At that moment, before Clinton could actually say another word, Oliver slapped him again — hard, and this time it landed squarely on the other side of his cheek.
"Smack!"
The sound echoed through the room like a gunshot.
Clinton's body jerked back violently, and he crashed to the floor, hitting the side of the chair as he fell. His lips were split, his nose red and dripping blood. He looked like he had just been in a car crash. His eyes rolled slightly, and for a moment, everyone thought he had passed out.
But then, with a weak, shaky voice, he whispered, "Don't hit me again… Do you want to kill me?"
His voice cracked like dry leaves, barely audible. He could barely move his neck. He just laid there, helpless, blood trickling down the side of his mouth and onto his shirt.
Immediately, Uncle Festus started thrashing in his chair like a wild animal in a cage.
