Lance may technically be alive, but who would call this living? With his spray tan gone, his pale, sagging skin looks washed out. Though he always kept his hair short, it’s now buzzed down to barely more than stubble, revealing his skull’s jagged surgical scar.
It doesn’t help that I’m the only one here. I texted Travis and Glenn to come with me, but it’s been an hour and they haven’t shown. Checking my phone again, I find no new messages from them.
Assholes.
We need to talk about Lance. According to Quinn, they were there the night she was attacked. When she told me what happened, it sounded like Travis and Glenn helped intimidate the women — or were they trying to keep Lance out of trouble? Did he give them the slip to chase after Quinn? I have several questions. Maybe that’s why they’re ghosting me — if they wanted to cut ties to Lance, to limit the blowback on them for what he did — they’d be smart to avoid me.
“Hey man,” I say, setting down a brown bag from the newsstand. Lance never struck me as giving a shit about flowers or balloons, so I bought him copies ofMaximandPlayboy. I regret my decision instantly — the hospital room looks utterly drab — colorless. It could use some decoration. No one has even bothered to turn on the TV facing the bed. At least if it was on, there’d be some sign of life in the room.
Fuck. I should have brought a six-pack of Yuengling. The receptionist probably might not have allowed it, but that’s what Lance would want.
I suppose I could’ve snuck in some coke.
I grunt a laugh, realizing I haven’t seen Ricky, our guy for that shit, since Lance’s fall — haven’t needed to. At least he showed up when we called.
“How are you holding up?” I ask Lance, taking a seat at his side. “They treating you good?”
I feel like a fucking idiot, speaking out loud to him, knowing he can’t hear.
“Sorry I haven’t visited, man. When I heard about your fall, and what caused it…”
Now I really regret not driving out to NEPA Regional Health Center sooner, back when I hated Quinn Harris with righteous conviction. I’d have riled Lance up with promises of vengeance and pain for the bitch who did this to him. If somehow, on some level, he could hear, I’d like to think he’d have gotten some peace.
“No one ever would have told you this if you weren’t… you know. But they brought Quinn to Walker. I’ve done to her… what I do to the inmates there. So, I’d know if she’s lying to me. I know what you did that night. I’ll be honest: it fucking pisses me off.”
I check to see if Lance reacts, but of course he doesn’t.
“I don’t get it, dude. I really don’t. You were at a party full of chicks; there had to be some there looking to score. You’re not bad-looking, you’re not a slob — you could have gotten one of them. You could have gone to a club and found someone there. Why go after Quinn? Was she special for some reason? Did you want her because you couldn’t have her? You put her through hell. Why? For what?”
Like you’re one to talk, fuckface.
Lance doesn’t say it, but I can hear it in his voice.
You torture women every day. You think they want that?
“That’s different.”
Why, because you don’t stick your dick in them? You still get off on it.
“They’re not innocent victims. They’ve ruined lives — even killed people.”
Lance never would have argued the morality of my job. He definitely wouldn’t have pointed out the obvious: that I used to see Quinn as the same as every other woman at Walker. What if some of them are innocent, too?
I shake my head, trying to dismiss the idea. I’d know. They’ve confessed their crimes to me. They’re guilty.
Says who?
Amber, for one. She doesn’t deny what she did.
Neither does Quinn.
That was an accident.
He doesn’t answer. His machines beep and blink, without change. Accident or not, Lance still won’t wake up.
“I should have kicked your ass,” I say, slipping out the issue ofMaximand idly flipping a few pages. “After you groped the waitress. I should’ve given you a wake-up call. If I didn’t get you out of there so fast, maybe they’d have beaten you bad enough you’d learn your lesson. I’m sorry, Lance — I wish I’d put you in your place more often. I wish I’d been able.”
As I speak, I study Lance’s face, hoping for some kind of response. For a second I think I see a slight twitch in his lips, a knitting to his brow, but then it’s gone — probably my imagination.