The voice overrode his, not angry, not amused, not impatient, not anything he could read. You’re praying already, it said.
His mom and dad would have noticed he was no longer in the driveway, would have seen the ball lying in the grass, would be worried. He loved them and didn’t want to worry them—on some level he understood that Brian’s impending death had struck at them as hard as it had struck at him—but he couldn’t go home yet. Because he wasn’t done yet.
Do you want me to pray? he asked the voice. I’ll try if you want me to, but I don’t know how—we don’t go to church, and—
The voice overrode his, not angry, not amused, not impatient, not anything he could read. You’re praying already, it said.
What should I pray for?
Oh shit, the mummy’s after us, the voice said. Let’s all walk a little faster.
I don’t know what that means.
Yes you do.
No I don’t!
“Yes I do,” he said, almost moaned. “Yes I do, it means ask for what none of them dare to ask for, pray for what none of them dare to pray for. Is that it?”
No answer from the voice.
