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His words sound a little off when he speaks, and I almost wonder if I’m just imagining it. “I’m going to get some water. I’m not feeling well.”
He takes off without waiting for a response, his face flushed. I realize I feel a little lightheaded. Rubbing at my chest, I step back from the detector and turn back to Vinny. “Something feels wrong.”
“Mhmm.” He’s looking around with narrowed eyes, and his hand comes over to grip mine, rubbing across my knuckles. His cheeks are pink but he doesn’t look near as flushed as I’m starting to feel, a headache forming at my temples. He drags a hand across his face, over his upper lip and down to his chin as he thinks. “Let’s wait for Agent Lapin in the car.”
The other guard looks at us. He also appears sick, face red as he coughs into the sleeve of his shirt before tugging at his collar. He’s a little more familiar than the last guy but I can’t remember his name offhand.
“Let’s… go,” I say, but the words take too long to get out. It’s like I’m talking through quicksand, and disorientation is making its way through my brain. We need to get outside.
Suddenly, the guard collapses, slumped over the conveyor belt that holds the small trays for personal items going through the metal detector. I blink. My body wants to go down to the floor instead of out the door.
Vinny’s tug on my arm is weak, and he stumbles. Or maybe I do. I don’t twist with him, but I feel both of us sinking. His weight slides into me and I fall into him. My head really wants to hit the ground and my eyes are heavy.
There’s a clicking noise, and I roll to my side as a heavy feeling settles in my chest. My body wants to go to sleep, but my mind is screaming. The last time something made me lose my senses, I woke up strapped to a table slowly dying. It was the last time I ever saw my mom alive.
When I tilt my neck towards the clicking noise, I find a pair of heels. My eyes try and close but I force them open, needing to see. This feels like a crazy delusion. Maybe I’m dying again, this time for real, and death is back to drag me home.
The person looks impossibly tall from the floor. Something’s across her face, and I can tell from the shapely figure that I’m staring up at a woman. Her hair is dark, and it takes a moment to realize she’s wearing some type of mask.
Then she lifts it up, and green eyes stare at me. Green eyes that only exist in my memories these days. Her voice is slightly off, but I’m positive this isn’t a hallucination when she speaks. “Don’t worry, doll. I’ll take care of our boy.”
If I had the energy, I think I would be sick. This idea, this crazy thought floating through my brain makes no sense. But the mask slides over her face again and I can’t see those eyes anymore. And as hard as I try to fight it, the darkness settles in and pulls me under.
Chapter 17
I miss my guests.
For days it's been too quiet and it seems I've fallen to the wayside with the FBI. There isn't much to distract me here, and I refuse to admit that I’m wasting time between scheduled counseling and drawing during my free hour waiting for them to come back. The longer I don’t interact with people on the outside, the more isolating CGP feels. I enjoyed seeing Jo and Vinny, even if they cringed away from what’s left of me.
As much as I dislike being blamed for more murders while sitting in prison, at least the visits involving the copycat passed the time. I'm antsy now for more details and another visit, and I’ll even take another grueling session of questions from Sterling if it means someone comes back to see me.
But I’d rather my visitor be Jo or even Vinny. When I close my eyes in the cell and don't focus on where I am, I can pretend I'm sleeping in one of the lumpy beds at my foster parents’, waiting for the next day of school to see my two loves again. I would give almost anything to have those days after graduation back when things were finally looking up.
I was going to escape.
Not just from Citrus Grove but from her, and from everything that still haunts me. I’m an artist, and my medium is meant to be colors and paints, not blood and guts. I can’t look at my art the same anymore, even after all of these years.
That loneliness creeps unwanted back into my chest again as the days tick on. It just reminds me that unless I have something worthwhile to offer to the outside world the rest of my life is little more than bland walls, 24-hour watch, and slowly wasting away.
At least visitors pass the time.
Scrubbing a hand across my eyes, I try to will away the image in front of me. Fake Porscha is quiet today, like my mind can’t come up with anything snarky for her to say. She sits silently in my line of vision no matter where I look, and this isn’t who I wanted as a constant companion.
My mind is playing tricks on me again. Yesterday Fake Porscha appeared to me with dimple piercings like Jo and it was the biggest mind fuck of the week so far. I despise who Porscha was, but I love Jo for who she’s become. Unfortunately I can’t tell her that.
I clear my throat for the third time in ten minutes, rubbing at my chest. I swear the air quality’s gone to shit, and I tug and the neckline of my prison jumpsuit. I want to complain about it, but I doubt there’s jack shit this nurse is going to do about it. She’s new, taking over for Nurse Swan.
“Mr. Constantine?”
I glance to my right, spotting the newbie now. She’s a little green skillswise, but they paired her with the oldest doctor here who is a stickler for the rules. So far he’s taught her how to do everything the boring way, and I think she keeps mostly to herself when she isn’t flirting with the guards. As much as it disturbs me, Wallsburg seems to be a favorite of hers. I don’t get how he’s so popular with the ladies. “Mr. Constatine sounds so formal, sweetheart. Just Alastair is fine.”
She nods as a blush paints her cheeks. I like the red of her hair contrasting against her green scrubs, and it makes her freckles stand out too against the blush. I’m pretty sure she’s fresh out of school, maybe even from the university up the road. “Of course. Alastair, you have a visitor.”
“Is it a couple of cuties?” I ask with a grin. “If they aren’t married I don’t want them.”
“Oh, no,” she says, eyes widening. “Just one person. A woman. She says she’s here from the university.”
I tilt my head. Not Jo then, which is a letdown. And it doesn’t sound like one of Sterling’s teammates either. Newbie here has worked enough days to know there’s a list of professors and approved students to let in, and the FBI and my two former lovers made my visitor list. “Is she a professor?”