Fade To Midnight Read Online Free PDF Page A

memory. Oh, God. And it hurt. The memory hurt. He tried to calm himself. Breathe.
    What the fuck? What was going on? He was shit scared. So intense, the sounds, the smells. He wanted to scream, writhe, cry. Hide.
    He grasped, instinctively, for the image of his little angel. His magical talisman. Her gentle gray eyes regarded him calmly. Wise and kind. He clung to her, until the panic calmed. The little angel never let him down. She had led him through his confusion, through the speechless darkness all those years ago. Back to relative normality and function. He was starting to hear now. He could breathe again. Ah.
    Voices. Audio cut in and out. He struggled to make it out.
    â€œâ€¦no signs of previous physical trauma in his brain that would account for the amnesia,” said a male voice. “What was his diagnosis at the time? Where was he treated? I’d like to talk to his physician.”
    There was a long pause. “He wasn’t,” said a low voice.
    A voice he knew. He tried to open his eyes. No luck. Paralyzed.
    Bruno . That was the guy’s name. Bruno. Bruno’s face, Bruno’s history, slid into place in his mind. It was an exquisite relief. Bruno Ranieri. His adopted brother. Tony’s great-nephew. Tony Ranieri. The diner. Rosa. OK. He had it. He knew who he was now. More or less.
    Kev. Kev Larsen, that was what he was called, when someone cared to call him. He clung to his name, such as it was, like a lifeline.
    â€œHe…but he was obviously in some terrible…” The man’s voice trailed off, almost frightened. “What in God’s name happened to him?”
    Another reluctant pause. “We don’t know.”
    â€œExcuse me?” The man’s voice was incredulous.
    â€œWe don’t know.” Bruno’s voice was defensive. “My uncle found him that way. He’d been tortured, we don’t know by who, or why. He doesn’t either. Like I said. He couldn’t talk. For years afterwards.”
    â€œAnd he doesn’t even know what—”
    â€œNo.” The guy cut him off, curtly. “He does not know diddly shit.”
    â€œSo his name…his identity, it’s only…?”
    â€œYeah. Made up. It’s only eighteen years old,” Bruno finished crisply. “His previous identity is unknown.”
    There was a pause. “Ah…that’s incredible. Were inquiries made? I mean, to the police, private investigators?”
    â€œAt the time, my uncle didn’t want to go looking for the guys that fucked him up,” Bruno retorted. “I mean, look at him.”
    â€œWell, yes, of course,” the other man muttered. “Terrible.”
    Kev opened his eyes. Light sliced in, an agonizing red-hot blade straight into his brain. Pain, white. Bright lights, beeping machines.
    Immobilized. In a rigor of burning agony. Fear built, as he hydroplaned through inner space, toward a memory that held a lethal charge. People touching him, making him flinch. Patting his cheek.
    â€œâ€¦hear me? Kev? Can you hear us?”
    â€œHey, Kev!” Bruno, again. “Wake up, man, it’s me! You awake?”
    Kev squinted up into the light. The babble of excited voices was hellishly loud, battering his head. The light hurt, it hurt …
    Pat, pat, pat , on his cheek. The gentle, persistent slap made his head reverberate with sickening pain. He opened his eyes.
    Young, good looking. Dark curly hair, close-set eyes, peering down at him. White lab coat. Smiling, pleased with himself. Pat, pat, pat.
    Mad eyes, lit with hellfire. Wet red mouth, crazy smile, muscling inside his brain. Shoving, wrenching him. He cowered away from that shit-eating troll. Better to hide in a hole, to wither and die there, than to crawl out and be mind-raped again—by…by—
    â€œOst…er…man.” He forced the syllables out. Osterman.
    Yes. Osterman would never hurt him again. Never.
    â€œWhat’s