AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Conor is a very troubled young man. Before he came to us, he’d been in the boy’s refuge from the age of twelve. He lies. He hears voices. He even tried to take his own life.”
“Poor kid,” Theta said.
“Don’t let him fool you, Miss Knight. There’s a reason he’s in the violent ward.”
“What did he do?” Ling asked.
“He killed Father Hanlon.”
Memphis’s eyebrows went up. “He murdered a priest?”
“Father Hanlon worked at the refuge from time to time. One day, he tried to take one of the younger boys for an ice cream. Conor was jealous of the attention shown the boy. He attacked Father with a slice of broken bottle he’d hidden up his sleeve. Sliced clean through his throat. Make no mistake: Conor Flynn is quite dangerous.”
“Why would Mama want us to protect a murderer?” Isaiah asked, and Memphis shook his head.
“Still. We’d like to speak with him, please,” Evie said.
“Very well. I’ll see to it.”
An attendant brought Conor to the interview room, and Evie immediately recognized him as the boy who’d spoken to her when she’d come to see Luther. The one who’d tried to warn her about the fog. He was skittish, Evie thought. Like a fawn catching the first acrid warning of an approaching forest fire.
“Hello, Conor,” Evie said. “We met once before. Do you remember?”
Conor nodded. “You talked to Luther.”
“That’s right. Conor, when we were here last time, you said, ‘They come in with the fog.’”
“The Forgotten,” Conor said.
“Who are the Forgotten? Are they ghosts?”
Conor frowned. “Yeah. But not regular. They can hurt you. They want to hurt you.” Conor twirled and tugged at his hair. “When the fog comes in, they comes in wit’ it. Late at night, after all the boats’re gone and we’re alone out here. When it’s dark. When he tells ’em to come. They crawl in t’rough your mouth like spiders. Spiders laying eggs in your brains. Can’t shake ’em out. And then the whisperin’ starts. They’ll make you do things. Terrible things. They made Mr. Roland kill Big Mike and Nurse Mary and Mr. Potts.”
“Why did the Forgotten want to do that?”
Conor shoved his hands beneath his armpits, hugging himself. “He makes ’em do it,” he said in a paper-thin voice.
“He? Who is he?”
Conor shook his head. “Won’t say his name.”
“Why not? Does he live on your floor?”
Conor shook his head harder.
“Is it Luther Clayton?” Evie tried.
“What happened to those nurses?” Theta said, redirecting. “Was that the Forgotten, too?”
“Yeah,” Conor whispered, fidgeting in his seat, one hand tapping against his thigh in an almost hypnotic rhythm.
“Gee, sport, how do you know that if you weren’t there?” Sam said.
“I can hear the dead. In here.” He tapped the side of his head. “I hear the dead and I hear the lady’s voice, telling me what to do.”
“The lady’s voice,” Sam repeated, glaring at Evie. He motioned to the others to huddle up away from Conor, who was performing some sort of ritual, counting objects over and over. “The lady’s voice tells him things? The dead talk to him? Buncha hooey.”
Ling frowned. “Don’t forget, Sam—I can hear the dead, too.”
