Waylon’s caramel eyes fix on me, and I flinch at the ferocity lying within them. He stomps right for me and my instincts have me backing up slowly. Waylon opens his mouth and lets out a chilling rhyme.
This can’t be happening. Lewis is in jail.
“Half a pound of needles and nails.
Half a pound of explosives.
That’s the way the madman creates.
Pop! Goes the weasel.”
Explosives?
My eyes dart around, searching for the implication in the rhyme.
“Keep walking backward toward me,” Knox instructs.
My face pales as a gust of wind opens Waylon’s sweatshirt, revealing what he’s wearing underneath. I find the switch in his hand. “Waylon, this isn’t you. You’ve been drugged. Whatever Dr. Whitlock told you to do, you don’t have to do it.” But just like Seth and Alice, Waylon doesn’t hear me.
“Up and down the streets in town.
In and out the locked door.
That’s the way I get out my cell.
Pop! Goes the weasel.”
A father with his two kids stops in his tracks, eyeing Waylon. Another breeze blows Waylon’s sweatshirt open, and the father catches sight of Waylon’s vest.
The father cries in warning to the rest of the people in the carnival, “He has a bomb!”
Shrieks of fear break out all over the immediate vicinity. Parents grab their children and run as fast as they can.
“Every night as you slumber,
The madman’s out your window.
Take the gun and pop him off.
Pop! Goes the weasel.”
Out my window…Has Lewis been watching me sleep?
“Raven, run! Now!” Griffin demands.
My pulse echoes in my ears as I raise my trembling hands, indicating I mean no harm, but that seems to set Waylon off. His face darkens with a sinister grin.
“A penny for your thoughts he said.
A penny for your children.
That’s the way of the madman.
Pop! Goes the weasel.”
Children…He doesn’t mean to just hurt me.
Turning on my heel, I push my legs in the opposite direction from the frightened people. I can’t lead Waylon to them when he’s wearing a vest strapped with C-4.
