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Back Falling Save as PDF
Chapters (29)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Epigraph
  4. ONE
  5. TWO
  6. THREE
  7. FOUR
  8. FIVE
  9. SIX
  10. SEVEN
  11. EIGHT
  12. NINE
  13. TEN
  14. ELEVEN
  15. TWELVE
  16. THIRTEEN
  17. FOURTEEN
  18. FIFTEEN
  19. SIXTEEN
  20. SEVENTEEN
  21. EIGHTEEN
  22. NINETEEN
  23. TWENTY
  24. TWENTY-ONE
  25. TWENTY-TWO
  26. TWENTY-THREE
  27. TWENTY-FOUR
  28. ALSO BY CHRISTOPHER PIKE
  29. Copyright Page

Amy was silent a long time. When she finally spoke, it was not in her little girl’s voice or even in any other voice he recognized. It was almost as if he heard her for the first time, and he knew she was telling him the truth. More truth than she had ever told him before. Yet her sincerity did not entirely soothe him. The devil knew when it was wise to tell the truth. Amy was honest when she was forced to be, or when it suited her.

“I made a mistake,” she said. “I admit it. And I’m sorry.”

“That’s it? You made a mistake? You’re sorry?”

She leveled her gaze on him. “What do you want me to say?”

He wanted to laugh. He came close to crying. “That what you did was horrible. That you’re a liar. That you love me. That you’ll come back to me.”

“Yes.”

He was startled. “What?”

“Yes. I’m more sorry than you can imagine. I’m all those horrible things you say. But I love you and I want to come back to you.” She paused. “Will you take me back?”

“Will you really leave him?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Soon.”

He heard her but did not understand her. He did not recognize the later in the reply—her favorite word from earlier times. Or perhaps he heard and understood it all and simply chose to ignore the fact that she was who she had always been. The devil and her special reasons why. He ached to kiss her again. Leaning forward, their mouths met for a long time and when they were done she sat back on the bench and smiled at him and he decided that yes he would dance one more time with her.

Dance or die.

It was not like he felt he had a choice.

TEN

TEN

The Acid Man had a sailor for a nurse. The guy looked like Popeye: tattooed arms, muscles as large as cantaloupes, sloppy white uniform, twisted grin. He reeked of cigarettes and cheap pot. Kelly Fienman had not called to say she was stopping by. But with a flash of her badge, the guy let her in to see Professor Gene Banks. The latter raised his head from a book as she stepped into the living room. He told Popeye to go work out in the next room. Kelly remembered the ton of exercise equipment. Good to know it was not being wasted. Popeye closed the door as he left. She was alone with her assailant in the same apartment where he had attacked her.

“You look well, Kelly,” Banks said.

“Thank you. How are you feeling?”

He moved his head. Not much else to move. “I’m fine. It’s good to see you again. But I suppose you cannot say the same for me. What can I do for you?”