The Empty Ones Read Online Free PDF

die.
    â€œWhat kind of place is that?” I said, working to keep my tone casual. Friendly.
    The driver. A passenger.
    â€œA friendly place,” she answered. “Mate, I’m knackered. I’ve got a headache. I’m not the least bit interested.”
    She nervously tucked her hair behind her ears, and reached down to paw through her purse. Her fingers found something in there and wrapped around it. Keys, if she was a smart girl. Something bigger and sharper if she was a fucking genius.
    â€œThat’s all right,” I said. “You don’t have to be in a friendly place. I’m in a place friendly enough for the both of us. All you have to do is keep talking to me all casual-like until I figure out a game plan.”
    Her eyes went dark when I said it. I don’t know what she thought I meant, but hell, if an asshole that looked like me sat across from me and said something like that, I’d be worried, too. She shifted the purse over a bit, getting ready to whip out whatever was in there.
    â€œSee,” I continued— super big smile, hushed, friendly tone, all buds here —“you’re worried about me, and that’s fine. I’m downright worrisome. That’s what my mom always said. But you and me share a bigger problem right now.”
    Her eyebrows knit together. She was actually kind of pretty when she was preoccupied like this, trying to decide between confusion and rage.
    â€œWhich is?” she asked.
    â€œWhen I got onto this bus, I paid the driver and bumped into a passenger. That’s exactly how I thought of them: The driver, a passenger . Now, I’m a few beers deep into what I call ‘a working drunk,’ and I’m not the sharpest knife in the rack on my best days, but I’ve learned to be pretty good with faces. I’m sitting here, trying to figure out—why did I think of them like that? I didn’t see a fat lady, or a black guy, just ‘a driver,’ and ‘a passenger.’ I’m looking for them right now, hard as I can, and I can’t seem to find them.”
    â€œI think you’re a bit past ‘working drunk,’ mate.”
    â€œJust do me a favor. Real quick. Do this one thing for me and I’ll get up, stumble up front and fall out at the next stop.”
    â€œWhat’s this favor, then?” she said, clearly expecting me to suggest some lewd sexual act.
    â€œTake a good look around at our fellow passengers, and tell me anything about any one of them. Something specific—what color their hair is, their race, if they got stuff stuck in their teeth—anything at all.”
    She looked around dutifully. Her hair slipped from behind her ears and fell about her rapidly widening eyes.
    â€œNo? Nothing?” I said, “Well, let’s try something easier—tell me how many of them there are.…”
    She was silent.
    â€œI can’t count them, either, but it looks like a hell of a lot, to me.”
    The cheesy smile was starting to hurt my face, and I guess I don’t have a lot of practice at faking small talk, because we were starting to gather some unwanted attention. I couldn’t pick out details on their faces, but I could tell they were all pointing at us now.
    â€œI know this is going to sound crazy,” I said, “but I think we’re the only people on this bus.”
    â€œBollocks,” she said.
    â€œNo, it’s true—” I started, but she cut me off.
    â€œBollocks! I just had to go and get on a bloody bus full of Faceless, didn’t I?”
    â€œWha—You know about them?”
    She shoved me out of my chair and stood up, pulling her hands out of her purse. I saw what she’d been holding onto in there: two sets of viciously spiked brass knuckles, one wrapped around each fist.
    She was a fucking genius!

 
    FIVE
    2013. Tucson, Arizona. Kaitlyn.
    Sometime around 4:00 A.M. , I slipped into a sort of hypnotic