|
|
|
|
|
|
|
'What are they doing up there?' Cyndi said. She studied the kitchen ceiling as if it might give her a clue. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
'I don't want to know,' Sheila said. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
'Maybe I oughta go up and check on 'em,' Doug offered. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Cyndi glowered at him. 'Oh, you'd like that.' |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Lou sipped his vodka and tonic, then squatted down and peered through the glass of the oven's door. The frozen, fried chicken pieces spread out on the cookie sheet looked as if they might be done pretty soon. The crust, getting darker, was shiny with juice or oil that bubbled. He could hear faint sounds of sizzling and crackling. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
The sounds reminded him of last night. Chidi tied to the goalpost, wrapped in flame. That kid's skin had sizzled and crackled. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
The memory gave Lou a heavy, sick feeling. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
I didn't do it, he told himself. I didn't do any of it. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
He knew that wasn't quite true. He hadn't done the bad stuff, though. He hadn't cut on the kid or burnt him. He hadn't killed him. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
All I did, he told himself, was help snatch the bastard and strip him and tie him up. I trashed him just a little, maybe, but nothing serious. Nothing that even would've put him in the hospital for godsake. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Buddy never should've done that stuff. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Now I'm in just as much trouble as him, and I |
|
|
|
|
|