She Has A Broken Thing Where Her Heart Should Be - J.D. Barker Page 0,238

over again? I was just a baby!”

Another thought came into my head, and I wished it hadn’t, because I didn’t want it to be true. Couldn’t possibly be true. I said it aloud anyway. “My God, they paid you, didn’t they? That’s how you afforded those houses. That’s why you didn’t have to run all these years, like the others. They were never chasing you. Charter paid you, didn’t they?”

My father said nothing.

Another realization came into my head. “The money I received every month, that came from you, didn’t it? Out of what? Guilt? Some misguided sense of responsibility? Some kind of bullshit child support?”

My father didn’t reply.

Not at first.

Not for nearly a minute.

“I knew I could use some of the money to get you a better life. To help keep you safe. I hired Preacher to deliver it. I couldn’t risk returning to Pittsburgh.”

I led Stella toward the back of the large, open space, toward a hallway leading off into the dark. From there, we turned right. We kept going until we found a room with a window overlooking the front of the steel mill, someplace where we could see what was happening outside.

The people in white stood only about twenty feet away, their blank stares facing forward. None of Dunk’s people were on this level, safer on higher ground.

Nobody would find us here. That’s what mattered.

I pulled the Ruger from my waistband, ready to use it if I had to.

“Where are you, Jack? We should discuss this face to face, not like this.”

Stella doubled over.

She yanked her arm from around my shoulder and clutched at her chest, her stomach. Her face grew red, her eyes pinched shut.

From my radio, through the headphones, came a blinding, loud burst of static followed by a high-pitched squeal, like a dagger jabbing at both my ears. I reached up and yanked off my headphones and threw them to the ground. I wasn’t alone. I saw several pairs come flying off the roof of the steel mill and shatter on the concrete outside the window.

When Stella screamed, when she pulled her knees up into her chest and let out a shriek, the sound came again. Loud enough that it blared through the headphones at my feet.

Like the radio in the cemetery when I was a kid.

Like the Mercedes stereo right before the incident at the lake.

I knelt down and wrapped my arms around her, squeezed her tight.

Stella clawed her headphones off, too, dropped them to her side.

Outside our window, a series of shots rang out and when I looked, three of the people in white were dead.

I didn’t know if David had kept talking while we had the headphones on, but I heard him now, shouting.

“Those guns are awfully hot, aren’t they?” David yelled out from somewhere among the crowd of white. “It’s got to be tough to hold onto them. That burning hot metal. Like pressing your palm to a skillet. Sizzle, crackle, pop!”

At first, my Ruger only felt warm.

I loosened my grip slightly, but I didn’t let go. When that got too hot, I slid my hand around on the butt of the gun. The movement bought me a few more seconds. I couldn’t hold the trigger. I tapped a finger against it.

Then I smelled it.

Burning flesh.

I knew it was a trick.

I told myself it wasn’t real.

But about ten seconds after David Pickford said the words, I found myself dropping the handgun to the ground and rubbing both my palms against my jeans.

All around the mill, I heard the similar clatter of weapons dropping along with mixed cursing. People shouting, too. Yelling to each other. I wondered if anyone still had the headphones on. Then Stella cringed again, and static burst from my discarded headphones and I knew the answer—there was no way anyone kept them on, not if they were hearing that, too.

I unplugged the headphones from my radio. A moment later, I heard Preacher. “Anyone got a clue as to where he is?”

“North yard, I think. Came from that way.”

The people in white shuffled again.

When they stopped moving, the entire group had gained more ground, at least four feet closer to the building.

“This is so wonderful! Everyone finally together! Like some ragtag family reunion,” David said. This time, his voice came from the front, somewhere between the Pontiac GTO and the entrance to my building. “And Cammie, I believe congratulations are in order! I saw the girl’s room at your house in Carmel! A daughter, that’s wonderful news! What’s