No Exit by Taylor Adams 2

into the guts of Chink’s Drop, he’d been rescued by the
blindest, dumbest chance, and the bones in his thumb had
knitted perfectly, against the doctor’s prediction — yes sir,
he’d grown up to be quite a magic man, indeed, and there
could be no doubt, he was destined for big things.
How big?
Hell, maybe he’d be president someday.
He couldn’t resist; he laughed — but oddly, he didn’t hear
it. Only the tinnitus-ring in his ears. Come to think of it, he
wasn’t even sure if his face was moving.
“Nice shooting, Jaybird,” he tried to say.
No sound.
Jay lowered the Beretta. Now she appeared strangely
calm, still watching him, studying him with those little blue
eyes. Not with terror — no, not anymore — but curiosity
instead.
What the hell?
Ashley tried to speak again, this time slower, his tongue
carefully enunciating: “Nice shooting, Jaybird,” and he heard
it come out as a single groaned syllable, slurred by Novocain
lips. It was his voice — yes, it came from his own lungs and
airway — but it was spoken by a drooling retard he didn’t
recognize. This was the single most terrifying sensation he’d
ever felt.
Then his eyes slipped out of focus.
Jay blurred, then doubled. Now there were two Jaybirds
staring back at him, and both of them set down their twin
copies of the pistol that killed him.
A warm wetness slithered down his face, tickling his
cheek. A strange odor touched the floor of his brain, dense and
sour, like burnt feathers. He was furious now, trembling with
rage, and he tried to say something else, to curse at Jay, to
threaten a red card, to raise the officer’s sidearm and shut her
up forever, but it had already fallen from his fingers. To his