Page 63

Arrogance.

That was Walt’s weakness.

It was not difficult to figure out how to stay awake while Walt fell asleep.

Hollis let Walt babble about fashion and women as he got them ready for bed. Asked the sort of questions that made Walt feel good and knowledgeable until Walt’s fondness welled up in their chest like a summer sunrise.

Then, when it was time to sleep, Hollis let himself drift to a place that was quiet and calm, and stayed there. Like lying in bed for a few hazy minutes before getting up.

It was strange to hear his mouth begin to snore, when he had nothing to do with it.

REM sleep is deep, and Walt had said he needed that, so Hollis waited longer. Until his body stopped tossing and turning and a whisper didn’t change the pattern of his breaths.

Hollis wasn’t stupid.

He was younger than Walt and absolutely less conniving, but he wasn’t so stupid he would forget the way it felt when Walt gave him access to his fingers.

It was a pulling feeling, from somewhere between his bones and the top of his skin. It didn’t hurt. It was like spending a few hours with someone’s hand lying on top of yours until you got so used to the weight and the temperature that you forgot it was there. Then, when they lift off you for a few seconds and cool air rushes in, you remember what it is to be free.

It took until the dawn began to light the world beyond his eyelids.

But Hollis moved his own fingers himself— just a twitch —once again.