Page 32 of The Corruption of Hollis Brown

The next question was obviously How many people had it been? It was on the tip of Hollis’s tongue, but he could tell Walt was braced for it. Hollis didn’t have much power in his body, but he could be clever.

Cleverer than Walt, if he was lucky.

Why do we wake up at different times? he asked instead.

Actually, this is a good question. We have separate consciousnesses, obviously. You think things and I think things; you feel emotions and I have my own—even though it’s harder for you to feel mine than for me to feel yours.

Hollis remembered that moment outside, when Walt was forcing him to feel calm when he wanted to be angry.

You can think things that I can’t hear unless you think them loud enough. I’m sure you can grasp at this point that I haven’t had much time to play around with this, but that’s all I know. I can’t tell you why because I’m not a fucking scientist. I can just tell you what I’ve experienced.

Could you sleep while I’m awake? Hollis asked, feeling a glimmer of hope.

Walt paused, and Hollis could feel his face twisting into an unusual expression.

Yes, but I try not to. You wouldn’t like it.

That sounded like a threat.

It’s not a threat. It would be like having locked-in syndrome. I’ll let you read a bit about that later today if you want.

Okay.

Is . . . there a way to undo this? Hollis asked.

Walt stopped sewing and put the shirt down. He was thinking, Hollis could feel it. It was like hearing neighbors walking around upstairs, muffled, echoed.

He waited patiently until Walt felt ready.

Everything wants to survive, Walt said quietly. Is it so bad that I wanted to as well? Everything has a house. Is it so bad if mine is made of flesh? If I’ve . . . kept them clean and tidy, made them better, treated them kind. Grew roses in the garden, kept the fence painted white.

Walt picked up Hollis’s hand and held it to the sunny window. Hollis had a hangnail, and if he focused, he could still feel it smarting.

There are natural rules you have to follow to be safe, healthy, and alive. Eating, sleeping, whatever. Being me has rules too. There was no one to tell me what they were, so I had to learn them the hard, slow way, and it cost me more than you’d think.

He put Hollis’s hand down.

No, Hollis, there isn’t a way to undo this until it’s finished. But I can tell you that it doesn’t have to be terrible. It can be good if we try. It’s been good before.

He sounded wistful.

Hollis didn’t like that. It pissed him off.

Get up and take us downstairs, I’m hungry.

Walt stood and tossed the shirt to the side.

Finished with your questions?

Hollis refused to respond.

Brag

Walt was . . . hm. It vacillated wildly between horrifying and interesting watching Walt pilot his body. If Hollis pushed aside his genuine concern about Walt’s long-term intentions, his fear of becoming a Sam-husk, and the disorienting experience of watching Walt do things he couldn’t, it was starting to feel more educational than anything.

Walt ignored his demands for sweet potato bread and instead forced him to eat boiled eggs, muttering something internally about increasing Hollis’s protein intake. Walt used some of their preciously guarded olive oil in the boiled egg water and the peel came off easier than Hollis had ever seen in his entire life.

Then Walt scanned his entire house for things that needed repair. The screen door was squeaky, their carbon monoxide detector had been beeping for months, one of the legs on their kitchen table was loose. Hollis’s father didn’t want to spend the precious time he had with his family doing chores, and Hollis’s ma was busy living. Walt set upon fixing what he could with what they had.