Toys by James Patterson Read Free Book Online

leaning close. “How do you feel, my darling?”
    “Never better,” I mumbled.
    The truth was, I hurt horribly all over, and the constant, astounding pain was getting worse fast. I’d been badly injured
     before, a number of times, but never in a way I couldn’t handle—nothing like this present, unbearable agony.
    Of course, I’d never fallen ten stories before. Two or three, sure. Even four once… but ten was clearly more than the doctor,
     or doctors, ordered.
    “What happened to the motorcycle rider?” I said through clenched teeth. “That killer scum? The skunk?”
    “They’re scooping him up with shovels,” Moore growled at my side.
    “Damn! I was trying to keep him alive.”
    “We know—you gave it a hell of a shot. Now shut up and take it easy, we’re almost at the OR. You need some parts replaced,
     buddy.”

Chapter 20
    I RELAXED AND managed to give Lizbeth maybe a quarter of a smile. I knew I was in the best possible hands and that Elite medicine
     had reached a point where I could be good as new—hopefully within a week or two.
    But the damn pain was getting worse, and I was weakening in a way I’d never felt before—like the very life was ebbing out
     of me.
    Was that possible—could I be dying? And no one would tell me? Not even Lizbeth? I didn’t want to die, especially not so suddenly.
    I managed to whisper, “Love you, Jinx. Love the kids.”
    And she, “Love you, Hays. More than anything in this world. Hang on, sweetheart.”
    Then the operating room doors swung open and I saw lots of lights. Hospital attendants pushed me inside, thenlifted me from the gurney to the table. There, masked, gowned surgeons were already waiting with ultraprecise, computer-moderated
     surgical tools.
    “No time to lose with him,” one of them said grimly. “He’s on his way out.”
    Dammit, I didn’t need to hear that.
    With swift precision, the medical experts adjusted the overhead lights, hooked me up to the banks of monitors and machines,
     and deftly slid a catheter into my arm. The blessed sedative relief started flowing through my veins, soothing the fiery ache
     of shrieking nerves.
    As I began to slip over the edge of oblivion, I felt the pressure, although no pain, of a laser scalpel opening up my torso.
    Then I must have gone into another dream.
    Faint and far away, I heard these incredible words:
    “My God, look at that! You see that line? That’s scar tissue. He’s had some sort of surgery here. I think the skin’s been
     grafted. You see how the follicles are different over here from over here?…
    “Look here, underneath… It looks like… Holy shit! You see that?… You see what that is?
That’s the remains of a navel cavity!
This guy used to have a belly button! Hays Baker is no Elite.
    “He’s
human.
This man is a skunk.”

Chapter 21
    I WAS BEING chased by commandos and trained wildcats. If the cats got to me first, I’d be torn to pieces.
    On and on I ran through a murky landscape, the color of dark blood, with the ground endlessly collapsing beneath me and my
     leaden legs scrambling desperately to stay ahead of God only knows what kind of danger.
    The strength I had always depended on was gone—I was weak, helpless, someone who didn’t matter anymore, someone who couldn’t
     fight back.
    Shadowy terrors clutched at me, and everywhere I turned, hateful faces loomed close, screeching those awful words I imagined
     I’d heard:
    He’s human.
    The worst thing by far was the terrible shame of the words.
    This man is a skunk.
    I could feel the wildcats now—so close—and hear the sound they made, like a high-pitched drill.

Chapter 22
    I HAD NO idea how long my horrible fugue state lasted, but I finally woke soaked in my own sweat. I must have been thrashing
     terribly because the bedding was twisted around me like restraints.
    Then I realized it wasn’t bedding at all; it
was
restraints. I was being held captive for some insane reason that I couldn’t