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LEEWOOD FOLCRUM

I NMATE 82145

A reporter asked me how come I didn’t find it odd that Leewood’s visitor was one of his victims’ family members, but as a CO, I don’t even know those people’s names. We pick them up at check-in, walk them to Visitation, and make sure they don’t try to cause trouble in the process. And he never caused us trouble. He seemed like a real nice guy.

—Thomas Redd, Lancaster Prison corrections officer

I was curled up in my bed like a baby, hugging one of the thin pillows and trying to breathe without coughing, when Redd rapped on my bars. I lifted my head enough to see who it was, then slowly sat up.

“Hey, Folcrum, you got a package. Thought you’d want this one.”

I moved to my feet at the sight of the chocolate milkshake in his hand. “Where’d that come from?”

“Your regular. He didn’t come in, just dropped this off for you, along with this.” He held up an envelope.

“No shit.” I took the milkshake from him and sniffed it. “Think it’s poisoned?” I coughed into my hand, and a bit of blood came up. I wiped it on my pant leg.

“Hey, your risk. You know the rules.” He set the envelope on the table. “Need any more pain meds?”

I waved him off. “Thanks for bringing this in.”

“You got it.” He met my gaze. “You aren’t dying on my shift, are you?”

“Not on this one,” I grunted.

“Good, ’cause the paperwork’s going to be a bitch.” He smiled, then rapped his fingers on the desk and left.

I made it to my seat, where I took a deep pull of the milkshake, which was half-melted but still delicious.

I opened the envelope and pulled out a sheet of paper, with the handwriting I now knew well.

Hi, Leewood,

I’m not sure if I’ll come back to speak to you. In case I don’t, I wanted to say thank you before you passed. I appreciate your time and what you shared. I am still processing it.

I’m sorry for deceiving you about my true identity. I didn’t think you would speak to me or tell me the truth if you knew that I was Lucy’s brother.

There is an old Latin saying, “mortui vivos docent,” which means “the dead teach the living.”

Lucy’s death shaped my life in so many terrible ways, but now I can stop searching for answers and learn to live with the knowledge that sometimes things don’t happen for a reason and some madness is unexplainable. I am still learning from my sister, and I will learn from you for long after you die.

Sincerely,

Grant Wultz

Well, shit. I drummed my fingers on the page and thought of the one favor I should have asked of him before our relationship—whatever kind it was—ended. Given the tone of this letter, maybe he would have granted it.