Page 31 of The Corruption of Hollis Brown

Elevator Door

Hollis woke up still in bed. Walt was sitting cross-legged in the center of it, already awake, sewing a hole in a pair of Hollis’s pants.

Hollis didn’t know how to sew, and it was unnerving to see his hands doing it. He watched Walt close the hole quick and efficient, then test his mending by pulling the fabric taut.

I have questions, Hollis said, calm.

Walt grimaced, then let out a sharp breath.

Before we start, I need to make some things clear, he said. First, I’ll never lie to you. If I don’t want to tell you something, I’ll just say that or be vague. But I don’t lie. It complicates things.

You already lied to me— Hollis started, but Walt cut him off.

No. I didn’t, he said firmly. I didn’t, Hollis. I was vague and I was clever, but I didn’t lie.

Walt tossed the pants to the side and picked up a shirt from the pile he’d made beside them and turned it over to find the hole that needed fixing.

Second, you can’t ask them all at once and constantly or we’ll never have any time for anything else. Let’s pick a time, and when I say we’re done, we have to stop. You don’t have hours to lie around picking my brain all the time. You have school, and I have our deal.

Speaking of that—

You should ask important questions first, Walt snapped.

Hollis paused. He had a lot of . . . complaints about what happened the day before, but there were much scarier implications that needed defusing.

So, he began:

What did you do to me?

Walt answered, short and perfunctory as he stretched out a length of thread to start sewing again.

We’re sharing. Everyone has a little wiggle room between them and the rest of them. Enough to sneak into. It’s a tight squeeze, of course, but not much worse than a packed elevator.

What are you?

Walt laughed, but he didn’t sound happy. I’m . . . just a guy. An unlucky one. I’m not a demon; I can’t do magic, can’t grant wishes. The only thing I can do is this. The jumping in. The rest of it is just manpower.

Hollis relaxed a bit. Not completely, but enough to ask:

What happened to that other guy?

Walt shook his head. His name was Sam. That wasn’t my fault.

What the fuck do you mean that wasn’t your fault?! Are you doing that to me right now? Are you fucking sucking me dry or whatever the fuck—

Sam did that to himself!

Walt squeezed Hollis’s eyes shut hard until they hurt, then opened them again, calmer this time.

It’s . . . There are other options. This . . .

He gestured between the air and his chest like Hollis was standing in front of him.

This could have been an option. Bodies don’t like being stressed like that all day and night. Sam wouldn’t let us sleep; we could never rest. He just screamed and screamed. He wore himself out so fast he didn’t last three months. I couldn’t even concentrate on our deal, and of course I couldn’t leave—

Walt paused. He’d clearly said something he hadn’t intended to, but it was too late.

You’re only the fifth person who calmed down enough to even ask me something like that, he admitted.