First Thrills - Lee Child [7]
Momma would say, “It’s too soon.”
And then he’d say, “It could save you some money, too, having me help out.”
And she’d say, “Not in front of him.” Or, “He doesn’t do well with change.” When she said, “Plus, we’re still getting to know each other,” he frowned and Momma looked like her stomach hurt.
Then he said, “Maybe that’s how you feel.”
She said, “I’m off at two. He doesn’t get home until three. We’ll discuss it then.” And she went to put her hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off.
When I got home from school, the lamp by the couch was knocked over and that made me stop inside the door and scrunch my eyes shut. I was pretty sure I didn’t do it, but you never know when you’re gonna get blamed. In the dark, I said, “Momma?” but she didn’t answer me.
When I opened my eyes, I saw that Bo’s leather jacket was hung on the back of the kitchen chair. I went over and looked at it. It felt smooth and had lots of neat hidden pockets and stuff.
I said, “Momma?” again, but no one answered me. That almost made me forget how hungry I was.
I walked down the hall past my room and checked the bathroom. No Momma. I went in her room.
Momma lay on the floor with her mouth open. I thought she might be dead.
I said, “I want a sandwich.”
But she didn’t say anything back. Then I held out my toe and shoved her shoulder and she moved a little, but stiff, all at once. It was like the hamster babies in Mrs. Connelly’s class, who also went to heaven.
When I turned around, Bo was standing in the doorway behind me. He looked at Momma, then at me. He said, “What’d you do?”
And I didn’t answer because I didn’t know what I did.
He shook his head and made a tut-tutting sound. He had a book in his hand. He said, “You like stories, right?”
I nodded.
He said, “Come on, let’s get out of here. Away from what you’ve done.”
And we went in my room. He pushed me onto the bed and sat in the chair like he did last time when he read me Goodnight Moon. He took out this skinny book and said, “Here’s a book about a guy like you, retard. He’s a stone-cold killer.”
He read some then skipped a bunch of sections because there were no pictures and he probably got bored, too. There were these two guys who talked funny and one was tall and then there was a huge imaginary talking rabbit and someone died in a barn. That’s all I figured out. I would have rather watched Pokémon.
He closed the book when he was done. “Did you get it?” he asked.
And I nodded because people get mad at me when I don’t get it. And he said, “Every story has a moral. And the moral of this story is that people like you can’t be trusted.”
He walked out into the other room. After a while, I followed. He was wiping off doorknobs and the glasses in the sink with a rag.
He said, “People tell you you think different, right?”
I nodded.
Now he was wiping off the kitchen chairs. “I’m not really here, retard. I’m in your imagination, you hear? You ever seen Pinocchio?”
I said, “I want to be a real boy.”
“That’s right. I’m like Jiminy Cricket. Or like that big rabbit in that book. I don’t exist. I’m a voice in your head. Got it?” He put on his leather jacket and walked out, using the rag to open the front door and close it behind him.
I stood there for a while. I went back into Momma’s room and looked at Momma. There was blue around her eye. Then I went in my room and read Batman again, up to page eleven. I checked the microwave but there were no numbers and I wasn’t sure how I would eat so I called 911.
The cops came in and looked in Momma’s room. Then they patted me down like Momma does at the diner after her shift when she’s looking for salt and pepper shakers. They sat me down on Momma’s bed and asked me some stupid questions. Then another guy showed up who I knew was a cop from the shiny badge on his belt even though he was too lazy to wear a uniform.
He came into Momma’s room, looked up, and said, “Holy Christ.”
I said, “You’d better not say that in front of Mrs. Connelly.”
He said, “Who’s Mrs.