Hot, righteous, terrifying heat.
“No,” I said. “You did that all by yourself.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“You just ended your career.”
I looked past her through the glass doors, where the last of the bikes disappeared down the road in a silver blur of sun and chrome.
For the first time in months, Arthur was not behind a locked door.
For the first time in months, Scout was not alone.
For the first time in months, I wasn’t afraid of her.
“If my career depended on drugging grieving old men into silence,” I said, “then it deserved to end.”
The two security guards who had opened the doors for Arthur suddenly found the carpet very interesting.
Neither of them spoke.
Neither did the receptionist.
Because everybody in that lobby knew the same thing.
Once you saw a man come back to life in front of you, it got real hard to pretend he’d been gone all along.
Police arrived twelve minutes later.
Two patrol officers.
