CHAPTER FIFTEEN
surrealism
“Hello, my Canadian amigos! Can you see me?” The masked man waves at the camera. His mechanically distorted voice makes my whole body quake. “You can call me Felix. Today, we are here with—” He moves to Finan in the center of the room and yanks his head back by his hair.
I yelp. Wes wraps a strong arm around my shoulders and pulls me tight against his side, the only thing keeping me from collapsing. I am so, so relieved to see Finan alive—but this relief is immediately consumed by the terror of seeing his reality, of seeing where he is, the condition he’s in. I have never felt more helpless.
“We’re here with Finan,” Felix says. “Is that name Irish?” he asks into Finan’s swollen, bloodied face. It doesn’t even look like him. Felix then flops Finan’s head forwa
