This is life or death, and there's no room for sentiment or
humanity. Get a hammer out of the toolbox, on that shelf." Kurt
hesitated. "Do it!" Alan said, pointing at the toolbox.
Kurt shrank back, looking as though he'd been slapped. He moved as if in
a dream, opening the toolbox and pawing through it until he came up with
a scarred hammer, one claw snapped off.
Davey shook his head. "You don't scare me, Albert. Not for an instant. I
have a large supply of fingers and teeth -- all I need. And you --
you're like him. You're a sentimentalist. Scared of yourself. Scared of
me. Scared of everything. That's why you ran away. That's why you got
rid of me. Scared."
Alan dug in his pocket for the fingerbones and teeth he'd collected. He
found the tip of a pinky with a curled-over nail as thick as an oyster's
shell, crusted with dirt and blood. "Give me the hammer, Kurt," he said.
Davey's eyes followed him as he set the fingertip down on the tiles and
raised the hammer. He brought it down just to one side of the finger,
hard enough to break the tile. Kurt jumped a little, and Alan held the
hammer up again.
"Tell me or this time I won't miss," he said, looking Davey in the eye.
Davey shrugged in his bonds.
Alan swung the hammer again. It hit the fingertip with a jarring impact
that vibrated up his arm and resonated through his hurt shoulder.
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