She Has A Broken Thing Where Her Heart Should Be - J.D. Barker Page 0,158

imagined Dewey Hobson took his meals there, with no one for company but the voices shouting in his head. The opposite wall housed a bed and a small writing desk. The door to the bathroom stood open. David noted the tiny space only contained a toilet and a sink.

“Where do you shower, Dewey?”

“I wash in the lake.”

“That must be nice.”

“It’s cold, most of the time.”

Although Hobson’s clothing was old and in dire need of a good seamstress, he didn’t appear filthy. His beard was thick but well maintained. He could use a haircut, but the mop on his head wasn’t to the point of unruly. His heavy boots were sturdy and looked nearly new.

David gestured to the chair at the clear spot of the table. “Take a seat, Dewey.”

Hobson lowered himself into the chair, cradling the shotgun in his lap.

David pulled out the chair next to him and sat down too, eyeing the books. “Do you have a favorite?”

Hobson didn’t hesitate. “The Murder of Roger Ackroyd by Agatha Christie. Terrific ending, and probably one of the best twists ever written.”

“I haven’t read that one.”

“You should.”

“Do you know why I’m here?”

“I imagine you plan to kill me.”

Hobson said the words so casually, his hands remaining folded loosely over the gun.

“You should have died a long time ago.”

“I suppose.”

“After you took the shot.”

Hobson said nothing to this, only looked down at the shotgun.

David sighed. “I always thought it was strange they gave the shot to you. Your file says you had no special skills, no precursors, nothing to really warrant your inclusion in the experiment at all, yet there you were, right along with the others. Did you have any kind of reaction, Dewey? After they gave it to you?”

Dewey Hobson began to sweat. His mouth twitched, but he said nothing.

“It’s rude to ignore your guests, Dewey. Did you have a reaction?”

Hobson didn’t want to answer. David saw the pain and confusion in his eyes when the words came out anyway.

“Before the shot, I could hear electricity. This constant humming everywhere. It got much worse after.”

David leaned back in his chair and folded his fingers together. “That’s remarkable. Is that why you have no electronics here?”

Hobson nodded. “Too fucking loud. It hurts sometimes. Buzz, buzz, buzz. Hard to think, harder to sleep. Quiet here.”

“Sounds like a lonely life.”

“Not much choice in the matter.”

David tapped the end of the shotgun. “Tell me, Dewey. If you put that barrel in your mouth, are you able to reach the trigger or is the gun too long?”

“Dunno.”

“Why don’t you try?”

“Okay.”

Hobson picked up the long weapon, turned it so the barrel pointed at his face, then wrapped his lips around the end. His hands slipped down the barrel to the stock, then found the trigger guard. It was a stretch, but he could reach.

“That’s good, Dewey. You can take it out. I have a few more questions for you.”

Hobson removed the gun, set the weapon back on his lap, then wiped his lips with the back of his sleeve.

“Did you ever have any children, Dewey?”

Hobson shook his head.

“Are you sure? A player like you?”

“I’m sure.”

“Why not?”

“Because they wanted the children. I couldn’t.”

“Couldn’t what?”

“Give them my children.”

“The children you never had.”

Hobson said nothing.

“Because if you did have children, and somehow didn’t tell me, didn’t tell us, that would be bad.”

The sweat at his brown began to trickle down. “I don’t have children.”

“I believe you, Dewey,” David said, although not quite convinced it was really true. “There’s something else I need you to tell me, something really important. Do you think you can do that?”

“Yeah.”

“I need you to tell me where I can find the others.”

“You killed the others.”

“Not all of them. The last few have been slippery, like you.” David leaned forward. “Where are they, Dewey?”

Hobson began to shake, his face turning red. He didn’t want to, but he spoke anyway. “I only know where Cammie is. And she may not be there no more. She likes to stay on the move.”

“How do you stay in touch?”

Hobson said nothing.

“Dewey…”

“Dalton tracks all of us, helps us organize.”

“And where can I find Dalton?”

“Dunno,” Hobson said. “I never know where Dalton goes.”

“Where is Cammie?”

Hobson told him.

David leaned back in his chair. He liked the smell of the burning wood, the heat from the fire. He found the atmosphere comforting, relaxing. “Did you like my parents, Dewey?”

“Your mother was nice. A little shy, but nice. Nobody really liked your father, though. He was a real jerk.”

“It’s not nice to say mean things