She Has A Broken Thing Where Her Heart Should Be - J.D. Barker Page 0,32

strongly suggest you don’t struggle.’ Then he pressed something over my mouth. It smelled sweet, then I was out.”

“Probably chloroform, like we used on the mice in Mr. Lidden’s science class.”

“Exactly like that.”

“Did you see a knife?”

I shook my head.

“So you don’t know for sure he really had a knife?”

“I guess not.”

We searched the trees, the ground, the bushes, we looked everywhere for any sign of the man all the way to where the woods ended at Nobles Lane and found nothing. We figured he probably had a car waiting on that end and carried me through there, but if he did, he didn’t leave any trace. Two hours later, covered in dirt, we were back at the bench.

“We need to talk about the flowers,” Dunk said, scratching at a mosquito bite on his left arm.

“What about the flowers?”

“You said Stella picked them up and they died in her hand as you watched, in a few seconds. I think you need to come to terms with the fact you probably picked some wilted, half-dead weeds and thought you saw something you really didn’t. The alternative is some X-Men shit, and while I love that particular comic, it’s a comic. That stuff isn’t real.” Dunk said.

I looked down at my hands and twisted my fingers together. “She got up and left them on the bench. The old woman—”

“Ms. Oliver?”

“Ms. Oliver told her to go back and get them. Stella didn’t want to. Ms. Oliver forced her to get them. Stella picked the flowers up, and I watched them shrivel and die by the time she walked from here to the SUV.”

“Where were they parked?”

I pointed down the road. “Over there.”

“That’s only about thirty feet.”

“Yep.”

“So she somehow killed the flowers in thirty seconds?”

“Less than that.”

“Then she climbed into the SUV and drove off into the sunset?”

I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples. “I shouldn’t have told you.”

Neither of us said anything for a minute. When Dunk finally replied, he chose his words carefully. “I believe that you believe you saw her kill the flowers. How about we leave it at that for now?”

“She wasn’t wearing gloves,” I said softly.

“What do you mean?”

“Every other time I met her here, she had gloves on. Whether it was hot or cold. Not this time, though. I think Ms. Oliver wanted me to see that. I think Ms. Oliver kept her from wearing gloves so I’d see that.”

“If that’s true, how would Oliver know you would bring flowers?”

“I don’t know.”

The image of the man in the alley popped into my mind. I tried to stamp it back, but he grew more vivid, the dry, old, burned-looking flesh, the hollow eyes looking back at me.

Your little girlfriend did this.

“You said she shows up on the same day every year, right?”

I nodded. “Yeah, August 8.”

Dunk’s eyes narrowed, and I could see his brain churning. “Then we’ve got one year to come up with a plan.”

“For what?”

“To follow them. We’re going to figure out where those SUVs go when they leave here.”

August 8, 1988

Twelve Years Old

Log 08/08/1988—

Subject “D” within expected parameters.

Audio/video recording.

“They let him have a phone today.”

“Seriously? How did that work?”

“Wouldn’t want to be on the receiving side of that call.”

“No, sir.”

“Who did he call?”

“They dialed for him. They did that way back when he was little, too, but I don’t think he understood what was really happening back then.”

“Now he does?”

“Now he certainly does.”

“And he still did it?”

“Yep.”

“You know what’s worse?”

“What?”

“I think he wanted to do it. When they finished and he hung up, he was smiling. That little shit got off on it.”

“Somebody needs to put him down.”

“They’d never do that. He’s too valuable.”

“No? I bet there is a thick red binder somewhere in this place detailing several ways to end his miserable existence.”

“How did they do it?”

“Do what?”

“The phone call.”

“Lou said the doctor brought an extension in there with her, then someone dialed from up here in the booth and transferred the call. A little light blinked on at the phone, the kid picked up, and did his thing.”

“Efficient.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Weird how it works over the phone or in person, as long as it’s live, but not on a recording.”

“One of the world’s great mysteries.”

Silence.

“Would you do it?”

“What?”

“You know.”

“End him? Knock him off? Punch his clock? Put him in the dirt? Kick his bucket? Send him swimming with concrete shoes? Take him for a walk over the rainbow bridge?”

“Yeah.”

“See these hands? How nice and smooth they are? I’m not built for dirty work.”

“I would.”

“You