CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I WOKE UP ON THE HARD, cold ground, on my back. My first sensation was pain. My head was throbbing, stabbing, as if my skull had been cracked open. I reached up and gingerly touched the back of my head.
“No blood,” said a voice. “But you’ll have a nasty bruise tomorrow. Not to mention a cracking headache.”
I looked up and saw Paul Rose for the first time. He was standing above me, holding a baseball bat. He was about my age, but taller, and broad with it. He had a boyish face and a shock of red hair, the same color as Alicia’s. He reeked of whiskey.
I tried to sit up but couldn’t quite manage it.
“Better stay there. Recover for a sec.”
“I think I’ve got concussion.”
“Possibly.”
“What the f**k did you do that for?”
“What did you expect, mate? I thought you were a bu
