CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CONNECTICUT, AGE THIRTY-THREE
Somewhere in this room, a kid was crying for their daddy. Couldn't tell if they were a boy or girl—it didn’t really matter either way. That kid's dad was a prisoner, and why he was a prisoner also didn't matter, not in this circumstance. Because what mattered to that kid—a toddler, from the sounds of it—was that he or she would have to walk out of here and go home to live life without their father. That kid didn't care about why their dad was locked up, didn't care what he had done. All they cared about—all they'd probably ever care about for the foreseeable future—was that they couldn't be together .
To that kid, there was nothing more unjust than that.
Fuck, every single guy in this place was a husband, son, father, friend … a brother … something to someone . Something important . But the people out there, beyond the concrete and bars and barbed wire …
They didn't give a fuck about that. There was no compassion to be found within their so-called good and forgiving hearts, none at all. To them, these guys were no better than rabid animals that deserved nothing more than to be put down. Monsters .
Like me.
God, I'm no fucking better than these guys.
“Charlie!”
The crack of Luke's voice pulled me back down from the black cloud that had taken up permanent residence over my head. I snapped my gaze away from the dirty window to stare at my brother, and the deep concern reflected in his eyes.
“W-what?” I stammered, blinking the image of Tommy's blood mixed with mine away from view.
He studied me for a moment, tipping his head as his worried gaze bounced around my face. I couldn't tell what he was focused on more—the deepened circles carrying the weight of my tired eyes, the length of my ratty beard, or the unkempt tangle of hair touching my shoulders—but I guessed it didn't matter. I knew he looked cleaner, better , than me, and so did he. But could anyone blame me? Kinda hard to sleep in the same house where you’d almost lost your own life—and where you had taken someone else's.
It was even harder to sleep when, in your heart, you felt you deserved to be here . Locked behind bars with the other monsters.
“You're really freaking me out, man,” Luke said quietly, as if he didn't want anyone else to hear his concerns. “Tell me what I can do.”
I couldn't help laughing, shaking my head and looking away. There wasn't a shred of humor in that laugh. “You can't do shit, and you know it.”
“I can try—”
“Oh, fucking hell, Luke. Stop trying to be the goddamn hero, all right?” My eyes dragged their way back to him. “You're not a fucking hero. You're here .”
The worry on his face wasn't wiped away by my brashness. “Yeah, and?”
“You're a murderer ,” I spat, so bitter.
“I'm aware,” he said, still quiet, still gentle, still worried .
“You fucking fuck .” I laughed again, rolling my eyes to the water-damaged ceiling tiles. “You know, Luke, if you had been as worried about yourself as you are about me, then maybe you wouldn't be here. And I wouldn't be here. And I wouldn't …” I ground my teeth hard into my bottom lip, hating myself immediately for the crack in my voice and the flood in my eyes.
“What?”
I lifted my hands from the table, only to drop them again. “I wouldn't …” I tried to blink the tears away, but they began to fall despite my efforts, and I didn't care. “I wouldn't have killed Tommy.”
Luke was already beginning to shake his head as understanding fell over his face. “Charlie, we've talked about this. He attacked you, and you defended yourself. You did nothing—”
“I should be here ,” I whispered, sweeping my tearful gaze around the visitor center. “I'm a murderer, too, and I should be here, with you.”
“Stop it. You're not a murderer.”
“That's probably not what Mrs. Wheeler thinks.”
“Yeah, well, fuck what she thinks. She raised two pieces of shit who—”
“Who were killed by two other pieces of shit,” I interrupted loudly, bringing a few of the other inmates and their families to look in our direction. “One of whom is out in the world, capable of … of …”
“Of what , Charlie?” It was Luke's turn to look utterly exhausted. “What the fuck is it that you think you're capable of?”
I kept my mouth shut, unable to say it.
He shook his head, disbelief on his face and something like amusement in his eyes. “You think you're gonna snap and kill someone else, huh? You think you're just gonna”—he shrugged nonchalantly—“walk into a Walmart and decide, You know what? I hate that lady's ugly pants, and I’m gonna bash her head in with the nearest meat tenderizer ?”
I scrunched my nose and dismissed him with a wave of my hand. “Oh, shut the hell up. You know what I mean—”
“No, Charlie, I don't.” He huffed, incredulous. “I mean, by your logic, that's how it is. You're a cold-blooded killer. You could snap at any moment. You could—”
“Do you think you'd choke the fucking life out of some random asshole if you weren't in here?” I leaned further across the table, anger fueling my every move.
Luke slumped into his seat and gripped the back of his neck, dropping his eyes to the table. “Our situations aren't the same, Charlie. I made a choice . I—”
“And I chose to grab that knife out of my fucking drawer. I saw my options and chose to stab Tommy in the back instead of letting him murder me . I chose to live, no matter what that meant for him.”
“Okay, and I could've chosen to walk away when Ritchie wouldn't shut the hell up, but I chose to wring my hands around his goddamn neck instead. I snapped , Charlie. I lost control over myself, and that's why I'm here. You didn't snap . You didn't lose control—”
“Oh, but I'm totally fine right now, right?” I gestured to my face. “I mean, I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm not fucking sleeping. I'm hardly fucking eating. Shit, I can't remember the last time I took a shower.”
He nodded. “I know. I understand. And that's why I'm gonna tell you to get help. Talk to the doctor. Check yourself into—”
“I'm leaving.”
Shit . I hadn't meant to spring the news on him like that, but I couldn't keep it in any longer. And now, Luke stared at me, surprised and unblinking.
“You're leaving ? What do you mean?”
“I mean, I'm leaving,” I said, a little calmer than before. A little sadder. I swallowed down the familiar feeling of grief and continued, “I didn’t want to, but … I can't stay in that house, Luke. I can't fucking do it anymore. I haven't been okay in, in years, but after what happened with Tommy, I just can't do it.”
He slowly began to nod and sucked in a deep breath. “Okay. Okay, yeah. I understand that. I've been telling you for years to get out of there, to get the hell out of town and start over. I just …” He cocked his head and shrugged, as if to say, I just never expected you to do it .
I just never expected you to leave.
“I still don't want to,” I whispered. “But I don't think I have a choice.”
“You don't need to make excuses to me,” Luke replied, too cool to let his feelings show. “You gotta live your life, man, and it's about damn time you did. Honestly, I'm …” He shrugged again, slouching back against his seat. “I'm proud of you.”
“Oh God, shut up, Luke.” I shook my head, dragging my hand over my face and letting it drop once again to the table. “Don't be fucking proud of me. I'm not living my life , you asshole. I'm running from it.”
“Or, you know …” He paused for effect, pinning me with a meaningful glare. “Maybe you're finally running toward it.”
I stared back at him for several long, thundering beats of my heart, studying every weathered line etched into his skin and the healthy color in his cheeks and the neat trim of his hair and beard. He held a new spark in his eyes, beneath the fresh layer of sadness and concern I'd put there, and the knowledge that he was truly content struck me square in the gut. Sober and good. God, he was good —still! After three years in this place, he was still good and thriving, as much as he had been in that first year, if not more. But the anger I'd felt then was no longer evident. What I felt now was … envy, yes, but also comfort. Comfort that I was leaving him in a good place.
I let that settle in now as my shoulders sagged under the weight of a despair I couldn't do anything about. I was leaving him. He knew. It was out in the open. I'd known about it longer, of course, but I hadn't said it aloud to anyone—who would I have said it to? I hadn't even given my notice at the cemetery yet, too afraid to speak the words before I had told Luke. There had still been a possibility of changing my mind then, but now, seeing how okay Luke was, knowing how much I wasn't … I knew it was right, as wrong as it still seemed and how much it hurt in a way nothing ever had.
Luke lifted one side of his mouth in a smile. “Where are you going?”
I cleared my throat and lowered my gaze to the table. “Salem.”
“You've always wanted to go up there.”
“Yeah.”
“You already got a job?”
I hesitated before jerking my head in a half-assed nod.
“Still burying bodies?”
A laugh huffed past my lips. “What else would I do?”
The choked chuckle that scraped its way up his throat gave away his own sadness. “You're such a freak.”
“Yeah. It’s a, uh … a pretty good deal. There’s this little house in the cemetery.”
That seemed to startle him, and I almost found it in me to laugh. “You’re going to live there? Are you insane?”
“Seemed pretty perfect to me—”
An alarm grabbed our attention. We knew what that meant, yet we both turned our eyes toward the old guard manning the door to the prison.
“Fifteen minutes until visits are over. Wrap it up, folks,” he said in a tired voice, pushing his silver-framed glasses onto his nose.
The brick tied around my heart seemed to double in weight as I thrust my hand through my hair. Fifteen minutes, and I'd walk away from my brother for the last time until … when? When would I see him again?
“Maybe I shouldn't go,” I blurted out, desperate and scared and unsure I was making the right decision at all.
“Ah, come on. Don't do this. You made up your mind already, man, and that's good. You need this.”
My eyes welled up with tears, but I kept my stare on the table, unable to look at him.
“What are you gonna do with the house?”
“I, um … I'm not gonna sell it,” I croaked. “Not yet anyway. I guess I wanna keep my options open for now.”
“Okay,” Luke replied, seemingly satisfied with that answer. “I mean, you could get all the way up there and find you fuckin' hate the place.”
I tried to laugh, but the effort alone brought a horrible ache to settle in my chest.
“You won't though,” he added gently, and I finally looked up to find his lips had curled into the saddest, most heartbreaking smile I'd ever seen him wear. “You're gonna be fine.”
“I will come back,” I felt the uncontrollable urge to say. “I will see you again. I will talk to you again. I just … I need time, but I will .” I said it as a promise, as much for me as it was for him. And for the briefest glint of a moment, there was satisfaction in it, and I thought, Yes, this is good. This will be okay .
But then Luke's lips spread wider, but they didn't reach his eyes as he shook his head. “No, you won't, Charlie.”
That brick tethered to my heart sank deeper into a bottomless abyss as my lips fell open, and a harrowing sound of despair left my throat in protest, but he held up his hand before I could speak.
“And that's okay. I'm okay, and I mean that.” He held my eyes with a sincerity that startled me despite the assessment I'd been making for years. “I'm happy , man. Truly. I am so seriously happy with my life, as fucking crazy as that might seem to you right now, but I mean it. I want you to trust that, and I want you to go. It's about fucking time you were happy too.”
“All right, folks,” that old guard spoke. “Five more minutes. Say your goodbyes.”
Goodbye .
God, no. No ! This wasn't a goodbye. This wasn't anything but an extended see you next time . I couldn't say when I'd be back, I couldn't say when I'd feel ready to come back or talk to him, but I would . Luke had to know that. He had to.
He stood first. “Come on, man. You're not leaving without giving me a hug.”
I blew out a trembling breath before slowly rising to my feet. I stood to the side of our usual booth against the wall and was struck with the realization that I didn't know when I'd sit here again. Luke lifted his eyes to stare into mine, making up for those three inches I had on him, and he laughed.
“I remember when you were just a scrawny little shit,” he said, poking me in the chest. “Tommy Wheeler picked the wrong guy to fuck with.”
I rolled my eyes toward the window, shaking my head while imagining Tommy's blood still staining the matted hallway carpet. “Shut up, Luke.”
“Come here.” He wrapped his arms around me, and I let him. One of his hands cupped the back of my head while his other gripped my sweatshirt, and with a heaving sigh, I lowered my forehead to his shoulder and clung to him with every last ounce of strength I had left in me. “You're gonna be okay, Charlie. You will. I know you don't think so now, but I swear, you'll be okay.”
“You don't know that.”
“Yes, I do. If I can be okay in this fucking place, you can be okay in the city of your dreams.”
I didn't care that I was crying. Didn't care that Luke wasn't. I held on to him, digging my fingers into his back and repeating over and over and over to myself that this wasn't the last time I'd see him, this couldn't be the last time I'd see him; I wouldn't let this be the last time I'd see him. But the lack of confidence and certainty in every one of those insistent thoughts dragged me further and further into the depths of sorrow until I could barely breathe.
“Come on,” he said with finality. He clapped my back and unraveled his arms, still gripping the back of my head as he took a step back. Then, he pressed my forehead to his. “Listen to me. I have zero regrets. None. I would do every single fucking thing again, Charlie—”
“If you're trying to comfort me, it's not working,” I murmured, my eyes still watering and my hands still gripping his white T-shirt.
“I'd do it all again, Charlie, if it meant you finally, finally finding the strength to get out on your own,” he said, ignoring me. “That's all I ever tried to do. To protect you and to make you strong, and I guess, in my own fucked-up way, that's what I did.”
The alarm rang again. Visiting time was over. Always a rule follower, I reluctantly dropped my hands from Luke's shirt to hang, trembling at my sides. Luke held on a second longer, then took a step back toward the door.
“Take the bike,” he said, pointing at me and taking another step. “I want you to keep it.”
I had no use for a motorcycle, but still, I nodded.
“And take Mom's clock. You always liked that ugly piece of shit.”
“Okay.”
Another step. “And if you ever find the balls to do it, go to Salem Skin and get some ink from that dude for me. The one on Instagram.”
I scoffed and rolled my eyes.
He took another step backward, disappearing a bit into the crowd of visitors and inmates. My heart lurched forward, begging me to say fuck the rules and hug him again, but I didn't. I stayed put, my fingers twitching and my lungs heaving.
“Find some creepy-ass woman who'll protect you from that little black rain cloud over your head,” he said, a teasing gleam in his eye. “And let her, okay? Don't be a fuckin' pussy about it. If you have to, just think, What would Luke do? ”
He took another step, and my chest cracked open.
You'll see him again, I reminded myself, but, Christ, why didn't I believe it? It was him—I knew it. It was his insistence that I wouldn't. But he was wrong, dammit. He was wrong , and still, it killed me to watch him leave.
Imagine how he feels.
Luke lifted his hand in a wave before turning toward the door, his back to me. He took that hand and wiped his eyes.
I shook my head, cursing under my breath before saying, “Fuck the rules,” and called his name as I closed the gap between us.
He turned, his eyes glistening with tears and curiosity. “You're not changing your mind—”
“Thank you,” I said, pulling him into another hug.
The guard at the door took a step toward us and said, “Guys, time to break it up.”
“What the hell are you thanking me for?” Luke asked.
“Everything, just … everything,” I replied hurriedly, swallowing the sorrow and stepping back. “I'll come back, okay? I promise. I'll come back. When my head is on straight, when I can think clearly, when I can do this without losing my shit, when—”
“Corbin,” the guard warned, but Luke ignored him.
“Sure,” he said to me, nodding and reaching out to grip my shoulder. “I love you, Charlie.”
I looked into his eyes, desperate to memorize every glint, every twinkle, every crease. “I love you too.”
He nodded, satisfied, and turned to acknowledge the guard wearing the silver-framed glasses. He lifted his chin in a nod and said, “Sorry, Harry.”
I watched as he passed through the door and turned down a hallway I'd never see. He walked by a window looking into the visitor center, where I still stood, and caught my eye. Then, he winked and disappeared, leaving me there with my empty promise and broken heart.