The Fifth Vial [antikvár]

PROLOGUE The beginning is the most important part of any work. -plató, The Republic, Book II HOLD STILL, NOW. THIS WON'T HURT A BIT. Those were the only words Lonnie Durkin had heard for hours. This won't hurt a bit. Vincent always said the same thing just before he stuck the needle into Lonnie's arm and drew blood. Vincent lied. The needles didn't hurt much, but they did hurt. "Take me home! Please take me home! Please, please, please." Lonnie leapt up from his bed, jammed his fingers through the metál wire fencing, and kicked the locked gate. He knew what a nightmare was. His mother had explained bad dreams to him when he was a boy and had begun waking up every night screaming. But he could teli that the cage was no nightmare. The cage was real. "Please!" At that moment, the van swung a turn that threw him hard