BooksBarbecue
Back The Progeny Save as PDF
Chapters (50)
  1. Dedication
  2. THE CENTER
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. 40
  43. 41
  44. 42
  45. 43
  46. 44
  47. 45
  48. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  49. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  50. Copyright

I move toward him and take it, my spine prickling as I return to the bedroom. He’s just picking up the remote as I close the door behind me.

So now I know that I have no idea how these supposed powers of mind suggestion work, that Rolan made it up completely . . . or that he’s immune.

Which makes him a hunter. And means Ivan was right.

I force myself to sit on the edge of the bed facing the door, sandwich on the floral bedspread beside me. I glance at the clock: 8:45 P.M.

I sigh and lie back to stare up at the ceiling in the dark. I’m exhausted, my limbs heavy as though the earth just doubled in mass.

I mean to wait in silence for the better part of three hours. To give the impression that I have finally given in to exhaustion.

Which means, of course, that I do the one thing I have no intention of doing.

I fall asleep.

I rouse just enough with the first violent twitch, the kind your body does when it refuses to go gently. I shove up from the bed in a panic, limbs like tar, and grab the edge of the bedspread to keep from falling in slow motion onto the floor.

What’s wrong with me? My legs are stupid, and I end up dragging the bedspread halfway off the bed. Something soft topples to the carpet with a crinkle of plastic. The sandwich.

I stagger back against the desk and almost knock over the glass of soda.

The one Rolan poured when I wasn’t looking.

My tongue feels too thick to even curse. I didn’t drink it all—on that count, the proverbial glass is half full. But the fact that Rolan wants me out is enough for me to realize it’s time to go.

I glance at the clock: 9:13.

I force my eyes to widen, myself to straighten. Shake my arms as though they’re wet. Take inventory. One door, leading to the sitting room, where Rolan is no doubt still awake. One window, looking down from the second story onto the bushes below.

One option.

I unlock the latches at the top of the window with clumsy fingers. With one last glance at the door, I push the inside pane up a tentative inch. It squeals against the sill. With a quick breath, I shove it loudly all the way up at once.

Commotion in the front room, pounding on my door. Time’s up.

I climb awkwardly over, fighting for purchase, and dangle just long enough to see a pair of headlights illuminate the bushes—and a length of concealed pipe—before I drop.

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