No. Of course not. Her tone was repentant, but I realized that Walter did not mean as much to her as he did to me. Naturally, she was sad that he was dying, but she had accepted that outcome from the beginning. I, on the other hand, could not bring myself to accept it, even now. Walter was my friend, not hers. I was the one he’d defended.

One of those dim blue lights greeted us as we approached the hospital wing. (I knew now that the lanterns were solar powered, left in sunny corners during the day to charge.) We all moved more quietly, slowing at the same time without having to discuss it.

I hated this room. In the darkness, with the odd shadows thrown by the weak glow, it seemed only more forbidding. There was a new smell—the room reeked of slow decay and stinging alcohol and bile.

Two of the cots were occupied. Doc’s feet hung over the edge of one; I recognized his light snore. On the other, looking hideously withered and misshapen, Walter watched us approach.

“Are you up for visitors, Walt?” Ian whispered when Walter’s eyes drifted in his direction.

“Ungh,” Walter moaned. His lips drooped from his slack face, and his skin gleamed wetly in the low light.

“Is there anything you need?” I murmured. I pulled my hands free—they fluttered helplessly in the air between me and Walter.

His loosely rolling eyes searched the darkness. I took a step closer.

“Is there anything we can do for you? Anything at all?”

His eyes roamed till they found my face. Abruptly, they focused through the drunken stupor and the pain.

“Finally,” he gasped. His breath wheezed and whistled. “I knew you would come if I waited long enough. Oh, Gladys, I have so much to tell you.”

CHAPTER 31: Needed

CHAPTER 31

Needed

I froze and then looked quickly over my shoulder to see if someone was behind me.

“Gladys was his wife,” Jamie whispered almost silently. “She didn’t escape.”

“Gladys,” Walter said to me, oblivious to my reaction. “Would you believe I went and got cancer? What are the odds, eh? Never took a sick day in my life…” His voice faded out until I couldn’t hear it, but his lips continued to move. He was too weak to lift his hand; his fingers dragged themselves toward the edge of the cot, toward me.

Ian nudged me forward.

“What should I do?” I breathed. The sweat beading on my forehead had nothing to do with the humid heat.

“. . . grandfather lived to be a hundred and one,” Walter wheezed, audible again. “Nobody ever had cancer in my family, not even the cousins. Didn’t your aunt Regan have skin cancer, though?”

He looked at me trustingly, waiting for an answer. Ian poked me in the back.

“Um…” I mumbled.

“Maybe that was Bill’s aunt,” Walter allowed.