Chapters (95)
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Sixty-Two
- Sixty-Three
- Sixty-Four
- Sixty-Five
- Sixty-Six
- Sixty-Seven
- Sixty-Eight
- Sixty-Nine
- Seventy
- Seventy-One
- Seventy-Two
- Seventy-Three
- Seventy-Four
- Seventy-Five
- Seventy-Six
- Seventy-Seven
- Seventy-Eight
- Seventy-Nine
- Eighty
- Eighty-One
- Eighty-Two
- Eighty-Three
- Eighty-Four
- Eighty-Five
- Eighty-Six
- Eighty-Seven
- Acknowledgements
- About the Author
- Also by David Swinson
- Thank you for buying this ebook, published by Hachette Digital.
There’s a chrome walker next to her bed, within her reach. On the floor a couple of steps from that are an orange bucket with a small toilet seat on it and a garbage bag that looks like it’s full of diapers and used toilet paper.
I can see into the bucket. It’s three-quarters full of watery diarrhea shit. That’s what I smell, or part of it. Good God.
I need to check if she’s alive. I’m stupid that way. I approach the bed to see if she’s breathing. I can barely make it out, but it looks like her chest is expanding and contracting. Her breathing is a bit labored. I don’t want to check her pulse. Her eyes open. I straighten up and step back.
Her thin, angular, bony face turns to me, but her head doesn’t lift off the pillow.
“What the hell you want now?” she says like she knows exactly who I am.
Fifty-Two
Fifty-Two
I’m afraid I’m not who you think I am,” I tell her.
She looks at me harder, with deep dark eyes, and I don’t know if it’s the lighting in here or if she really does have deep dark eyes. Not like death, because there’s still glossy life in them. Something like onyx eyes. Knife-into-your-heart eyes.
“You wearing a mask,” she says firmly, but without much volume. “Who are you, then? I ain’t got nothin’ for you here.”
I lift my mask over my nose, but not enough to reveal my identity, just my mouth and chin. An odd sort of attempt to make her feel comfortable.
“I’m not here for you, but I can help you if you want.”
“Help me?”
“Take you to a hospital.”
She spits out a sickly laugh. Coughs a little.
“Hospital? Why?”
“It looks like you need help.”
“Even if I do, ain’t got no insurance.”
“They’d have to admit you if you’re sick.”
“I ain’t sick. I’m dyin’.”
“How long you been dyin’ for?”
“What?”
“I mean, it seems like you been in this bad environment for a while, having to use a bucket instead of a toilet. Seems you might be better off, even more comfortable, dyin’ in a hospital.”
“I don’t know how long it’s gonna take. I ain’t God Almighty. I want to stay here in my home. That’s all. Now go on. Get out of here. Do what you got to do with those good-for-nothin’ boys and let me die in peace. All they is is trouble.”
This really fucks things up. I was expecting maybe a sleeping grandma or at the least a livelier one who I’d have to comfortably restrain. Not this shit. I don’t have time, and I’m sure as hell not about to pick her up and carry her out of here against her will.