CHAPTER

40

SIXBURY’S slender, frail body was stretched out on the bed and David was squeezing, kneading the flesh of her arm and leg. She had been particularly quiet this day; she’d strayed from bed for only a few hours and she hadn’t gone downstairs. She had taken each of her meals in her room.

“Sixbury?”

“Hmmm?”

“You okay?”

“Yep.”

“You’ve been awfully quiet today. I thought something might be bothering you.”

“Nope.”

He looked at the nightstand and saw that the drawer was half-open. In it he could see the steel nose of a pistol. Cold fingers walked up his spine. “Anything on your mind?”

“No. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Did you happen to look out your window during the sunset?”

“No. Was it a nice one?”

“Yeah. I should have called you.”

Her head fell away from him.

He rubbed her leg more vigorously. “So this runs pretty smoothly, now that we have a routine. No problem at all, huh?”

“Yeah, we’re doing all right.”

“Sixbury?”

“I don’t feel like talking. I’m pretty tired.”

He nodded and pulled the covers up and over her. He reached for the lamp and looked once again at the gun in the drawer before putting out the light.

“Goodnight,” he said from the door.

“G’night.”

He went to Butch’s room and woke her up. She was drugged with sleep and unaware of what was going on. He carried her out of her room and down the stairs. He sat on the last step and held her on his lap, her head on his shoulder. She was still more asleep than not. Her eyes opened halfway and took him in.