The Hollow Men (Book 1): Crave Read Free Page A

he felt no regret over the death of a man who had tortured and killed a woman. He snapped his fingers and said with more command, “Hey, get past it. Let’s go! Where’s your car?”
    They hurried the remaining distance to the car. Santa had been prodded crisply and often by his rescuer-turned-drill sergeant. When they reached his car, he overcame his shock enough to stammer a fervent thanks.
    Tom handed the red bucket to Santa. His tan face relaxed from the stone-cold expression of a soldier into a beaming smile. “Merry Christmas!” he said, slid a $100 bill from his wallet, folded it, and deposited it in the donation bucket. He clapped Santa on the shoulder—”Sorry, mate. Gotta run”—and sprinted away, vanishing around a corner.

CHAPTER 3
    L OLLING H EAD
    S anta sat shaking in his car. It had only been fifteen minutes since he’d first entered the alley. He struggled to wrap his mind around what he’d just experienced. He’d never seen anyone die before, and now he had seen two deaths, and almost witnessed an actual killing. Images of the lifeless woman flashed through his mind.
    He added the $100 bill to the pitifully few coins inside the donation bucket. He believed he’d been a force behind the turnaround in Riverton and a conduit for the people of the town to help families in sore need But what good was the money he’d collected over the years if he couldn’t save a girl from being attacked and killed so boldly in the middle of the day, only a few blocks away from him?
    Because of his bell ringing, his raspy singing or being lost in his thoughts, he hadn’t heard the slightest thing. She was dead and he lived. He’d failed her. The sour taste in his mouth from vomiting in the alley grew worse. His skin grew clammy and a shudder from his stomach pushed what little it had left into his throat. He tilted halfway out of the car to retch a concoction of saliva and stomach bile onto the ground. He wiped at a foul trail of drool, unintentionally rubbing it into his beard.
    Despite the big Korean’s warning, he needed to see the alley one more time, to hammer into his brain that this had actually happened, that violence was part of the new reality of living in a time and place where neither nature nor humanity could be counted on.
    He drove to the entrance of the alley, stopping short of running over the man that his rescuer had killed. The man’s legs were twitching, jerking his feet wildly on the pavement, as though he was thrashing in pain but at super-speed. What if he’d been faking? Could he have fooled the big Korean? And if he could have, maybe the woman was still alive as well! Shaking off the temptation to drive away, making it someone else’s concern, he grabbed his phone and dashed to the side of the injured man.
    Before he could get close enough to check on him, all of the Neanderthal’s limbs jerked uncontrollably. His abdomen contracted, curling his body into a tight ball. Then his back arched, splaying his arms wide. His meaty hands clutched at air.
    Santa backed away and dialed 911. “There is an injured man here at the corner of Main Street and the alley between Fourth and Fifth Avenue. Please hurry.”
    “What is your callback number?”
    “It’s my cell phone. The area code is…”
    Movement in his peripheral vision made him look up. The woman by the garbage bags had propped her naked body against the grimy brick wall. Her arms were trembling, and her head shook back and forth as though she were trying to remember what had happened.
    Shocked to see her alive, he choked on his saliva. He coughed out to the emergency operator, “She’s alive. She’s hurt. Hurry,” hung up, and rushed to the poor woman, kneeling as he put his arm around her bare shoulders. “It’s OK, dear girl. I’m here to help.”
    She turned her ashen-grey face to his. Her eyes were flat and unfocused; her lips quivered as if trying to say something. He leaned in to hear what she wanted. With impossible