Page 73 of Brimstone Hollow

He goes on crying.

“Daddy?” I say. “What’s wrong?”

“I miss her,” he says through thick tears. “I miss her so bad.”

“Mom?”

He nods.

That’s all the answer I get.

On the other side of him, resting on the arm of the couch, is his gun. The metal glints.

“Don’t worry,” I say. “She’ll be back soon.” I try to sound sure, but my voice is brittle.

He sobs some more. He’s a small guy, three inches shorter than my mom, but strong and fast in a wiry way. A jelly jar and whiskey bottle—both empty—sit between his bare feet on the floor.

“Oh, Annie-Girl,” he says. “What’ll I do without her? She’s the only thing I ever loved!”

And then he lunges at me. I start to jump away, but I’m not fast enough. My heart thrums with sudden terror as I try to squirm away. But then he settles and flops his arms around my waist. He cries with his head in my lap, his face turned toward the TV. His tears and snot wet the fabric of my jeans. He cries and cries and only quiets down as the credits finally stop.

When the DVD menu returns, I realize he’s asleep. Not wanting to move and disturb him, I lean my head back and close my eyes and listen as the music loops and the same two minutes of the movie’s score plays over and over.

When I wake again, I’m still on the sofa, but my dad is gone. On the TV, a man walks under the Walmart entrance camera. He’s tall and lean and he’s wearing all black.

“Annie?” my dad’s voice says, gently.

But I can’t stop looking at the screen. I watch as a giant hand appears over the man’s head, materializing as if from dust; it hovers above him, big enough to envelop his body, squeeze him to death. The fingers wrap around him and he struggles, vibrating, until he begins toseparatelike a frayed rope. No, not rope.Snakes. The snakes slither and hiss, biting the hand over and over.

“Annie, wake up—”

I jump when I feel a hand on my shoulder. Jolting backward as my rolling chair moves with me, I open my eyes and find Chief Dishman standing over me, his brows knotted in concern.

“You fell asleep,” he says. “I think you were having a bad dream.”

I blink at him, rubbing my eyes against the harsh overhead lights. Thesound of hissing is gone, replaced by the air conditioner’s hum and theswishandswooshof an axe from Dale’s phone.

“Yeah,” I say. “Yeah… I was just dreaming. It’s okay. I’ll get back to it.”

“No,” he says. “You won’t. Go back to the motel. Get some sleep.”

“I’m okay,” I say. “I can—”

“Look, I’m not sticking around either,” Dishman says. “I’m gonna head home and rest, and I’ll be damned if I leave you alone in here by yourself.”

“You worried I’ll go looking through your desk if you leave me here alone?” I say, trying to sound calm and casual, like my heart isn’t still racing from the nightmare.

He laughs and says, “Hell no, I’m worried I’ll come back in the morning and find Chief Gore has replaced me.” The corners of his eyes crinkle and he jerks his thumb at me, telling me to get out of my chair and get going.

Glancing at my watch, I realize that it’s half past five in the morning. I get to my feet and stretch and we walk out of the station together in the pale predawn light. There, for no apparent reason, we both pause and watch the quiet scene of Mount Zion’s peaceful Main Street.

“You know it’s possible he’s not even on the footage,” I say.

“Yeah,” Dishman says. “He could’ve gone somewhere else, another town.”

“Or he could’ve had a spare set of hardware at home. We’ve all got stuff like that lying around.”

“It’s possible,” Dishman says. “But this is the best lead we have, at least until we find Nathaniel Nickels in the flesh. And, until we find Nickels…”