Lost Souls by Dean Koontz

been taken from their homes without being given a chance to dress. None of them is wearing shoes, only slippers. Most are barefoot.”
    Mr. Lyss saw Ms. Jessica Wanhaus, the pretty librarian, who was naked from the waist up. He whistled and behaved in a way that made Nummy half sick.
    “And they’ve got some kind of shiny thing on the sides of their heads,” Mr. Lyss said. “At least the ones I can see clearly.”
    “What kind of shiny thing?” Nummy asked.
    “The kind of shiny thing that shines, you dumbass. How would I know what it is? I’ve never seen anything like it.”
    “Sorry, sir,” said Nummy.
    “You should be sorry, Peaches. Sorry you were ever born.”
    “I’m not though. I’m happy I was born.”
    “Which proves how truly stupid you are. Some of them have almost dead eyes, like zombies.”
    “I don’t like them kinds of movies,” Nummy said, and shivered.
    “Others, their eyes never stop moving, full of terror.”
    Nummy wished Mr. Lyss wouldn’t share the facts he noticed. Grandmama said happiness was a choice and you should always keep a positive attitude. But it wasn’t easy keeping a positive attitude with Mr. Lyss around.
    His back to Nummy, gripping the bars, peering between them, Mr. Lyss said,
“Shit!”
    Sitting on the edge of the toilet seat, Nummy wasn’t sure if Mr. Lyss was giving him an order. If it was an order, it was rude.
    “This is trouble, this is big trouble,” said Mr. Lyss.
    Not only rude, it was wrong. Grandmama said that after she was gone, no one could tell Nummy what to do except policemen and Mr. Leland Reese. Mr. Leland Reese was Grandmama’s lawyer. He was a good man you could trust. Grandmama said if anyone else told Nummy what to do, they were being presumptuous.
Presumptuous
meant they had no right to order Nummy around. Mr. Lyss had no right to order Nummy around. Besides, Nummy didn’t need to poop.
    “Over there in the farther cell,” Mr. Lyss said. “There’s Chief Jarmillo in his damn underwear. And the sergeant in his uniform. Sergeant Rapp. How can they be in the cell after they locked us in here and went back upstairs?”
    Nummy couldn’t answer that question. Even if he could answer it, he’d be called dumb no matter what he said. So he just sat with his lips zipped.
    Most of the time, according to Grandmama, silence was wise. Only the biggest fools always had something to say.
    “Maybe Jarmillo is a twin,” Mr. Lyss said, “or Rapp, but not both of them. Twins isn’t what’s going on here.”
    After that, he turned away from the other prisoners and began to pace, looking worried and then afraid.
    Watching Mr. Lyss be afraid, Nummy grew fearful, too. The old man seemed like he hadn’t been scared of anything since the day he was born. So if he was scared now, then things were worse than Nummy thought, and he already thought they were pretty bad.
    After a long time of pacing, Mr. Lyss suddenly turned to Nummy and said, “Get off the toilet.”
    Nummy was going to say that only policemen and Mr. Leland Reese had the right to tell him what to do. But the sight of the old man’ssnarling gray teeth changed his mind. He got up and stood by the bunks.
    Mr. Lyss unzipped his prisoner jumpsuit to the waist and then pulled it down off his bony white hips.
    Shocked, Nummy turned his back to the old man and hurried to the door of the cell. His face was hot, and he thought he might cry with embarrassment.
    He heard Mr. Lyss grunting, then a little splash. He prayed for the sound of the toilet flushing, which would mean it was all over.
    Instead, Mr. Lyss was suddenly beside him at the door, dressed again, holding a yellow tube maybe five inches long. “Get out of my way, Einstein.”
    “My name’s Nummy.”
    “Your name’s anything I want it to be,” Mr. Lyss growled, and Nummy got out of his way.
    The yellow tube was made of soft plastic that dimpled between the fingers of the old man’s left hand as with his right hand he carefully