Page 31 of The Wrong Man

“Twenty-five.” I have Declan’s file and Dylan is his twin. It is one thing I at least know for sure.

“Any underlying health conditions you know of?”

“No. He’s...” I think about Dylan’s soft hands, his freckled skin, the way he talked about his bakery with such genuine love. “He’s healthy. Was healthy. Before.”

Before I broke him. The words hang unspoken in the air between us.

I close my eyes. The truth rises up in my throat like bile, demanding to be spoken.

“I hurt him,” I say quietly. “I thought he was someone else. Someone who deserved what I do. By the time I realized my mistake, he was already...” I can’t finish the sentence.

The silence that follows is heavy with understanding. Liam knows what I do. Knows exactly what “hurt” means in my vocabulary.

“And now you’re trying to fix it,” he says. It’s not a question.

“Yes.”

“By keeping him prisoner.”

The accusation stings, even though it’s accurate. “I can’t let him go. He knows too much. But I’m not...” I struggle to find the right words. “I’m not hurting him anymore. I’m trying to help him. I just don’t know how.”

More silence. Then, to my surprise, Liam sighs. When he speaks again, his voice has lost some of its wariness.

“Pneumonia can be serious, especially in someone who’s already weakened. He needs antibiotics, probably a strong broad spectrum one like amoxicillin or azithromycin. Do you have access to any?”

Relief floods through me. He’s going to help. “I can get them. What else?”

“Keep him hydrated. Water, clear broth, anything he’ll drink. The fever is his body fighting the infection, so don’t try to suppress it completely, but if it goes above thirty-nine degrees celsius, you’ll need to bring it down. Cool cloths, not cold. Lukewarm baths if necessary.”

I’m already mentally cataloguing what I have and what I’ll need to acquire. “What about the breathing? It sounds terrible.”

“Keep him propped up, don’t let him lie flat. Steam can help loosen the congestion. Run a hot shower and let him sit in the bathroom with the door closed. Or boil water and have him breathe the steam with a towel over his head.”

“Okay.” I’m committing every word to memory. “What else?”

“Rest. Lots of rest. And someone needs to monitor him. If his fever spikes suddenly, if he starts having trouble breathing, if his lips or fingernails turn blue, you need to get him to a hospital regardless of the complications. Pneumonia can turn deadly fast.”

The word “deadly” hits me like a punch to the gut. I look at Dylan, at his flushed face and labored breathing, and something cold settles in my chest.

“I understand.”

Liam makes a sound that might be a wry chuckle or might be something sadder. “You know, when Nicolo first told me what you do, I thought you were a monster. Pure evil. The kind of person who enjoys causing pain.”

I don’t respond. There’s nothing to say. He’s not entirely wrong.

“But monsters don’t call people for medical advice,” he continues. “They don’t worry about keeping their victims alive. They don’t sound like you do right now, scared and desperate and completely out of your depth.”

“I don’t know what I am,” I say honestly. “I’ve never been in this situation before.”

“None of us know what we are until we’re tested.” There’s an edge to his voice that speaks of his personal experience. “The question is what you do next. Not what you’ve done, but what you choose to do going forward.”

The words settle into me like stones dropping into still water. What I choose to do going forward.

I choose to keep Dylan alive. I choose to take care of him, to heal him, to somehow make amends for the unforgivable things I’ve done. I choose to be something other than the monster I’ve always been.

Whether Dylan will ever forgive me, whether any of this can ever be made right, I don’t know. But I have to try.

“Thank you,” I say, and I mean it more than I’ve ever meant anything. “For helping. For not hanging up on me.”