Page 53 of The Season to Sin

‘No.’

‘Sexually?’

‘No.’

‘Were you happy?’

A slight pause. ‘No.’

‘Were you afraid?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘Did you have friends?’

‘No.’

‘Did you read books?’

‘No.’

‘What were you afraid of?’

Another pause. ‘The dark.’

‘Really? Anything else?’

A muscle throbs in his jaw. ‘The bogeyman?’

He’s not being serious. Fine.

‘Tell me about the Morrows.’

Just like that, his eyes whip to mine. Anguish. Anger.

‘Why?’

‘Because I want to know about them.’

‘They were a nice couple. Full stop.’

‘What did they do with you?’

‘Nothing.’

‘On weekends, for example. How did you spend them?’

His eyes assume a faraway look. ‘I can’t remember.’

‘Don’t lie to me,’ I say, barely able to keep the frustration from my voice.

‘I’m not lying to you.’

‘Did you play sports with them?’

‘No.’

‘Watch television together?’