you.”
Jake jerked away and stared down at Toby’s face. Twelve hours ago, Toby had carried the quiet confidence he’d learned through the last several months. There wasn’t a shred of that now. All there was now was that hopelessness, that bleakest despair, from Freak Camp.
Then Toby swallowed and said, with a terrible quiet anguish, “They took my clothes.”
Oh, fuck. Jake rocked back in his chair, even as his hand on Toby’s tightened. He hadn’t at first realized the significance of Toby in that goddamn paper-thin hospital gown, but now he had to swallow hard to keep from being sick.
Finally, Jake took a shaky breath. “I’ll get them back for you.”
Nothing in Toby’s face changed. Why should it? Jake had done nothing to prevent this, so why should Toby have the smallest confidence that he could now make it right?
The door swung open. Jake jumped. Toby’s hand twitched in Jake’s, and his eyes squeezed shut.
The nurse stood stiffly in her heavy protective gear, face guarded behind the clear plastic visor. “I need to check his vitals.”
It wasn’t exactly asking permission, but she didn’t move any closer. Jake looked at Toby, but his eyes were closed, head rigidly turned away. Jake nodded stiffly to her, and sheapproached, laid two fingers of her gloved hand on the inside of Toby’s wrist, and lifted her other arm to see her watch. Toby kept his eyes squeezed shut; Jake wasn’t even sure if he was breathing, which probably wouldn’t be good for her measurements.
Then the door opened again, and Turner, also wearing protective equipment, looked into the room. “Is Tobias awake? The director wants to speak with him.”
All at once, Toby came alive. His whole body jerked, his grip crushing Jake’s fingers. “No,” he gasped, turning to Jake with wild eyes, snapping his wrists against the restraints. “No, he can’t—he won’t—Jake, run! Run, you have to run you have to go you have to—RUN!”
“Toby, it’s not—” Jake reached for him, trying to calm him down, but he almost got punched. Toby grabbed his arm as well as he could with the restraints and pulled him down, only to shove him away. He was almost sobbing, pulling so hard against the bonds that his back arched and the thick restraints dug into the skin around his wrists.
“He’s—stop, Toby,stop.” Jake looked up, about to ask the nurse to let him go, to help him, but she had backed up to the wall, staring at Toby in horror, one hand clutching a cross at her throat.
“Run,” Toby gasped, voice already a rasp, a restrained scream, eyes blown wide. “Go, window, door, run, I’ll—please, Jake, don’t stay, don’t watch, don’t let him, d-don’t.” He pulled at the straps one more time, muscles bunching beneath the thin gown. “Run.”
Jake stared at Toby, mouth dry, his own heart pounding double time. He had never seen Toby this panicked. In the early months, Toby had often been afraid or distraught to the point of tears over some hurdle—but this was different. This fear wasn’tabstract or unknown; it hadcertainty. Whatever Toby was afraid of now, he had faced before.
Toby, who didn’t flinch before snarling yetis or giant spiders or goddamntrolls, was terrified. That scared Jake more than anything had since his first surprise solo hunt at age eleven.
But he couldn’t quite figure how the thing driving Toby wild, half-crazed with fear now, begging Jake to save himself, was... Judith Cunningham? Had he missed something?
Turner moved swiftly to Toby’s side, one hand running a scanner over his body, the other taking hold of his arm (light, not rough, still not what Toby needed) as she spoke in a calm, firm voice. “Tobias, calm down, you’re just aggravating your injuries. We’re here to help. What’s wrong? Is something hurting you?”
“He doesn’t need you touching him,” Jake snapped, leaning across the bed to shove her hand off. “I’ll calm him down—”
The door burst open, and Cunningham strode through, eyes narrowed, two armed security personnel escorting her. “I thought you said he was borderline catatonic.”
“Hewascalm,” Turner said tersely. “I just told them you were coming.”
