Free Pawnbroker: A Thriller by Jerry Hatchett Page B

“You see?” He was beaming like a child who had caught his first fish. He was also right: The tissue looked exactly like the necrotic area, shriveled and whitening around the edges.
    “Isn’t there some other explanation?”
    “You asked for my opinion. I’ve given it. Something appears to have selectively cooked—via a microwave-similar process—the limbic system of this man’s brain. As to what or how, I have no clue.”
    “Question?”
    “Ask all you want.”
    “Would this condition have been fatal?”
    “If it continued, most likely. At the very least, had this effect continued to progress, he would have soon become a bizarre specimen of a human being. For while the rest of his brain could have theoretically continued to function normally, all emotion, all feelings, would have become more and more erratic and then, finally, shut down. I’d say you did the chap a favor.”
    “Okay, I thank you for putting yourself out like this, Doc. You sure you don’t mind keeping him here for a while?”
    “Picked up a walk-in freezer back when Dave’s Superette shut down. Not a problem.”
    We made our way back out to Penny’s SUV and she tossed me the keys. “You know the roads. You drive.”
    It was nearly midnight when we topped Squaw Hill and saw Montello laid out before us. There were a dozen different stories about why it was called Squaw Hill, but I don’t think anybody really knew. A tight curve sits at the bottom of the hill and has claimed way too many lives over the years, and from the look of it, it may have just bumped up the count.
    We could see the flash of the emergency vehicles even before we rounded the curve, their strobes popping blue, red, and amber bursts into the sweltering black night. When it all came into view, I immediately noticed that the entourage was unusually large for a car wreck. It seemed every police car in town was there, along with a tow truck and an ambulance.
    Kenny Presley, a patrol policeman I’d known all my life, was directing traffic through the melee. I rolled down my window when we pulled even with him. “What’s up, Kenny?”
    “Hey, Gray. Can’t believe it, man.” He was shaking his head slowly, sadly.
    “Bad?”
    He nodded.
    “Dead?”
    “Yeah.”
    “How many?”
    “Just one. Bobby Knight.”

 
    Chapter 31
     
     
     
    T he house was dark when I got home. I went into the girls’ room, kissed them on the foreheads, then on into our bedroom. Abby had the air conditioning cranked low and was burrowed deeply into the down comforter, sleeping peacefully. I took a shower and slipped into bed. She never stirred.
    I lay there, fatigued and craving sleep, but my mind wouldn’t shut down. In less than a week, my comfortable life had been rocked to hell and back. I had stared death in the face and won the first battle, but the war was still on.
    And now Bobby Knight was dead. He and I were at odds over this thing, but we had known each other for a long time—he used to be a good guy. I wondered who drew the horrible duty of going to tell his wife and kids.
    And what was going on with Abby, acting like a stranger? Had something been coming on that I had missed? Here I was in my greatest hour of need and, in addition to the fact that she was almost certainly screwing around, she was acting like she couldn’t care less what happened to me. I couldn’t stand it anymore and nudged her.
    She grunted and pushed my hand back. I poked her again. “Abby, wake up. We need to talk.” I switched on the lamp on my nightstand.
    “What is it?” she said as she pushed herself up onto an elbow and squinted at me.
    “Why are you acting the way you are with me?”
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She yawned.
    “Abby, don’t. You’ve gone cold on me since this thing started. At first you were Miss Concern, but it’s been downhill from there. To put it bluntly, you act like you don’t give a damn and I want to know why.”
    “I’m sorry. I’ll do