― Margaret Atwood
Air went into him; air went out of him, but that was all—other than that, he was scarcely alive.
He got up each day and walked around. Ate, slept, worked, then back to bed and up the next day to do it again. It was grim. A hamster on a wheel. No exit. No relief. Just another twenty-four hours to kill; another stone to roll.
Why are you alive?
His face stared back dumbly from the mirror.
He doesn’t know, the voices mocked, he’s just a waste of space and air. We hate him. We wish he were dead.*
“It’s nearly eight—you’re going to be late.”
The sound of his wife’s voice pulled him back into the room.
Bead blinked like a fish out of water. His mouth puckered and blew tiny bubbles.
I should have killed him when I had the chance.
He put the razor back into the medicine cabinet.
“Coming,” he called down. Lily was waiting at the foot of the stairs with his coat and briefcase.
“Your lunch is packed. You should take your rain coat—looks like rain.”
He hated her hovering and vigilance—wanted to protest, but caught himself.
What does it matter—in the grand scheme of things, what does it frickin’ matter?
Her eyes were huge and blue—childlike. “Don’t forget to phone.”
Every day the same phrase. “I won’t.” Every day the same reply.
He slammed Lex’s head hard against the wall and heard the dull thud of his skull hitting the bricks.
“I’m gonna ask you one more time and if you don’t make nice, I’m gonna blow your brains all over this alley.”
“Okay, okay, Man—I was jus scar’d of them Crips.”
“You forgot who you were really scared of—didn’t you, amigo?”
He pushed him back against the wall letting go of his collar. Lex rubbed his neck and felt the bruises. He was lucky this time. The detective would have killed him—he saw it in his eyes.
“Hey, Sarge—we found the other Bloods in the backyard—what d’ya want me to do with them?”
“Shoot the bastards.”
Lex’s eyes widened.
“I wish,” Kotsiopoulos laughed.
“I’ll be there in a minute when I’m through with this piece of garbage.”
“So, give me the name, Lex.”
“It was Shanks—him an Li’l John shot up the shop—but Shanks—he’s the one that shot the lady.”
He punched Lex hard in the gut and watched him crumple…a deflated blowhard. He cuffed him and pushed him into the back of the car and then turned back to finish his business with the other Bloods.
Past noon and he still hadn’t phoned Lily. He pulled into the coffee shop, grabbed a takeout, then dialled his cell.
“Hey, how’s your day going?”
“Can you come home?”
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m just feeling so depressed.” She began to cry.
“Don’t cry, Lil. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
He phoned dispatch, booked off a few hours and drove the unmarked out of the congested maze to the turnpike and the freedom of the suburbs.
Lily was on the couch crying. He tiptoed in softly and cradled her like a baby in his arms.
“Don’t cry. It’ll be okay, babe.”
“I was thinking about him all morning, Will—I can’t do this.”
“You can do it—we’re in this together—we’ll make it through.”
He glanced at the framed photo of Teddy on the coffee table. He surreptitiously, reached behind Lily and faced the photo away.
“Nothing will bring him back, Will.”
He knew. What could he say—that life will go on—that some fine day we’ll wake up and everything’ll be fine? Losing a ten-year old wasn’t a crisis—it was the ending of their whole world. They couldn’t go on—not like before.
He stayed with her till she fell asleep and then taking the throw from the back of the sofa chair, he draped it over her legs, lightly kissed her forehead and slipped out the door.
Kotsiopoulos was parked in the 711. He pulled in beside him.
“Everything okay?”
Will shrugged and took the proffered coffee.
How’d the interrogation go?”
“They all sang—Shanks is goin' away for a long time.”
Brad grunted and sipped at his coffee.
Air went into him; air went out of him—other than that, he was scarcely alive.