Snatchers (Book 8): The Dead Don't Pray Read Online Free PDF Page B

outburst. She was sure he had said something similar weeks back.
    He shook his head and looked at Karen with his dark glassy eyes. "Being alive in this world is just prolonging the inevitable."
    "Wasn't being alive in the old world prolonging the inevitable? I don't think your God will be pleased if you gave up and took your own life."
    "What do yer know about God?"
    "Not a lot, I suppose. But this feeling you have right now comes and goes for everybody, you know that. Look at Paul Dickson and what he's lost, Shaz..."
    Karen stood to her feet and began to unbutton her green combat trousers. Pickle never asked what she was doing; he just glared at the young woman, completely baffled. She lowered the combats down and pointed at the cuts on the inside of her left thigh. "Don't ask me why, but I started doing it days ago. We're all depressed, Pickle." She then pulled her trousers back up. "We're all suffering."
    "Shit." Pickle put his hands together as if he was about to pray. "I had no idea."
    "Only you and Paul know about this. I haven't done it for days. I think I've got it under control."
    Pickle patted the seat next to him and urged Karen to sit down. Once she did, he put his arm around her and kissed her on the cheek. "I'm sorry for wallowing in self-pity."
    "You're entitled to do that. And next time you do it, I hope I'm here for you again."
    "I suppose I'm just having a bad couple o' hours. Yer don't need to see me like this."
    "Pickle, I don't mind seeing you like this. I'd rather you didn't hide it. We've known each other for nearly two months now, feels like years. And we've been through some shit that is beyond surreal. Two months ago I was a Grade D Staff Nurse, engaged, and had a house at Draycott Park. Since I've known you, we've killed so many Snatchers I have lost count, I've shot a gun, I've been close to being killed more times than I'd like to experience, and I've even killed people."
    "What's yer point?"
    "My point? In such a short space of time, I've never felt like this about anybody, not even Shaz. The stuff we've been through... We have an unbreakable bond. You're the big brother that I never had, and I love you." Karen kissed him on his forehead before getting to her feet, the tears in her eyes refusing to fall. She began to walk over to the door that led to the stairs.
    "Where're yer going?" he asked in a croaky voice, his throat swelling with emotion. He loved her so much. He just wasn't good at telling her.
    "I'm turning in for the night. I'm exhausted."
    "Good night, Bradley."
    "I'll need a hug tonight." Karen smiled and beckoned him to follow her. "We can lie on the bed—"
    "But—"
    "I'm not gonna take no for an answer. I think this will be good for the both of us. You can go into the other room afterwards. I don't think I can put up with your snoring anyway."

Chapter Nine
     
    Paul and Kyle Dickson were having a quick evening stroll along Sandy Lane, to blow off the cobwebs, whilst Lisa was at Rosemary's. They strolled in silence and both seemed comfortable walking without verbal interaction. Paul placed his arm around his little man, and the boy looked up at his dad and gave him a big cheesy smile.
    Kyle pointed up ahead and said, "It's Mrs Halliday."
    Paul looked, and could see the elderly lady in her dressing gown, walking along the path with her two hands holding a kitchen towel as if she was carrying something. Kyle had said a few days ago, to her face, that Mrs Halliday looked like a witch, but it was something that she managed to laugh off, claiming that she had been called a lot worse.
    "Hello," Kyle called over.
    "Hello there, young fella." Mrs Halliday had a toothless smile, and Paul thought that the eighty-year-old must have left her teeth in the house.
    "What are you doing?" Kyle asked, and scratched at his strawberry blonde hair.
    Paul and his son were now next to Mrs Halliday, and could see that she had a dead goldfish on a piece of kitchen towel. The drain by Mrs Halliday's feet