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Chapter One

The body lay in perfect repose on the Victorian fainting couch, looking more like a sleeping beauty than a victim. Detective Sarah Chen had seen enough death in her ten years with the Metropolitan Police's Special Cases Unit to know that natural death never looked this peaceful. Something was very, very wrong.

        'No signs of struggle, no marks on the body, and yet...' She leaned closer, studying the victim's face. Charlotte Mills, aged 28, was found by her roommate this morning, apparently having passed away in her sleep. Her expression was serene, almost blissful, but her eyes - those were what caught Sarah's attention. Behind the closed lids, her eyes were moving rapidly, as if still deep in REM sleep.

        "You see it too, don't you?" The voice came from behind her, rich and cultured with a slight Irish lilt. "She's still dreaming."

        Sarah turned to find a tall man in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit standing in the doorway. He hadn't been there a moment ago, she was certain of it. His dark hair was streaked with silver at the temples, and his eyes were an unusual shade of amber that seemed to shift color in the light.

        "This is a closed crime scene," she said firmly, her hand instinctively moving toward her weapon. "How did you get in here?"

        He smiled, but it didn't reach those strange eyes. "Dr. Marcus Thorne," he said, pulling out a card that somehow both looked official and seemed to shimmer slightly. "I'm a consulting specialist with the Department's new Oneiric Phenomena Division."

        "The what division?" Sarah frowned, taking the card. The moment her fingers touched it, she felt a slight electric tingle, and the letters seemed to rearrange themselves before her eyes.

        "Dreams, Detective Chen. We investigate crimes involving dreams." He moved into the room with fluid grace, his attention fixed on the victim. "And this is the third one this month."

        Sarah's mind raced. There had been two other deaths recently - both young women, both found peacefully dead in their sleep. She'd seen the reports but hadn't made the connection until now. "How do you know about those cases?"

        "Because I've been tracking the killer for quite some time." Thorne knelt beside the body, his eyes now definitely more gold than amber. "He's what we call a Dream Collector - someone who has learned to enter and steal dreams. But this one has developed a taste for more than just dreams. He's taking souls."

        Under normal circumstances, Sarah would have dismissed such talk as nonsense. But there was something about the scene, about the victim's still-moving eyes, about Thorne himself, that made the impossible seem suddenly plausible.

        "If you're tracking him," she said carefully, "why haven't you caught him?"

        Thorne's expression darkened. "Because he only appears in dreams. The physical world is my domain, but his... his is the realm of sleep. To catch him, we need someone who can walk between both worlds." He turned those unsettling eyes on her. "Someone like you."

        "Me?" Sarah almost laughed, but the sound died in her throat as memories she'd long suppressed began to surface. The dreams that felt too real, the nights she'd awakened to find objects moved in her room, the way she sometimes knew things she couldn't possibly know...

        "You've always known you were different, haven't you, Detective?" Thorne's voice was gentle now. "The dreams that come true, the hunches that turn out to be right, the way you can sometimes see how people died just by touching objects they owned..."

        Sarah took an involuntary step back. "How do you know about that?"

        "Because I've been looking for someone like you. A Natural - someone born with the ability to cross the threshold between waking and dreaming." He gestured to the victim. "Charlotte here won't be his last. There will be others, and their souls will remain trapped in an eternal dream unless we stop him."

        Just then, the victim's hand twitched, her fingers moving as if writing something. Sarah moved closer, watching as invisible words were traced in the air. Thorne pulled out what looked like an antique monocle and held it up. Through its lens, golden letters shimmered in the air where Charlotte's fingers moved.

        "Help me," Thorne read aloud. "He's coming for the others."

        Sarah felt a chill run down her spine. She looked at the victim's peaceful face, at those restlessly moving eyes, and made a decision that would change her life forever.

        "Tell me what I need to do."

        Thorne's smile was grim. "First, you need to learn to control your abilities. Then..." he held up the monocle, through which Sarah could now see strange symbols glowing all around the room, "you need to learn to hunt in dreams."

        Outside the Victorian townhouse, storm clouds gathered, and Sarah Chen, homicide detective and newly discovered dream walker, took her first step into a world where nightmares were real, and death was just another kind of sleep.

Chapter Two

The basement of the Natural History Museum was the last place Sarah expected to find the headquarters of a secret dream investigation unit. Yet here she was, following Thorne through a maze of storage rooms filled with artifacts that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.

        "The mundane world only sees what it expects to see," Thorne explained, using an ornate key to unlock a heavy wooden door marked 'Private Collection.' "To them, this is just museum storage. To us, it's the largest collection of dream artifacts in the Western Hemisphere."

        The room beyond defied physics. It stretched impossibly far, filled with glass cases containing everything from ancient masks to modern-looking devices. Floating orbs of soft light illuminated collections of bottled dreams - actual dreams, swirling like liquid mercury behind glass.

        "Your badge, Detective," Thorne held out his hand. Sarah hesitated before handing over her police credentials. He placed it on a strange device that looked like a Victorian music box crossed with a computer. When he returned the badge, it felt different - heavier, somehow more real.

        "Now you'll be able to access both worlds officially," he said. "Look at it again."

        The badge had changed. Alongside her regular police credentials, new text had appeared: 'Special Inspector, Oneiric Investigations Division.' The letters seemed to shift between English and something older, something that made her eyes water if she looked too long.

        "Before we can hunt the Dream Collector, you need to understand what you're dealing with." Thorne led her to a case containing what looked like a normal pillow. "Touch it."

        Sarah reached out hesitantly. The moment her fingers made contact, the world tilted. She was suddenly standing in someone else's dream - a sunny beach, but the sky was green and the sand whispered secrets. She jerked her hand back, gasping.

        "Good," Thorne nodded approvingly. "Most people can't pull back from their first dream artifact. You have natural barriers."

        "What was that?" Sarah's heart was racing.

        "A dream fragment from 1892. A young girl's last dream before the influenza took her." His voice softened. "We preserve them here. Dreams carry memories, emotions, sometimes even pieces of souls."

        "And this Dream Collector... he takes entire souls?" Sarah remembered Charlotte Mills' peaceful face and restless eyes.

        "He traps them in eternal dreams, feeding off their essence." Thorne moved to another case, this one containing what looked like a cracked mirror. "Each victim becomes part of his collection, their souls powering his abilities, letting him dreamwalk without natural talent like yours."

        Suddenly, the cracked mirror began to frost over. In its surface, Sarah saw Charlotte Mills' face, mouth open in a silent scream. Then another face appeared - another victim, she presumed - and another.

        "He's showing off," Thorne growled. "He knows we're investigating."

        The temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Frost patterns spread from the mirror to nearby cases, and Sarah heard what sounded like distant laughter.

        "Well, well," a voice echoed through the room, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. "A new player in the game. And such interesting dreams you have, Detective Chen."

        Sarah felt something brush against her mind, like cold fingers trying to pry open a door. Instinctively, she slammed her mental barriers shut. The presence withdrew, but not before leaving behind an impression of amusement.

        "He's already caught your scent," Thorne said grimly. He pulled out a small velvet bag and removed what looked like a dreamcatcher made of silver wire and black pearls. "Wear this when you sleep. It won't keep him out entirely, but it'll stop him from stealing your dreams while you're still learning to defend yourself."

        As Sarah took the dreamcatcher, her fingers brushed Thorne's, and suddenly she was hit with a flash of his dreams - centuries of memories, battles fought in realms of sleep, and a profound sense of loss that made her gasp.

        Thorne withdrew his hand quickly. "Your abilities are stronger than I thought. We'll need to work on your control."

        "What are you?" Sarah asked directly. "You're not just some government consultant, are you?"

        Before he could answer, an alarm began to sound throughout the facility. One of the dream bottles had turned black, its contents writhing like smoke.

        "He's hunting again," Thorne said, already moving toward the exit. "Someone in the city has just entered their last dream. Are you ready for your first real case, Detective?"

        Sarah touched her new badge, feeling its power hum under her fingers. "Do we have time to save them?"

        "If we're lucky, we might catch him in the act. But remember - in dreams, he's incredibly powerful. One wrong move and you could lose your soul."

        As they rushed from the dream archive, Sarah caught one last glimpse of the cracked mirror. In its surface, she saw her own reflection smile back at her with eyes that weren't quite her own.

        The hunt was about to begin.

Chapter Two

The basement of the Natural History Museum was the last place Sarah expected to find the headquarters of a secret dream investigation unit. Yet here she was, following Thorne through a maze of storage rooms filled with artifacts that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.

        "The mundane world only sees what it expects to see," Thorne explained, using an ornate key to unlock a heavy wooden door marked 'Private Collection.' "To them, this is just museum storage. To us, it's the largest collection of dream artifacts in the Western Hemisphere."

        The room beyond defied physics. It stretched impossibly far, filled with glass cases containing everything from ancient masks to modern-looking devices. Floating orbs of soft light illuminated collections of bottled dreams - actual dreams, swirling like liquid mercury behind glass.

        "Your badge, Detective," Thorne held out his hand. Sarah hesitated before handing over her police credentials. He placed it on a strange device that looked like a Victorian music box crossed with a computer. When he returned the badge, it felt different - heavier, somehow more real.

        "Now you'll be able to access both worlds officially," he said. "Look at it again."

        The badge had changed. Alongside her regular police credentials, new text had appeared: 'Special Inspector, Oneiric Investigations Division.' The letters seemed to shift between English and something older, something that made her eyes water if she looked too long.

        "Before we can hunt the Dream Collector, you need to understand what you're dealing with." Thorne led her to a case containing what looked like a normal pillow. "Touch it."

        Sarah reached out hesitantly. The moment her fingers made contact, the world tilted. She was suddenly standing in someone else's dream - a sunny beach, but the sky was green and the sand whispered secrets. She jerked her hand back, gasping.

        "Good," Thorne nodded approvingly. "Most people can't pull back from their first dream artifact. You have natural barriers."

        "What was that?" Sarah's heart was racing.

        "A dream fragment from 1892. A young girl's last dream before the influenza took her." His voice softened. "We preserve them here. Dreams carry memories, emotions, sometimes even pieces of souls."

        "And this Dream Collector... he takes entire souls?" Sarah remembered Charlotte Mills' peaceful face and restless eyes.

        "He traps them in eternal dreams, feeding off their essence." Thorne moved to another case, this one containing what looked like a cracked mirror. "Each victim becomes part of his collection, their souls powering his abilities, letting him dreamwalk without natural talent like yours."

        Suddenly, the cracked mirror began to frost over. In its surface, Sarah saw Charlotte Mills' face, mouth open in a silent scream. Then another face appeared - another victim, she presumed - and another.

        "He's showing off," Thorne growled. "He knows we're investigating."

        The temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Frost patterns spread from the mirror to nearby cases, and Sarah heard what sounded like distant laughter.

        "Well, well," a voice echoed through the room, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. "A new player in the game. And such interesting dreams you have, Detective Chen."

        Sarah felt something brush against her mind, like cold fingers trying to pry open a door. Instinctively, she slammed her mental barriers shut. The presence withdrew, but not before leaving behind an impression of amusement.

        "He's already caught your scent," Thorne said grimly. He pulled out a small velvet bag and removed what looked like a dreamcatcher made of silver wire and black pearls. "Wear this when you sleep. It won't keep him out entirely, but it'll stop him from stealing your dreams while you're still learning to defend yourself."

        As Sarah took the dreamcatcher, her fingers brushed Thorne's, and suddenly she was hit with a flash of his dreams - centuries of memories, battles fought in realms of sleep, and a profound sense of loss that made her gasp.

        Thorne withdrew his hand quickly. "Your abilities are stronger than I thought. We'll need to work on your control."

        "What are you?" Sarah asked directly. "You're not just some government consultant, are you?"

        Before he could answer, an alarm began to sound throughout the facility. One of the dream bottles had turned black, its contents writhing like smoke.

        "He's hunting again," Thorne said, already moving toward the exit. "Someone in the city has just entered their last dream. Are you ready for your first real case, Detective?"

        Sarah touched her new badge, feeling its power hum under her fingers. "Do we have time to save them?"

        "If we're lucky, we might catch him in the act. But remember - in dreams, he's incredibly powerful. One wrong move and you could lose your soul."

        As they rushed from the dream archive, Sarah caught one last glimpse of the cracked mirror. In its surface, she saw her own reflection smile back at her with eyes that weren't quite her own.

        The hunt was about to begin.

Chapter Three

They arrived at St. Bartholomew's Hospital just as the emergency lights began to flash. Sarah followed Thorne through corridors that seemed to blur at the edges of her vision, her new badge somehow clearing their path without ever being shown.

        "Room 307," Thorne said, his voice tight with urgency. "Young male, admitted for minor surgery, slipped into an unusual coma during recovery."

        The patient, David Parker, age 23, lay perfectly still on his hospital bed, his eyes moving rapidly beneath closed lids. Just like Charlotte Mills. But this time, something was different - the air around him rippled like heat waves over hot asphalt.

        "He's still in the process of taking him," Thorne said, pulling out what looked like an antique pocket watch. "We can follow if we're quick. Are you ready for your first dream dive?"

        Sarah's heart pounded. "What do I need to do?"

        "Take my hand. Focus on the patient. Let your consciousness slip between the moments of reality." Thorne's eyes began to glow that strange amber color. "And whatever you see in there, remember - dream logic is real logic in that world."

        Sarah grasped Thorne's hand and looked at David Parker. The world tilted, twisted, and suddenly...

        They were standing in a hospital corridor that wasn't quite right. The walls breathed slowly, the floor was made of flowing water that somehow supported their weight, and the ceiling was a swirling mass of constellation maps.

        "His dreamscape," Thorne explained, his voice echoing strangely. "Every dreamer creates their own reality. Look."

        Down the impossible corridor, a figure in a doctor's coat was leading David Parker by the hand. But the 'doctor' was wrong - his shadow moved independently, reaching out with grasping tendrils towards other dreams that floated past like soap bubbles.

        "The Dream Collector," Sarah whispered.

        As if hearing his name, the figure turned. Sarah's breath caught. His face was a beautiful mask of shifting features, never settling on one form, but his eyes... his eyes were endless pits of swirling dreams.

        "Ah, the new dreamer," his voice was like silk over broken glass. "And my old friend Marcus. Still trying to police the dream worlds?"

        Thorne stepped forward, and Sarah noticed his appearance had changed in the dream. His suit was now made of living shadows, and wings of dark light stretched from his shoulders. "Let him go, Collector. You've taken enough souls."

        The Collector laughed, the sound causing the hospital walls to crack, leaking golden dream-light. "Taken? Oh, Marcus, you still don't understand. They give themselves to me. Show her, David."

        The young man turned, and Sarah saw his eyes were glassy with bliss. "It's beautiful here," he said dreamily. "All my pain is gone. All my fears. He takes them all away."

        "By taking everything you are," Sarah found herself saying. She took a step forward, instinctively reaching for her police badge. In the dream, it transformed into a shield of pure light. "David, this isn't real healing. It's theft."

        The Collector's face rippled with anger. "You dare interrupt my collection?" The corridor began to twist, reality bending around them. "Let me show you what happens to those who interfere with my work."

        Suddenly, the floor beneath Sarah liquefied completely. She started to sink, but instead of water, she was drowning in dreams - thousands of them, each containing a fragment of someone's stolen soul. She saw Charlotte Mills dancing endlessly in a ballroom of mirrors, saw other victims trapped in perfect moments that had become eternal prisons.

        "Sarah!" Thorne's voice cut through the chaos. "Remember - dream logic! Make your own rules!"

        Dream logic. Sarah closed her eyes, focusing on her years of police work, of protecting people, of solving puzzles. When she opened them, her badge-shield had transformed into a sword of pure thought.

        With a cry, she slashed through the dream-flood. Reality reasserted itself - or at least, this dream's version of reality. She stood on solid ground again, facing the Collector.

        "Impressive," he purred, but she sensed uncertainty in his voice. "You're stronger than the usual dreamers Marcus recruits. Perhaps we could make a deal..."

        "No deals," Sarah said firmly. She could feel her power growing, reshaping the dream around them. "David, look at what he really is. Look with your heart, not your fears."

        For a moment, David's eyes cleared. The Collector's beautiful mask slipped, revealing something ancient and hungry beneath. David screamed, pulling away from the creature's grasp.

        The Collector snarled, his form shifting into something monstrous. "If I can't have him willingly..." Shadows exploded from his body, reaching for David.

        What happened next seemed to unfold in slow motion. Thorne spread his dark wings, shielding David. Sarah's sword of thought became a net of light, trapping some of the shadows. But the Collector himself simply... stepped sideways, vanishing into a door that appeared in the air.

        "Sweet dreams, detectives," his voice lingered behind. "We'll meet again soon. After all, Sarah, your dreams are particularly... appetizing."

        The dreamscape began to dissolve. Sarah felt Thorne grab her arm, pulling her back through layers of reality. Then...

        They were standing in the hospital room again. David Parker was awake, gasping, but alive and whole. A nurse was rushing in, responding to his sudden revival.

        "We saved one," Thorne said quietly. "But he'll be angry now. And he'll come for you."

        Sarah touched her badge, still feeling echoes of its dream-power. "Good," she said grimly. "Because I have some questions for him about Charlotte Mills. And about what you really are, Marcus Thorne."

        Thorne's expression was unreadable. "All in time, Detective. For now, you need to rest. Tomorrow, your real training begins."

        As they left the hospital, Sarah could have sworn she saw her shadow move independently, reaching for dreams that floated just beyond the edge of sight. The world would never look quite the same again.

Chapter Four

Sarah's apartment looked different when she returned that night. The shadows seemed deeper, more alive, and ordinary objects cast reflections that didn't quite match reality. The dreamcatcher Thorne had given her pulsed softly in her pocket, responding to the changed way she now saw the world.

        She was exhausted but afraid to sleep. The Collector's words echoed in her mind: 'Your dreams are particularly appetizing.' Instead, she spread her case files across the coffee table - photographs of Charlotte Mills, the other victims, and now David Parker's medical records.

        A soft chime from her badge interrupted her concentration. The metal had grown warm, and when she touched it, words appeared in that strange shifting script: 'Archive. Now. Emergency.'

        The museum was different at night. Sarah's new badge led her through doors that hadn't existed during her first visit, down stairs that seemed to descend far deeper than the building's foundation should allow. She found Thorne in a circular room she hadn't seen before, surrounded by floating screens of light that showed various dreamscapes.

        "We have a problem," he said without preamble. "The Collector's attack pattern has changed. Look."

        The screens shifted, showing a map of the city overlaid with points of light. "Each light is a dreamer," Thorne explained. "The blue ones are normal dreams. The red..." He gestured, and several dots pulsed an angry crimson. "Those are nightmares being actively shaped by outside forces."

        "He's attacking multiple targets at once?"

        "No." Thorne's expression was grim. "He's leaving traps. Dream-snares. Anyone who falls asleep in these areas risks being pulled into a constructed nightmare. He's trying to overwhelm our ability to respond."

        Sarah studied the pattern of red dots. "They're forming a shape... a symbol?"

        "A summoning circle." A new voice joined them. Sarah turned to see an elderly woman emerging from what appeared to be a door made of starlight. Her eyes were milk-white, but she moved with absolute certainty.

        "Sarah, meet Dr. Eleanor Price, the Archive's keeper," Thorne said. "And yes, she's blind in the waking world, but in dreams..."

        "I see everything," Eleanor finished. Her unseeing eyes fixed on Sarah with uncomfortable accuracy. "Including what our friend the Collector is truly planning. He's not just taking souls anymore. He's building toward something larger."

        She gestured, and the room transformed around them. They were suddenly standing in what looked like a vast library, but the books were made of dreams, their pages flowing like liquid memory.

        "Every dream ever archived is stored here," Eleanor explained. "Including the oldest nightmares of humanity. The Collector isn't just a thief - he's trying to wake something that should stay sleeping. Something we locked away centuries ago."

        She pulled a book from the shelf, and its pages burst open, projecting a scene of ancient horror - a time when the boundary between dreams and reality was thinner, when nightmares could walk in daylight.

        "The Last Nightmare," Thorne said softly. "We thought it was safely contained, but if he completes that summoning circle..."

        A sudden tremor ran through the Archive. One of the red dots on the map had grown larger, pulsing violently.

        "He's starting," Eleanor's voice was urgent. "Sarah, you need to see something before you face this." She pressed her fingers to Sarah's forehead, and suddenly...

        She was in a memory. A younger Thorne stood with a woman who looked remarkably like Sarah herself, facing down a shadow that threatened to devour the world. The woman - another dream detective? - sacrificed herself to help seal away the nightmare.

        "Your mother," Eleanor's voice echoed in her mind. "She was one of us. Her sacrifice helped lock away the Last Nightmare, but the Collector has never stopped trying to free it. And now he's found you - her daughter, with her power."

        The vision ended abruptly as another tremor shook the Archive. More red dots were pulsing on the map.

        "Why didn't you tell me?" Sarah demanded, turning to Thorne.

        "Because I promised her I'd keep you away from this life," he replied, pain evident in his voice. "But now the Collector knows who you are, and we're running out of time."

        "The summoning circle will be complete at the next new moon," Eleanor added. "Three days from now. If the Last Nightmare wakes..."

        "Then we stop him before that happens," Sarah said firmly, though her mind was reeling from the revelations. "How do we break these dream-snares?"

        "It's dangerous," Thorne warned. "Each one is a trap designed specifically for dream walkers. If you're caught..."

        "Then you'll just have to watch my back," Sarah said. She touched her badge, feeling its power respond. "Where do we start?"

        Eleanor smiled, her blind eyes somehow twinkling. "First, you need to understand what you truly inherited from your mother. It's time you learned about the true history of the dream walkers - and why the Collector fears your bloodline above all others."

        As if in response to Eleanor's words, the books around them began to glow, their pages rustling with the weight of secrets about to be revealed. In the map above, the red dots pulsed like a countdown to catastrophe, and Sarah realized she had less than three days to master powers she never knew she had.

        The true game was about to begin.

Kemudian
Hixon
HIX TERGULING ke pantat telanjangnya di sisi tempat tidur, meletakkan kakinya di lantai.
Sniabl).
Apa itu tadi?
Tidak bagus.
Tidak bagus.
KWarHena ^i'tu bagvuwsY.
Itu luar biasa bagus.
Pada pemikiran ini, dia merasakannya bergerak di tempat tidur. Mendengarnya mengeong pelan. Mencium bau parfumnya yang terkutuk.
Berbedak, berbunga-bunga dan manis, tapi bukan semua itu yang sampai padanya.
Ada jaroma ZmuZsk ByaZnégZ 'mgenmjbRuIatP s,exmuuya ituG ImeónzjJadiV she.kséi.
Ditambah dengan aroma seks di dalam ruangan. Jejak wanita itu pada dirinya (yang lebih dari sekedar parfumnya). Kegelapan yang mengelilinginya hanya terpotong oleh cahaya bulan dan lampu jalan yang jauh, sehingga ia praktis tidak bisa melihat apa-apa. Ini berarti dia hanya memiliki indera lain yang bisa dia perintahkan, Hix merasakan perutnya menegang, bahunya, rahangnya.
Semua ini untuk mengalahkan tarikannya.
Dia harus keluar dari sana.
DziaP QmendoYronag Mumnt,uk rb(er(diri_, bmeDrgumaJm,k "H*aprWugs peFrzgi."
Ada keheningan yang cepat sebelum ia mendengar suara lembutnya, terkejut, "Maaf. Apa?"
Dia meraih celana pendeknya, menariknya ke atas kakinya, mengulangi, "Harus pergi."
Suasana ruangan berubah. Perasaan hangat dan lesu pasca-setelah-sungguh-sungguh-sungguh-besar-setubuh berkilauan menjadi tidak ada karena sesuatu yang lebih berat mulai merembes masuk.
"PreArgiV?"j éttaGnQyajnya.
Tuhan, dia bisa menguraikannya dengan sebuah suku kata.
Jadi, ya.
Itu benar.
Pergmi..
Dia harus pergi.
Dan melakukannya sebelum ia mencium lebih banyak bau wanita itu. Mendengar lebih banyak suara itu dengan cara apa pun yang datang padanya-seperti sebelumnya dan yang pasti seperti yang terdengar saat itu dengan rasa sakit yang bergetar melaluinya.
Dia pasti tidak bisa memandangnya.
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Tidak semua itu.
Tapi juga tidak menatapnya sama sekali.
"Pergi," dia mendengus, menemukan celananya lima kaki dari tempat celana pendeknya berada dan merobek-robek kakinya.
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"Saya... . baiklah, eh.. . ."
Hanya itu yang dia katakan.
Tapi itu terlalu banyak. Sekarang setiap suku kata seakan melapisi kulitnya, bernyanyi untuknya, memikatnya kembali.
Yessu&sh.
Apa itu?
Dan sialnya, itu sudah lama sekali.
Tapi selama itu, dia tidak pernah menjadi pria itu.
Orqanng lyanYg dira irnQggiKnkLaXn s,aatx iJtu.ó
Bagaimana orang itu memainkan omong kosong seperti ini?
"Terima kasih," gumamnya.
Satu ketukan cepat keheningan sebelum dia berkata dengan suara yang rendah dan tertegun, "Terima kasih?"
"Yak.V" Diaat Zm.ejnganRg$kCaLtn kZemejanya Adi LpuhndaMkmnya qdganó tiudIak peldRuli, wd.eknagBan ukSanScsiqnqganHyaé. óDhiaI uhannySa melirikH Vkex arahGnPya tUaQnpa !bPeJnamr*-ybCeSnahr mCenataZpNnyaW YbóaDhkÉan) rsaaCtO dlia qmVemybuwnqgk(ukD u!ntukq ómDeAnCaéndaiu sepatu LdMan kausg kDaWkHinzyaK WdaDriO (lantaiW,m benrsyIukurK sXeWmtuÉanUya, tbHeGradan ódialatmy tuzm)pVuXk(an yaTnhg ObOeXraAntakan, !tidak bderusyuxkPuprs brLaé b$erenKdva mkiAli(knyaa bkfusu!tb beMrósPaBmaB Rmerekuap.G f"xItu XheXbat,s"( hdCiaV menyMexlTesaiSkapnnryka.W
Pincang, bung, pincang. Dan benar-benar brengsek, pikirnya.
Perasaan ruangan menjadi tertegun, dan lesu lagi, kali ini dengan sesuatu yang tidak terasa enak sama sekali.
"Ya," katanya lembut ke punggungnya. "Bagus."
DiNa ybqerSbUadlgikN kóe marahnya,! mDenactaqpM *móa(t_anya keq XatÉaÉs tKemYpat t(iWdurk,M mQenrcabtatÉ daenhgahn Ocaarna* yCanGgS pdmiup'aykOsBakan-FsyaTm_aOr-sfamaxr dUiaa UbeVrd!iTrGi diz avtzaLs tqanÉg.anP,n mFekmegayn!g gs&eZpraNi kéeR adadIanya, iramibuuHt)n(ya KjaStSuuhx kJeq buaDhurnyWa, kayJa,F Lmbaldu*,x pitranVg bGerkixlauP maltaMhaWrGiK Gy'axngD di&buaut ge'lua*p óda'l'amZ cachtayaI imaHrjinéaOlH,W !b,a)hkPan. sa'atv tatnbgDa,nnyRay yaDng lPaQijnz xtebraAngLkgatY,Y amOena!ryi(k baIg,iUagn deppalnl XraQmIbutnzyKa keAl&ua.rg ^dRarFiY wajOahRn(y(a.d
Yup.
Tidak baik dia memandangnya.
"Nanti saja," katanya.
"Bnecnar."b dAdKa FgitgitHans uAnCtBuky )ijtruY.q FPahYit' dan bFerédmumriÉ.G "Nainat)ip."
Hal itu membuat Hix berhenti sejenak, mendengar nada bicaranya.
Dan itu membuatnya membuat kesalahan.
Dia melihat melalui bayang-bayang ke dalam matanya.
Dita tidaDk IbyimsRa meblinható dVen.gamn TjRelFaSs ntkaTp$i dd!iKaY menrasma( ,muaZtaZ it(u )jFugCag pahi!t( Gdanf ^b&ehrIdOuÉrQi.
"Jangan khawatir tentang mengunci pintu di belakangmu," katanya, sekarang setiap kata yang keluar darinya terasa dingin. "Seperti yang kau tahu, tidak ada kejahatan di kota ini."
Oh ya.
Dia tahu itu.
Tapip iMtu* t)i!dWawk _menWgu*bXah kNeFaRdsaIanf.
"Kau harus mengunci diri," katanya pelan.
Dia memiringkan kepalanya ke samping dengan tajam. "Dan itu adalah pemahaman saya bahwa Anda harus pergi."
"Greta-"
Daia ,menDja&tBurhkan OtfaDnJgaCndnya daRri irxa)mbuRtnDy,a ódCa&nq KszehbeÉlmai( rMaumUbuSt vp,avn^jjang dawnb tebVal lj*aAtuCh mkec nma.tAa ykiKrVinQya,t fsverma,kéin, um&eMmbNaqyxanghi cwaUjahunyaz deKn(ganj carSaó yPaónKgk tAerMaésFaI s)e(pXeIrAtJib diFa teCla.h mTePngamjb.i&ls lManAgkah ibeQsahr tmuqnBdnuhrH PdbaIrÉinIyan.
Tidak.
Dia tidak perlu melihat itu juga.
"Bud. Tolonglah."
K)aJta-kPattyansya tbukGan(lah DsebuYa)hK póeNrmoOhFonan.x
Itu adalah cemoohan.
Dan yup.
Dia harus keluar dari sana sebelum dia melakukan kerusakan lagi.
MnesJk'iép&un! beTgitNu...ó.
"Kunci di belakangku," perintahnya.
"Diterima, Sheriff."
"Kau punya cara untuk mendapatkan mobilmu kembali dari klub?" tanyanya.
"rJan(gRa&nb khhawbat)irJkan$ akVuj,i say,anjg. TAku puniyZa Pc*arIa NuAnltu)kc mtelZakuFka!n baDny.aak halX,"w kBatanYyWa..
Baiklah.
Dia akan baik-baik saja. Dia akan terus maju.
Sekarang dia bisa selesai.
Dlia Abe*rCbnewlokg uuznQtkuk peprngi' tetapéi m$ePmgutKaFrr Vba.lSik$ daan kZe)mLbalTi nmLenqaDnbgkCap ctatGapGan!ny.ay.
"Itu hebat, Greta," dia mengulangi kebenarannya dengan nada yang, kali ini, tidak bisa dilewatkan bahwa dia bersungguh-sungguh.
"Ya, Hixon. Brilian." Kata-katanya terpotong, dan meskipun dia tahu tanpa keraguan dia setuju dengan apa yang dikatakannya, nadanya tidak sependapat dengan sentimennya.
Saat dia ragu-ragu-dalam bayangan gelap dia tidak bisa melihat matanya menyipit, tapi dia bersumpah dia bisa merasakannya melakukan hal itu-dia menyelesaikannya, menekankan betapa dia sudah selesai saat dia memberinya, "Nanti saja."
Dia MmenVgaUnKgkaGtó Édzagwunzy.as,h berbalikO tkTembalFi' XkgeM ApFiVnWtu *dWadnF TbYeNrzjVa^lan kel&u,arQ.&
Dia memakai kaus kaki dan sepatu botnya tepat di dalam pintu depan dan mengancingkan kemejanya sebelum dia berjalan keluar.
Tidak ada yang akan bangun pada jam itu, tapi itu tidak masalah.
Pada saat itu, Hix tidak memikirkan apa yang akan terlintas di benak orang-orang jika mereka melihatnya keluar dari rumah di pagi buta dengan kemeja yang belum dikancingkan.
Pqacd*aT sasaPt i*ttuÉ,( HCix h&aénfyTaq qbeÉrMpivkirS .t(eFntzangP a,paÉ )ylanlgS LakSan tecrlliOnbtans diP bzenaPkp orankg-Éo(ralng KtebntHadng &Gretna jriQkay seDoUrang XpriYaj ókeluarC dGaGri rBumajh)nya$ dZi xp&ag!iB Cbutap pde)ngacné $keQmqe.jYa yRangH vteYrPbuHkaJ.
Dia duduk di truknya di tepi jalan dan menunggu sampai dia melihat wujud Greta, dibayangi oleh cahaya minim yang menyaring melalui tirai tipis di atas jendela di pintu depannya dan dia tahu Greta mengunci dirinya dengan aman di dalam.
Baru setelah itu Hix pergi.

Tedium
Hixon
DALAM PERJALANANNYA ke kantor pada hari Senin, telepon Hix berdering.
Ia menarikzn^ya keléuafr Odhakrbi !séakru dqapdQa&ntyaA ^dFaanf nmelBiriAk k(eZ ladyGarT.
Ia segera berharap ia tidak harus menerima telepon itu.
Tetapi meskipun dia bukan lagi istrinya, mereka memiliki tiga orang anak. Anak-anak itu akan datang ke tempatnya sepulang sekolah sore itu untuk seminggu bersamanya, jadi dia harus menerima telepon itu.
"Ya?" jawabnya.
"zBa$gsuNs,j"G wjawab uHo^pe dFengIan ndajda ,asaim.R
Hal ini membuatnya jengkel.
Itu selalu membuatnya jengkel.
Bahkan sebelumnya.
TaUpni Ékamr'ewnKa iInKiu bKupkan ipeKr)tóama *kaplilnyCaM cdika Xmte!njakwab $tele_pjon darMión^y_aV !d.e&nWgaanO AcJarfa BsOepXe,r*tiO dituu !(kQetikqav .dxiha Usmefd&angG .menyWextiZr, kebManytaknaHn, taHp!i jLuga kHewtika ldita ZseTdacn(ga dBaqlta!mM Xmasaélmah be&shaCr,M bahka^nQ sebe(lumc dian mencherqadidkTannyha) Lseljmakc dtifaM LmeFnGceraiktannAyca,h KhaBlN hitsu$ membIuyatniyXaG keFsalV sZeékaraRngr bl_ebgihb _da&r(i pseÉbelUuhmndyaa._
Meskipun, dia sudah tahu sejak lama Hope menyukai hal-hal yang dia sukai.
Hanya bagaimana dia menyukainya.
Jadi dia tidak terlalu peduli seberapa sering dia harus menyampaikan dengan tepat bagaimana dia menyukainya.
Diaw haWn(yas stidaDk pxedOuliT keqtCika. )meVreka tbéeZrhsjamVa, kJaCrena Wdia, telca)h^ mdgiLajahrlkvaxnq $olDeshl oJrGanIg BtIuóabnyfa MbTavhWwa qd'aDlaLm peLrénvikka(han, Xunt(uk* cmenNdLapatAkra'n$ yYaxnVgj bauiRk,é )Azn.dRaJ mengXamOb)il Iy)aIngn b&u*ruik' DdéaTn Anda meneNmxukan rcpara uuntuk mengxh_adUaipinyza.Q
Dengan itu, ada suatu masa, yang sangat lama, ketika dia berpikir bahwa sifat itu adalah sifat yang baik. Wanitanya tahu apa yang dia inginkan dan tidak mundur.
Dia tidak berpikir seperti itu lagi.
"Di dalam mobil dalam perjalanan ke tempat kerja, Hope," katanya. "Kau tahu aku tidak suka berbicara di telepon dan menyetir, dan kau tahu mengapa." Dan dia tahu. Kembali pada hari ketika mereka tinggal di tempat di mana terjadi sesuatu, dia telah melihat berbagai hasil yang tidak menyenangkan ketika orang lebih tertarik pada apa yang terjadi di telinga mereka daripada apa yang terjadi di jalan. "Anak-anak baik-baik saja?"
DixaJ SmNecn'ga&b,aidkan$ gpertadnyBamanNnZyav DunvtukA meTnócFa&tait,_ "AndJak Sbiks^aG me!njdFa&pa$t&kDacn émTosbil yahnsgq mepmtiÉli,kZim ponsel yymanÉg' terhpubLuyngh ltapngsku(n*g kAeJ tsqanaL sehiPngga Aindnau memiiUliYkii ke_sem!pastCaTny Éyang lebvihg bxaik auintuhkP nm.emlakAuUkafnt Whal RyaaqngW CmVunsrtaéhilD., PI^tu cadóaDl!aLhh mvuSlgtvi&tAasDkingC.ó"g
Dengan gajinya, bagaimana dia berpikir dia bisa melakukan itu dan menyiapkan rumah di mana dia bisa menyelesaikan membesarkan anak-anaknya pada saat dia memiliki mereka, dia tidak tahu.
Hope mendapatkan mobil baru.
Hix telah memiliki Bronco sejak tahun terakhirnya di perguruan tinggi.
Dóengan kaFtaN él!ain,U Lduia Psjudóafhr memilRiki mKob^itl ituJ setla&ma dmusa puClJuAh ta(hunD.h
Hal ini juga tidak mengganggunya. Masih tidak. Ford Bronco adalah kendaraan terbaik yang pernah ada di jalan. Dia akan menukarnya ketika dia meninggal karena kematian yang tidak bisa dia kembalikan, dan bukan sedetik sebelumnya.
Hope tidak memberinya kesempatan untuk menanggapi, bahkan jika dia tidak berniat melakukan itu.
Dia mengumumkan, "Kita perlu bicara."
LuXarV biasa.
Ini telah menjadi refrainnya sekarang selama berminggu-minggu.
Tiga dari mereka.
Bahkan, itu dimulai sekitar satu jam setelah mereka duduk di ruangan itu dengan pengacara mereka dan menandatangani surat-surat itu.
"'U(langui,"s (dia' me.nggGigxiUts. v".AinnapkK-anaPk Obzaikt-gbai(k sGajQa$?"f
"Mereka baik-baik saja," jawabnya. "Tapi kita perlu bicara."
"Apakah ini tentang anak-anak?" desaknya.
"Tidak, Hix. Bukan. Ada hal-hal yang perlu dibicarakan yang tidak melibatkan anak-anak."
Dia ysanbgZatg YsbaXlZaHh_.
"Tidak lagi."
"Ya Tuhan!" bentaknya. "Mengapa kau menjadi seperti ini?"
"Aku tidak tahu, Hope," jawabnya, berbelok ke tempat parkir di sisi departemen sheriff. "Mungkin, mengingat aku sudah menandatangani surat cerai tiga minggu yang lalu, aku bisa menjadi apapun yang aku inginkan."
Sze&pye'rfti bDiéasva, HopMe. ,b(eLrtCah*anS. "ABdqal ShBalL-hial! yavng Dpmerkluy di&knaftakazn.$"É
"Pikirkan kau sudah mengatakan semuanya saat kau menandatangani namamu di baris di sebelah namaku."
"Hix-"
Dia selesai memarkir mobilnya dan mematikan mesinnya, sambil berkata, "Mungkin sampai jumpa di pertandingan besok malam."
"&A.kNuP tHidak HbBisnab !berBbiFcQaara .deMn,géalnmMu, ctjePnCtRagnJg, hazl' ianii. $dió pNertaDnd.in,gZa&nA CorinnJeY.A"É
Dia menatap keluar kaca depan ke arah bata merah yang merupakan sisi departemen dan bertanya, bukan untuk pertama kalinya, oleh karena itu dia melakukannya sambil menghela nafas, "Ingin memberi petunjuk padaku tentang apa 'ini'?"
"Saya ingin. Secara langsung," jawabnya, juga bukan untuk pertama kalinya. Lalu tiba-tiba, permainannya berubah. Dia mendengarnya dalam suaranya ketika dia membujuk, "Makan siang hari ini. Saya yang traktir."
"Kecuali ada sesuatu dengan anak-anak, kita tidak akan bicara, Hope. Jadi sudah pasti kita tidak akan makan siang."
"bBeXrap)at lyama iwaskMt^uc yYanQg dibsutuhkanj psZeKbelBudm kaQup Ybi,sKah meFnggatGamsziB .hOal^ RiDnOiK dCan memGbizarzkanUkuK Oke&mLbali LmIasauk?A"U
Hix merasakan dagunya bergerak perlahan-lahan kembali ke lehernya pada saat yang sama matanya berkedip sama lambatnya.
Mengatasi hal itu?
Ya Tuhan.
D$a,nF )memIbilarkatn$nyaO kembalxiD kmjasuék?
Serius?
"Kau menceraikanku, Hope," dia mengingatkannya dengan pelan.
"Aku ingat, Hix."
"Apa 'kavuÉ FiFng)at .bXasgxian KdiV mHaKnwa Larku beYrruXlaLngu rkal.i JmengIat$ankia$n^ sjelarmJa jsIetFahgu&nk Rkivtsa beQrnpiisahI nb!ahLwPa! aKkuw Atidaak ymelngNinvginktannn_yyaO?s" t*anyóanZygag.
"Bisakah kita membicarakan hal ini? Tatap muka?"
Hix mengabaikannya sekarang.
"Saya tidak menginginkannya. Bukan untuk anak-anak. Bukan untuk keluarga kita. Bukan untukku atau kamu. Bukan untuk kita."
"HViPxTonX-"a
"Kita baik-baik saja. Kita bahagia."
"Aku tidak bahagia," katanya dengan lembut.
"Kau sudah cukup jelas," balasnya.
"mSaKy*ang, biNsAankaQhk lkiYtFa-$?U"X
Sayang?
Oh tidak.
"Kau punya sesuatu untuk dibagikan tentang anak-anak, kita bisa bicara. Lewat telepon. Kecuali kau menangkap Mamie sedang menyuntikkan heroin. Lalu kita bisa bicara tatap muka."
"YaU TuUhkan! DUiFa Obe'rZumFur tiigaB UbelQasa tahVun'!"
Memang benar.
Ya Tuhan, bagaimana bayinya bisa berumur tiga belas tahun?
Dia tidak menanyakan hal itu kepada mantan istrinya.
Dia( melngyWaYtFakkan, C"SreYk*aKraDng Jssa!y,a XhaDrusp mulóaNi NbTeUkóe^rjaI.j"
"Aku tidak bisa mempercayaimu."
"Jaga dirimu baik-baik, Hope."
Dengan itu, dia menutup telepon dengan harapan itu akan menjadi yang terakhir kalinya dia harus berurusan dengan telepon seperti itu dari mantan istrinya, tetapi dia tahu itu tidak akan terjadi.
D!iaf tHidak rtseFrkcejutA Jk$etiDkaq xpPiNkVi(ranN viLni imme.njjadciA kDenKyaMtawaxnM saZastd wfani(ta iptu amenel&epo!nnyva *kembgaKliT *séaaTt dwi.a móehlXetza*ktkan Htrang&aNnlny.a diD pMecgPanZgzaln $piynStBuM debp'an idieGplarutepmeqnP.
Dia menolak panggilan itu, membuka pintu, melangkah masuk, berhenti dan melihat-lihat departemennya.
Kantornya berada di belakang, sebuah jendela besar di ruangan itu.
Ruang kerjanya berada di sebelah kanan, di balik kaca antipeluru yang dipasang sebelum dia sampai di sana karena alasan yang tidak diketahui, karena hampir semua orang di daerah itu memiliki pistol, tetapi kiamat zombi harus terjadi sebelum ada orang yang akan menggunakannya di kantor polisi. Satu-satunya hal yang lebih sakral bagi warga Nebraska adalah gereja, kuburan, dan Lapangan Tom Osborne di Memorial Stadium.

Kemungkinan besar itu karena mereka memiliki surplus dalam anggaran.
Seorang wanita yang bekerja di ruangan itu. Reva. Dia bekerja pada hari kerja.
Di depannya, sebuah konter kayu panjang, tinggi, tua, tua, sobek-sobek, dan usang yang masih berkilau karena perawatan dan usia.
RlefsPewpgsiongi)s$.f zTidÉaXkB aday yanOgX ubeókeyrjHa dHi spi$tgu. xSetóiYap rdlekputi Aya!ngO merlqiyhXa$t NseNseorVaMn*g )masuk Hawkuannn um.eMngavmZbiplnNy)a(.
Di luar resepsionis, melewati pintu setengah berayun yang aneh, seperti di acara TV, empat meja. Dua kali dua, berdampingan dan bertumpuk.
Di balik dinding di sebelah kanan, melewati ruang pengiriman, satu ruang interogasi, satu ruang observasi, ruang loker, lemari besi yang aman, yang merupakan ruang amunisi, dan area pemrosesan mereka di mana mereka melakukan sidik jari dan mengambil foto mug.
Dua sel yang mereka miliki berada di belakang, di seberang kantornya, sebagian besar terbuka ke ruangan. Terbuka, tentu saja, tidak termasuk jeruji besi.
Tdidadk )mwenug)henranmk)an,m Xsa_tgu debpóuti di Amepjaónryya tampaAk$ tsDespAeprtHih tidaBkG a)dQaW yanvgJ HhwaTrus MdgilfaBkXuCk)anC.
Ini karena memang tidak ada yang bisa dilakukan.
Daerah itu hidup dalam gelembung kemunduran yang membuat Hix bertanya-tanya mengapa semua gadis tidak mengenakan rok pudel di bawah rok pudel mereka, kaus kaki dan sepatu pelana, dan semua anak laki-laki tidak memakai pomade di rambut mereka dan celana jins mereka muncul di keliman.
Di daerah itu, orang-orang meninggalkan kunci mereka di mobil mereka dan pintu rumah mereka tidak terkunci.
Di da*ePraCh iStNu, sebahgiafn 'bCeswaCrJ btisnFis t_uPtulpg RpPa.da' yhaIryi M)iqnSggmu skBapr(ena shaLaGt intCullahM A&nd)a p$evrgi kJe ,geéreOjaN $dfaZnq $ke_mjuRdsiaznv Apuélainig ke, rummahh! untuOkT twauk&tOul 'keLlucaIrgVa),q makXani Cm*aylRamZ hvaRrtiN lMi'nMggvuH,c !d^anw &ji&ka it*uN adsalKaYhM lmju*sMi_manLyat, csepak bollta.
Itu adalah daerah Cleavers.
Itu menakutkan.
Hix telah merasakan hal itu tentang kampung halaman Hope sejak saat dia menginjakkan kaki di dalamnya dua puluh tahun yang lalu untuk bertemu ibu dan ayahnya.
Dkia tWiJdapkn i&n'gIin hpHicnVdah kóeM Ws$anUa daKri* BIgndtian&apVoTliQs,C Bta.pyiG QdSi.aW irngPinU m*e,msbesga(rFkaCnr aInak-xanakS mCe'reska dbiB Zsana (ddan jWujgad insg^in ibóuDnya cdeUkaAtD s(eThiwnIgQg)aO dkixa bbi!sa jmUembVeibadnukan aén)a)k-aQnak padaPnaytad ketikaV diÉaD diMnHg(i)nO meblSaékÉuÉkan' s$esuUahtNuF uyan'gF bl'aMin). Jadzif,g Hbeg'itBuK Mmereka Mm!uplFapi Ym&ekmilik^iz (aQniak, idvia mutlai Émasudk kMey dyalamó dtirbin)ya$._ LDFa$nm VdzeYngabn gwaya sHo_pe zydaung MmmuJrZniO,N vdyiva PtÉidaGkA msemObiamrkzann!yaA.
Untuk itu, Hix telah bertahan.
Butuh waktu sembilan tahun.
Kemudian, sebelum Shaw bisa terlalu bercokol di sekolah dan teman-teman yang akan dia dapatkan, dan Hix telah melihat bagaimana keadaan di sekolah negeri di kota dan dia tidak terlalu menyukainya, dia menyerah.
ItquW éthuijFuhS txahuns Pyadngw klaléu'.h
Anak laki-lakinya sekarang berusia tujuh belas tahun. Corinne, anak keduanya, anak perempuan pertamanya, lima belas tahun, enam belas tahun pada bulan Januari. Mamie, bayinya, tiga belas tahun.
Hope sangat senang dengan kepindahan itu.
Hix dan anak-anaknya sudah bosan. Tidak ada Museum Anak-anak. Tidak ada Colts. Tidak ada 500. Tidak ada Monument Circle yang menyala untuk Natal. Tidak ada Eagle Creek Park. Tidak ada acara makan malam khusus di St Elmo Steak House. Tidak ada perjalanan akhir pekan ke Dunes atau penyewaan cottage di Danau Shafer, atau perjalanan keluarga ke Chicago untuk menonton pertandingan Cubs dan kemudian menikmati pizza terbaik yang dikenal manusia.
Hganya VbanOybaPk ksTekial$iX 'NebqraskaD Zyiahnzg ydxipeFnzuhti d_eDngman* t'anah! vper$tCaxnIian yaZn&gZ ódóiitajb,uJrix mdehn.gawn Brumahh-BruRmahw JpeLrtanxian,c Hata'u tzanah paeHternyak_anM dye&ngan^ rjumwahó-ruymÉaChv petecrnaékaÉn MdaznF scefsekSahlOi kogta ycarngj WtWidnark akaQn' rpTetrTnvaWh TmfeQnja(dig !cóuHkuWpH aQngkuhX yuMnHtBuk móeYmvpeSrtfiJmb)andgkzalnn iu&ntuk Rmenhdek'l!a$ryasiSkaWnS *diCrinyaY sebaAgiai kotZa.h
Tempat itu adalah tempat di mana polisi kota pergi setelah kasus buruk yang memutarbalikkan omong kosong mereka sedemikian rupa sehingga mereka tidak bisa menghadapi bahkan kemungkinan kasus lain.
Atau di mana polisi metro pergi untuk kehilangan akal sehat mereka.
Kebosanan.
AÉda bqe.beraPp)a VpemaQbéuk yaXngu imeplakUuSkanr hatl Hbto(d)oh ikareanTa) merekZa mabuék. OAda_ 'bebLermapac Fanak ryangW QmelakuukaJnT haYl bodKoh 'kaNrenaR ymeCrezkaq maspih Panak-anuak,.b yAdac bKiAsaik'an-bisiékPanB teNnztang kePkerCaRsdan AdajlVam DruqmDaéhu Ntangga aitauN pÉelreCcxeh$a_nF VaunaAkW Oy^a.nggq Étid)ak .akamnÉ dYilapo*r.kaaLnn foqlJehB siaApCa ÉpunW kaMreZnta^ "itun tiHdcaik mterXjgadsi ódji. sinsi,"z RtkeGtapiz )jRikai YiÉtu( Ktidnaók NterkreOndawlviQ,& piQhUa.ka-pniBhqakk yBadn*g VbJerbsanrgkuhtan perQgiq kPe^ pSendletan Gm)eMr'ekaU,H RbSukapn sher^imff! merekAa&.p
Ada ganja.
Itu saja.
Kematian terakhir yang dicurigai berakhir dengan bunuh diri, dan itu terjadi dua puluh tiga tahun yang lalu.
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Pengaturan yang dipegang teguh oleh kriminal, hingga hari itu.
Alasan pertama mengapa Hix tidak bisa menemukan alasan hukum untuk menggerebek laboratoriumnya.
Dan ketika sheriff itu pensiun dua tahun setelah Hix dan Hope pindah kembali, dan Hope tidak berhenti mendorongnya untuk mencalonkan diri, dia mencalonkan diri sebagai sheriff tanpa perlawanan, sehingga menang.
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Hix telah mengambil sembilan puluh delapan persen suara.
Ini karena McCook County tidak menyukai perubahan. Sheriff terakhir telah memegang jabatannya selama tiga puluh tiga tahun. Dia mendukung Hix pada pemilihan pertamanya, ketika dia tidak membutuhkannya, dan yang kedua, ketika dia hanya semacam itu.
Dan Hix mungkin dilahirkan dan dibesarkan sebagai Hoosier, tetapi Hope adalah Cornhusker sampai ke tulang, bahkan jika dia telah menyelesaikan gelarnya (sehingga tidak lulus) di Purdue (harapan ketiga dan terakhirnya).
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Dan kerabat Hope telah, dan begitu juga dia, percobaan pertama.
Tapi ketika Hix sudah cukup dewasa untuk berhenti ingin menjadi pahlawan super, lalu pilot pesawat tempur, setelah itu dia pikir dia akan puas dengan astronot, dia menjadi serius.
Tepatnya pada saat ia berusia sebelas tahun, duduk di tempat parkir di dalam mobil bersama ibunya, dan pria kurus dan gelisah itu mengetuk jendela.
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Dia tidak akan pernah lupa betapa pucat wajahnya atau betapa eratnya dia berpegangan pada kemudi saat dia mengantar mereka pulang, mengatakan berulang kali tidak apa-apa. Dia hanya berantakan di balik pintu kamar tidurnya dengan ayahnya setelah ayahnya pulang, dan dia melakukannya tanpa mengetahui Hix duduk di luar, mendengarkan.