Changeling by Steve Feasey Read Free Book Online

He couldn’t imagine how anybody could accrue enough money to live in this kind of luxury, and he thought back to his comment to Lucien when they had first got into the Lexus about it looking like a drug dealer’s car. Lucien had smiled at the remark and quipped about changing it. But if not drugs, what? The worry-worm returned, forcing its way through the soft tissues of his brain, churning up the fears and doubts that he had hitherto fought to suppress.
    Maybe Lucien was a gangster of some kind? Maybe he was involved in organized crime. Both he and Tom looked like the type: hard men that wouldn’t think twice about using violence to get what they wanted. Trey shook his head in disbelief. He’d allowed himself to run away with a man that he knew nothing about and he’d based that decision on what ? Some misguided trust in somebody because they had claimed to know his parents. The thought that he had tried to bury for so long now finally rose up and lodged itself firmly in his mind. Maybe Lucien was some kind of child killer? Maybe he’d built his wealth on selling teenage boys to people who did terrible things to them?
    Trey looked down at the remote he was holding. His hands were shaking so badly that he could hardly keep hold of the thing as he struggled to control his rising anxiety. For want of something to do, he pressed the button that Lucien had indicated, and the largest television he’d ever seen slid silently up out of the floor and turned itself on. One of the countless celebrity chefs that seemed to be forever on the TV was demonstrating how to make some kind of salmon terrine. The sound of his voice seemed to come from all around the room and Trey glanced about him to see if he could locate the hidden speakers. He pressed the same button again, and the giant screen obeyed his command by going into standby mode and silently sliding back into its hiding place in the floor.
    He stood and walked across the room on shaking legs and took in the view out of the window. He was high up. He had neglected to notice the floor number that the apartment was on, but one look through the window was enough to tell him that he was near the top of a very tall building. He looked around again, searching the room for a way in or out except for the elevator. Surely there must be a fire exit? He wanted to be certain that he could still escape this place if he needed to.
    He jumped slightly as the door next to him opened again. Lucien stood there, looking quizzically at the boy.
    ‘Is everything OK?’ he asked, inclining his head to one side. He was drying his hands on a white tea towel, and as he finished Trey noticed that the ugly blisters that had come up on them earlier had completely disappeared. He switched his attention to the top of Lucien’s head and noticed that this too was completely free of the angry marks that he had witnessed form all over the bald dome.
    ‘Your hands,’ he said, nodding towards the flesh where, only hours earlier, there had been a mass of angry pus-filled burns.
    Lucien glanced down at the area that Trey was staring at. He smiled awkwardly and shrugged his shoulders. ‘I told you, Trey, I am a very quick healer. Now, if you would like to . . .’
    Trey looked up into those alien eyes again. A small gasp escaped him as all of the fears and doubts and feelings he had harboured about this stranger suddenly crushed in on him. He backed away from him, catching his heel on one of the rugs as he did so, and stumbled, but quickly regained his footing. He felt as if he was moving through treacle, his limbs not responding to his commands to get as far away from this man as possible. He kept his eyes locked on Lucien, who remained in the doorway, and desperately tried to remember the layout of the room as he retreated towards the lift doors on the other side.
    Lucien followed the boy with eyes that reflected nothing but concern. ‘Trey, are you all right?’ he asked. ‘If it’s about the blisters,