What Happens in the Darkness Read Online Free PDF Page A

displayed them on the mantle in the den.
    “Trophies. Right.”
    “What position do you play?”
    Jeff was stumped. No one had ever asked him before. “Catcher,” he lied, shrugging, hoping Martin would change the subject.
    “My father and I used to play catch,” Martin said. “But that was a long time ago.”
    Jeff nodded. He was sure it must have been a long time ago, because this guy looked old, really old. He looked even older than Walter. Martin must have been at least thirty .
    “What are you going to do?” Martin asked.
    “Huh?”
    “The bullies. What’s your plan?” There was a lilting quality to his voice. It almost felt as though Martin was trying to hypnotize him. Or as if he was about to break into song.
    “I dunno … go around I guess.”
    “You can’t do that forever.”
    Jeff studied the floor and picked at a scab on his wrist. “They’re bigger. Really bigger.”
    “So?”
    “So I’ll get killed!”
    “Find the toughest one,” Martin said, grasping the bars, pressing his face against them. “That’s the one you fight. One fight is all it’ll take. One good punch. Simple.”
    “ Simple ? No way! These guys are tough.”
    “No, no, no. One punch. They’ll back down. Didn’t Walter ever teach you to fight?”
    “He tried. But I’m not very good at that either.”
    “Either?”
    Jeff’s cheeks burned and he coughed into his fist. “Never mind.”
    “I can show you. It’s simple.”
    “Show me what? Fight? You know how?”
    “Sure. All men can fight.”
    “Really?” He stepped a couple more feet toward the bars. “Martin? Can I ask …?” He studied the floor again, kicked at invisible pebbles.
    “You want to know why I’m in here?”
    Jeff cleared his throat and nodded, wiping mud and dried blood off his T-shirt.
    “This is a military base. There’s only one reason to keep men like me locked up.”
    Jeff looked up and met Martin’s stare.
    “I’m a political prisoner. Your government doesn’t believe in my … politics. Or that of my family.”
    “Family?”
    He gestured with his chin. “In the back.”
    “Where are they?”
    “They’re around.” Martin smiled. “I’d introduce you, but they’re not always in the mood for company.”
    Jeff nodded. “So what’d you do? Protest or something?”
    “Or something.” Martin laughed.
    Jeff enjoyed the sound—it sounded real. He also thought Martin’s black dungarees and white T-shirt were cool. Kind of like Fonzie, or Elvis before he got fat.
    “No, not a protestor, kid.” He leaned into the bars again. “You want to learn to fight or what?”
    “Yes!” Jeff approached the bars, facing Martin. He balled his hands into fists and held them in front of his face.
    “Not bad,” Martin said, holding up his own fists, mirroring Jeff’s. “Pull in your elbows. You’re leaving your stomach unprotected. That’s better.” Martin bobbed and weaved, shadowboxed with the bars. “Good job, kid. Pull those arms in tighter. No, not like that. Wait. Come over here, let me show you.”
    Jeff stepped up to he bars.
    “Turn around, kid. Face the other way.”
    Jeff turned his back on Martin.
    Martin grabbed Jeff’s arms, moved them in one or two jabs but then quickly pulled them through the bars and pinned them behind his back.
    Jeff cried out, and Martin pressed something sharp against Jeff’s throat.
    Martin lowered his mouth to Jeff’s ear and whispered, “Rule number one, kid. Trust no one.” He twisted Jeff’s arm until the boy cried out. “Stupid kid,” he spat. “No wonder you get beat up all the time. You’d better toughen up or you’ll spend your entire life going around the long way. You hear me ?”
    Jeff whimpered and nodded.
    “Why the fuck do you think I’m in here? For protesting ? Use your fucking head, kid. I’m in here because I’m a killer.”
    He pressed the object further into Jeff’s neck, lightly piercing the flesh, dragging it from one side of his throat to the other.
    Jeff