The Twelve-Fingered Boy Read Online Free PDF Page A

is causing hallucinations.
    When my eyes open, Quincrux stands motionless, looking at me. The images continue to come, like ghosts overlaid on top of the visible world. Ox. Booth. Anderson. A phantom image of Jack hovers over Quincrux, superimposed and insubstantial.
    I close my eyes again, and this time I push back with all my might. I try to think of something hard and unbreakable.
    A bright blue jawbreaker.
    I imagine teeth trying to crunch it, to tap its sweetness. But it’s diamond-hard, and the teeth scrape and then crumble away.
    I open my eyes and see Quincrux’s eyes widen, just a little. Not enough for anyone else to notice, but I see. I see him. And he saw me. More than I’ve ever let anyone see.
    Booth says, “Mr. Quincrux is from the Department of Health and Human Services. Sorry, Shreve, but he’s allowed to interview all wards of the state. It’s law.” Booth gives me a smile, and the kicker is he’s not being smart or smarmy or snide with it. He’s just smiling at me because, I don’t know, he’s happy.
    Jack looks at me, eyes wide, and nods in a way that’s part acceptance, part thanks. He smiles, too, and this time his smiling doesn’t seem to take an effort.
    â€œIt’s okay, Shreve. I’ll be all right.”
    I’ll be damned. The kid is reassuring me.
    He pulls his leg from the cafeteria bench and walks, straight-backed, to where Quincrux and Booth wait. They turn and head back to Commons, Jack in tow.

FOUR
    On the inside, getting what you want requires giving up something you value. I guess that’s the same as the outside, but I can’t remember exactly. “Ox, I need to get into your room. You’ve got to get me in.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œBecause if they’re gonna question Jack, I’ve got to hear.”
    â€œNah. It’s almost time for English. Mr. Allenby will be pissed if we’re not there. Demerits. And I don’t want to work the kitchen again this month.”
    On the inside, like the outside, you can do what you can get away with, but eventually someone will make you pay.
    â€œListen. It’s weird, son. That Mr. Quincrux is … he’s different. He made me … I don’t know… feel weird.
    â€ “He turn you on or something?”
    For a split second, I imagine punching Ox right in his fat mouth. But the anger goes away quick enough, replaced by the urge to continue breathing—which I wouldn’t be doing if I punched him in the face.
    And my teachers say I’ve got poor impulse control.
    â€œNo. Listen. Listen. He looked at me and read my mind. He just picked my history right out of my head. Until I stopped him.”
    â€œThat right?” Ox picks up his tray, waves at Reasoner and the boys, and heads toward the slop bin. Not much slop left on his tray.
    â€œDammit, Ox. Listen to me. If they question Jack in our cell, I need to be able to listen.”
    â€œNah. Mr. Allenby’ll give me demerits.”
    â€œHe’s got twelve fingers, man.” It just pops right out there, without me even thinking. It’s like my mouth is disconnected from my brain. It doesn’t even make any sense. What does that have to do with anything?
    So much for impulse control.
    â€œThe dude in the suit?”
    I pause. I’ve said it, and there’s no way to take it back.
    â€œNo. Jack. And that’s why I think Quincrux is here to question him. I need your cell. So I can listen.”
    â€œYou telling me the fish has twelve fingers?”
    â€œYeah, man. Twelve fingers.”
    â€œWow.”
    Ox turns and begins shambling, not toward Commons but toward the classrooms.
    â€œOx! I’m not messing around here. I need in your cell.”
    â€œNah. Mr. Allenby will be pissed.”
    â€œTwo Blow Pops.”
    â€œNah.”
    â€œTwo Blow Pops. Two Heath bars.”
    â€œTwo more Heath bars. On top of escort pay.”
    â€œRight.