He planted a foot in the mud for leverage, then flipped Danny over so
that Alan was on top, knees on his skinny chest. The knife was there
beside Davey's head, and Alan snatched it up, holding it ready for
stabbing.
Danny's eyes narrowed.
Alan could do it. Kill him altogether dead finished yeah. Stab him in
the face or the heart or the lung, somewhere fatal. He could kill Davey
and make him go away forever.
Davey caught his eye and held it. And Alan knew he couldn't do it, and
an instant later, Davey knew it, too. He smiled a crusty smile and went
limp.
"Oh, don't hurt me, *please*," he said mockingly. "Please, big brother,
don't stab me with your big bad knife!"
Alan hurt all over, but especially on his bicep and his thumb. His head
sang with pain and blood loss.
"Don't hurt me, please!" Davey said.
Billy was standing before him, suddenly.
"That's what Marci said when he took her, 'Don't hurt me, please,'" he
said. "She said it over and over again. While he dragged her here. While
he choked her to death."
Alan held the knife tighter.
"He said it over and over again as he cut her up and buried her. He
*laughed.*"
Danny suddenly bucked hard, almost throwing him, and before he had time
to think, Alan had slashed down with the knife, aiming for the face, the
throat, the lung. The tip landed in the middle of his bony chest and
skated over each rib, going *tink, tink, tink* through the handle, like
a xylophone.
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