Chapter 29

“I’m sorry,” Susan whispers from across the cell.

We’re in complete darkness. Her voice is small, laced with fear. We’ve been here for hours. They only let us out to use the one reeking toilet at the end of a grim hallway.

There are cells all along the hallway. I can hear people moaning and retching. We’ve slipped into hell.

“You didn’t hurt me,” I tell her. “I was putting on a show. I’ve taken harder hits in the gym.”

“You were bleeding.”

She says it in the past tense. She can’t see if I still am, but I’m not. My head has cleared of their drugs. Even the hunger pangs can’t distract me. I need to be ready for whatever happens. Ready to fight. Ready to tear these bastards apart limb from goddamn limb.

“You cut my cheek—a glancing blow. Trust me. I’m fine.” I grit my teeth, wondering what Lena is doing, praying she’s safe. I’d kill to hold her.

“Why do you think they’re taking people out of their cells?” Susan asks quietly.

“No idea, but it’s not good.”

She pauses. We’ve hardly spoken since being thrown in here together. Mostly, she’s been sleeping or trying to, anyway. She must be exhausted because she falls asleep fast, but then she’ll wake with a scream. Or she’ll start praying under her breath, almost angrily.

“What you said… about Amelia. Was that so that I’d do what that sicko wanted?”

I shake my head. She can’t see. That’s good. I shouldn’t give this away without Lena’s permission. The truth is, I might never get another chance to be honest.

“We haven’t,” I pause, “done that, but we’ve been intimate.”

“Since when?” Susan asks, her voice quiet, more curious than angry. Or maybe she’s just too tired.

“Since she called me and told me you were missing. Honestly, I was attracted to her before that. Back when I was helping you with the wallet.”

I hear her swallow. “Why didn’t you do anything?''

“I knew your story. Your husband. What you’d been through. I didn’t want to complicate your lives, and, well, look where we are. I bring problems. My life does, but I’m ready to leave this life behind for Amelia.”

“It’s that serious?” Susan asks.

“For me, it is,” I say passionately. “It has been from the start.” I touch my temple and feel the small cut Susan made when she struck me. “There’s nothing more serious than us. I told Amelia before I left. I want—need—her to be my woman and to have a family with her. She said she wanted it, too.”

Susan sniffles in the dark. “Maybe she was scared.”

“She meant it. I know she did.”

“If that’s true…” Susan gets choked up and then goes on determinedly. “Then I wish you’d stayed with her. I wish you’d left me. If you love her, then I wish you’d neverleft.”

“I couldn’t let them have you,” I say. “Amelia needs her mother. Our children are going to need their grandmother''.

She lets the tears come. I sit with my knees to my chest, gripping my shins, full of tension and fight, but with nothing to aim it at. “I think I’ve gone a little crazy, Michael,” she says after a pause. “That’s why I couldn’t face it when you said we’d never been in a relationship. I had to believe wehadbeen in one. I couldn’t go back. If I went back, I’d be the useless lump I’d been before, letting my daughter lead the way.”

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “I don’t understand.”

She laughs shakily. “I can’t explain but don’t worry. I’m not attracted to you. Things aren’t going to get awkward inthatway''.

“You’re talking like you’ve already given us your blessing,” I say, daring to smile, even in this depressing place.

I’m sure I can feel her smiling, too. I’m not sure how that works, but it’s true. It’s a sad smile. Just like mine. “It’s funny, the perspective you get when you think it might be the end. If Amelia really said she wants a future with you, why not? Why shouldn’t you?”

“We should talk about this after,” I tell her. “You’re tired, dehydrated, hungry, and traumatized. You don’t have to make any promises.”

I can’t let myself take anything she says to heart. I can’t let myself have that hope. We could die in here. Hell, Amelia might already be… Yet I can’t help but think of the future, holding her hands beneath the altar, teaching our children anything that interests them. Anything they want to learn. Anything they want to be. With Lena’s love, they’ll turn out well. Perfect.

“You do love her,” Susan says.

“Yeah.” I croak. “More than anything. More than I can understand. It’s been tearing her up, sneaking around behind your back, and…”

“And her thinking all those stories I made up were true. Thinking we were together.”

I sigh. “Yeah, and that.”

“I’ll need to tell her the truth. God help me. I’ll need to tell myself the truth. I’m not making any sense to you, am I? I want to pray, but I can’t pray. That’s the contradiction in this whole thing. I’m a joke, a joke…”

“You can’t beat yourself up,” I tell her.

“I failed my daughter for years. We were living in hell.”

“Youbrought her out of it. You found The Answer. You found me.”

“Then I brought her right back in to hell because I got drunk and acted like an idiot.”

“People make mistakes,” I growl. “Maybe you’ve made more than you’d like, but you can’t do a damn thing about it now. All you can do is to be the best mother possible when you get out of here. After that, be the best grand mother possible. Just think of that, Susan.”

She’s crying again. I’m getting choked up, too. It’s all this sitting around, not doing anything, not takingaction. The last time I pounded on the door, the guard threatened to throw in tear gas. What then?

“You’ll have a grand child, a little boy or girl. They’re going to be so happy to meet you. You’re going to be in a great position when they get here. You’ll be healthy, motivated, and happy. Your and Amelia’s relationship will be stronger than ever. You’ll see.”

Susan whimpers when, from the far end of the cellblock, somebody lets out a scream of pain. I’ve heard different kinds of yells, shouts, and screams in my life, and this is agony, pure and simple. Susan starts crying again.

I crawl across the cell and reach out. “Where are you?”

“H-here.”

I find her hand and hold it gently. “I love your daughter,” I tell her. “More than life itself. One day, Susan, as strange as it might be, you’ll be my mother-in-law. I’m going to protect you.”

“Th-thank you,” she whispers.

“Think of the future. Think of happier days.” The screaming gets louder. “Think about your little grandson or granddaughter.”

Susan squeezes my hand tightly. At least she admitted we’d never been in a relationship, not that it will matter if we can’t get out of here alive.