The Last Innocent Hour by Sissel Barbara Taylor

Author:Sissel, Barbara Taylor [Sissel, Barbara Taylor]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, thriller, Suspense, Horror
Amazon: B006BG77RG
Goodreads: 13393391
Published: 2000-11-13T08:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirty-Three

“Daddy?”

Charlie sat up in his cell, looking around wildly. He said her name without sound: Chrissy? Stinkerbelle?

Her giggle ruffled the air. “Don't call me Stinkerbelle, Daddy.”

He shot up, bent to look underneath the metal shelf that held the thin mattress. She was here. She must be here.

“Chrissy?” Some part of him knew she couldn’t be, that it was the tag-end of a dream leading him on, but he was a more than willing participant; he wanted to believe she was real, his own wriggly, three-year-old girl he could get his arms around. He remembered her sweet scent; he could feel the warm weight of her against his chest when he carried her sleeping to her bed. A sound burst into his throat, something awful, terrified, and he bit down against it, dropped himself onto the cot, dropped his head into his hands. Where was she? Where was Beth? Did she hate him so much that she'd let him go to prison without a word?

He almost wanted to believe in her hate. Because the other alternative, that she hadn’t come forward because Tinker had done something to her and to Chrissy, took him into a place so hot and airless, he couldn’t breathe; he couldn’t see or feel anything except the rough hide of his rage. The fucking helplessness. The idea that they were in some kind of hurt from Tinker, and that Tinker knew and Charlie didn’t. . . .

He laid back, threw his elbow over his eyes. He had nothing, his memories, a cold sense of dread, this useless despair. He had always heard that anyone could be a killer, given the right set of circumstances, the right trigger. He’d never thought much about it; but now it was all he thought about. There was no doubt in his mind what he’d do if he ever saw Tinker again, no end to the ways he had imagined that bastard could die.

o0o

Charlie got off the prison bus that had brought him from Diagnostic, tipped back his head and gazed into the sky at the arc of blue light, letting it print on his eyes, and then the guard prodded him through the door of the Walker unit, and it swung shut. He shuffle-marched with the rest of the new inmates down concrete corridor, a blind sheep, breathing in air that was thick with the smell of lard, an underscore of something that might have been tomato and the usual pasta that had been cooked to glue. Chow in here wouldn’t be any different than at Diagnostic. Not that Charlie cared. His appetite was mere habit.

“Hey, Cunningham.”

He turned at the sound of his name. One of the gray shirts, a beefy-faced guy, detached himself from the welcoming committee. He was big and crudely made. Bluto of the Popeye cartoons in a uniform.

“I been waitin' for you, boy.” The uniform grabbed Charlie's elbow. “I got your paperwork took care of. You’re coming with me.”

“Hey, Brashear,” another guard called after them. “Where you goin’?”

“I know this guy; I’m giving him my personal attention.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.