Chapter Sixteen #2
said mostly to himself. Then he looked back up at Mark. “You
shouldn’t be here. For you, I mean. That’s the whole point of this.
You shouldn’t have to be around me.”
Mark had always prided himself on his
professionalism, so he was just as surprised as Cain at the loud,
“Bullshit,” that came out of his mouth.
“What?”
Mark wasn’t sure what he was doing, but he’d
started down the path and seemed inclined to keep going. At least
Terry wasn’t around to hear him. “Bullshit,” he repeated, this time
more quietly. “You’re scared. You’re feeling sorry for yourself.
It’s understandable, and it’s not at all uncommon. You’re used to
being told what to do and how to do it, and now you’re back out
here where you have to make your own decisions and take
responsibility for your own mistakes, and you’re freaking out. You
think maybe it’d be easier to go back inside.” Mark waited to see
Cain’s reaction, but there was none, just the familiar blank stare.
He tried to sound nonchalant as he continued. “But that’s just too
bad. Because that’s not what jail’s for. It’s not your little
hiding place so you don’t have to be an adult. It cost a lot of
money to keep you in there for the last few years, and the
taxpayers are done with it. You’re a free man. Live with it.”
“But—”
“Do not start on that ‘you shouldn’t have to
be around me’ nonsense. If you want to avoid me, that’s fine, but
there are responsible ways to do that, and irresponsible ways.
Running back to jail is not one of the responsible ways.”
Cain didn’t say anything for quite a while,
long enough for Mark to wonder whether he was slipping back into
his near-catatonic state of withdrawal. But finally he whispered,
“How can you stand to even look at me? I…I killed him. Your
brother. I did it. He’s gone, because of me.”
Ah. Not just self-pity, but a healthy dose of
guilt as well. A day or two ago Mark would have been more than
happy to see Cain suffering, but now, he just sighed. “You did. And
he’s gone. Partly because of you, partly because of…” Because of
all the other things that Mark and his family had been working so
hard to ignore since Jimmy’s death. “Partly because he liked to
start fights, especially when he’d been drinking. Partly because he
was quite a bit bigger than you, and it sounds like he took a cheap
shot. Partly because you’d seen too many movies, seen too many guys
on the screen take a hit from a bottle with no serious damage. And
partly just bad luck. Or the will of God, I suppose.” He could feel
a headache building and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to
delay the pain until he was finished with this little speech. “One
man died in that fight. One life wasted. But you’re still alive,
Lucas. For whatever reason, God took Jimmy and left you here. Now
you need to find a way to make your life worth something. And
you’re sure not going to do that by crawling back to jail for
another three years.”
Another long wait while Cain’s green eyes
stared at Mark, and then finally a blink and the trace of a nod.
“Okay,” he said in a small voice. “Okay. But…I don’t know what to
do.”
Mark nodded. “That’s why we have the
Community Living house. It’s a place for you to figure things out,
half-way between your old life and your new one.” He smiled, and it
didn’t feel like he was forcing it. “We can help. It’s what we’re
there for.”
Cain nodded jerkily. “Okay. I can…I can
try.”
“That’s all anyone’s asking for,” Mark said
comfortingly. He wasn’t sure if it was true or not, but Cain seemed
to appreciate hearing it. “We should get out of here before they
change their minds about the parole violation,” he said, but Cain
was crouching down on the concrete, shuffling around in a strange
little dance. He was picking up the broken glass, Mark
realized.
“I can’t see it all,” Cain mumbled. “It’s too
dark. I should come back tomorrow. Maybe I could borrow a broom
from the house?”
High-risk littering. The guy was serious.
“Okay,” Mark agreed easily. “Or we can mention it to the constable
on the way out. Maybe they have a night custodian who could take
care of it.”
“I don’t want to leave a mess for someone
else to clean up.”
Mark couldn’t argue with that. “Let’s talk to
the constable and see what she suggests.” He started walking and
after a moment’s hesitation Cain followed.
They got the glass cleaned up and Cain
reluctantly accepted a ride back to the halfway house. They drove
through the night in silence, Cain slumped in his seat as if
exhausted.
Mark had no idea what he was doing. No single
action seemed wrong—well, not in the last day or two. But how could
this be right? He hadn’t been lying when he’d supplied Cain with
the other factors that had led to Jimmy’s death. Cain hadn’t meant
for any of this to happen. Mark believed that now. But it
had happened. The hand beside him, its fingers curled around
the door handle as if ready for a quick escape, had held the bottle
that had fractured Jimmy’s skull. The muscles in the lean arm and
the weight of the body had given strength to the blow that had
killed Mark’s baby brother. The mind that had controlled these body
parts? That was what had Mark confused.
He glanced over at Cain. The man was staring
out the front window as if he were the one driving the car, but he
turned slightly when he felt Mark’s gaze. His eyes were the same
clear green they’d always been, but now Mark felt as if he were
seeing beyond the irises and seeing more of the real person. And
the man he saw was every bit as confused by all of this as Mark
was.