“But what about the fingers? What about the knife?” David shifted and stretched his back. He had been listening to Andrew for a long time, so engrossed in what he was saying that he had not even moved. Now, though, his back cried out in protest, not to mention his bum knee.
“But don’t you see, Dave?” Andrew turned back from where he was watching one kid now moving around on the playground equipment and smiled. “I’m crazy. There never were any fingers or knife.” He laughed lightly. “I was in a coma for a week, and they put me in a hospital, a mental institution. When I woke up, the doctors were already poking and prodding me. I tried to tell somebody, but the doctors knew nothing. I told my father.” The words caught in his throat. “Even then his hatred of me was beginning, but
