SEVEN
Spring, 1914
The monster had been silent for going on two weeks. Hannibal could not tell whether it was deep in thought or deep in shock, and that made him nervous. But then, the boy was technically still human. For all his uncanny power and overflowing evil, his flawless body still seemed to work just about like everyone else’s, and he had come terribly close to death by dehydration. That, following a harrowing experience among the demons, might simply have been enough to drive the boy down into himself, too deep for speech.
He recovered, somewhat. First, they lashed him to the cot in the cell, but Green declared furiously that he could not be expected to treat anybody, even a monster, under conditions like those, and they moved him to the infirmary. Sedation proved unnecessary.
