Page 91 of Unbound
Professor Okonkwo coordinated with the lawyers. A federal investigation was opening into Restoration Ridge. Jesse's parents had been arrested in Kansas, charged with extortion. The wheels of justice were finally turning.
But none of that mattered if Jesse didn't survive.
The doctor emerged after three hours, still in scrubs. "He's stable. But we need to keep him sedated."
"Why?" My voice came out rougher than I intended.
"The psychological trauma is severe. When he's conscious, he's... not present. We're hoping rest and proper nutrition will help before we address the mental state."
Rebecca spoke up from beside me. "Can we see him?"
"Family only. Two at a time."
Rebecca and I went first.
The hospital room was all beeping machines and sterile white surfaces. Jesse looked impossibly small against the sheets, wires and tubes snaking from his body like he was some kind of broken puppet.
I sat beside the bed and took his hand. So fragile in my grip, bones and tendons with barely any flesh between. Rebecca sat on the other side, crying quietly.
"I let this happen," she said.
"We both did."
We sat in silence, keeping vigil. Jesse's eyes moved under closed lids—dreaming or remembering? I hoped dreaming. Anything but reliving what they'd done to him.
The doctors began their full assessment on the second day once Jesse was stabilized. Dr. Sarah Faraday, the attending physician, called me into a small conference room that smelled like disinfectant and bad coffee. She had kind eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses, but her expression was grave as she opened Jesse's file.
"Mr. Costas, I need to be very direct with you about Mr. Miller's condition."
I braced myself, hands gripping the plastic chair.
"The damage is extensive," she began, consulting her notes. "We've documented seventeen separate electrical burn scars on his torso, temples, and inner thighs. The pattern suggests repeated electroshock therapy sessions over an extended period."
Each word hit like a physical blow. I tried to imagine Jesse strapped down, electricity coursing through his body, and my stomach lurched.
"His heart shows signs of stress damage—irregular rhythms consistent with repeated electrical trauma. We're monitoring for potential long-term cardiac complications. The good news is he's young and his heart appears to be adapting, but we'll need regular follow-ups."
"What about his weight?" I managed to ask.
"Thirty-five pounds lost in eight weeks. That's severe malnutrition. His body started consuming muscle tissue to survive. We're introducing nutrition slowly—his digestive system needs time to readjust. Too much too fast could be dangerous."
Dr. Faraday flipped to another page, her frown deepening. "There's evidence of prolonged sleep deprivation—likely part of their 'therapy' protocol. The neurological scans show patterns consistent with chronic stress and sleep disruption. His brain is essentially in survival mode."
"Will there be permanent damage?"
"We don't know yet. The human brain is remarkably resilient, especially at his age. But severe trauma can create lasting changes in neural pathways. Memory issues, anxiety responses, difficulty with emotional regulation—these are all possibilities."
She showed me photos from his intake exam. I couldn't look at most of them—the burn marks, the pressure sores from restraints, the hollow gauntness of someone who'd been methodically broken down.
"There's also evidence of what we call 'stress positions'—prolonged confinement in uncomfortable positions. His joints show wear patterns, and he has nerve damage in his shoulders and wrists that's consistent with extended restraint."
"Jesus Christ."
"Mr. Costas, I've been treating trauma victims for fifteen years. What happened to Mr. Miller constitutes torture. There's no medical justification for any of these injuries. What they did to him was absolute abuse designed to break his will."
I felt bile rise in my throat. "When can we talk to him?"
"We're reducing sedation slowly, but you need to understand—the person who wakes up may not be the person you knew. Trauma this severe changes people. He may not recognize you, may not remember recent events clearly. His personality, his responses, even his basic emotional capacity—all of that could be different."
