The Prisoner of Cell 25 by Richard Paul Evans Read Free Book Online Page A

back, Ostin?”
    Ostin froze. “Nothing.” His “nothing” sounded more like a question than a statement.
    My mother walked up to him and put out her hand. “Let’s see it.”
    He slowly took the multimeter from behind his back and handed it to my mom. She examined the device, then looked up at him.
    “What does it do?”
    He swallowed. I was hoping he’d make something up—calculate algorithms or something.
    “It measures voltage.”
    “Voltage? You mean electricity?” She looked perplexed. “Why would you . . .” She stopped and looked at me. I could see anger change her countenance. “How long has Ostin known?”
    I swallowed. “I don’t know. A while.”
    “Thirty-four months and nine days,” Ostin said.
    Shut up , I thought.
    My mother handed the multimeter back to Ostin. “You need to go home now, Ostin,” she said. “I need to speak to Michael.”
    “Okay, Mrs. Vey,” he said, eager to get out of our house. “Have a good night.”
    Run, you wuss, I thought.
    After the door shut, my mother looked at me for what seemed like a year. Then she said, “Come here.” I followed her over to the couch. “Sit.”
    I sat and she sat next to me. For a moment she just held her head in her hands. The silence was excruciating. Finally she looked up.
    “Michael, I don’t know what to say to you. Do you know how hard this has been, moving away from our home and everyone we know in California, to come to a new city just so that no one would find out about you? I gave up a good-paying job at a law firm to be a checker at a supermarket.”
    I lowered my head. “I’m sorry, Mom.”
    She crossed her arms at her chest. “No, sorry doesn’t cut it. Who else knows about this?”
    “The boys yesterday. And Taylor.”
    “Who’s Taylor?”
    “The cheerleader who saw me.”
    “Did you see her at school today?”
    “Yes.”
    “Did she ask you about what happened?”
    I swallowed. “I went to her house.”
    My mother’s eyes widened. “Please don’t tell me that you talked to her about what happened.”
    I slowly nodded.
    She threw up her hands. “Michael, what were you thinking? Now we may have to pick up and start over again. I am so tired, I don’t know if I can do it.”
    My eyes welled up. “I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean to . . .”
    “Michael, it doesn’t always matter what you mean to do, it matters what you do. Please, explain to me, why would you risk everything and tell them?”
    For a few moments I just sat there silently. Then, suddenly, it all came out. “I’m sick of having everyone at school think I’m just some wimpy kid who makes funny faces and noises. I’m sick of being bullied all the time. And I’m sick of hiding who I am.  “Ostin is the only friend I have. He doesn’t care about my Tourette’s or my electricity. He just likes me for me.” I looked up into her eyes. “I just want someone to know the truth about me and still be my friend.”
    She put her head down. Then she took my hand. “Michael, I know it’s not easy being different. I don’t blame you for feeling this way. It’s just that most people can’t understand your special gift.”
    “You think this is a gift, Mom? It’s not. It’s just another reminder that I’m a freak.”
    “Michael, don’t say that.”
    “Why? That’s what they call me.”
    “Who calls you that?”
    “The kids at summer camp last June. They surrounded me and said, ‘Let’s see what the freak does next.’ And they don’t even know about my electricity, they were just talking about all my ticking and blinking.”
    Her eyes welled up with tears. After a moment she asked softly, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
    “Because you have enough to worry about.”
    She looked like she didn’t know what to say.
    “I’m just tired of everyone picking on me all the time for no reason except they think they can. I’m tired of knowing I could stop them and I don’t. You know who I hate more than them for