Damnable
EPILOGUE
THE STATIONERY WAS SMALL, WITH HIS MOTHER’S NAME across the top and a pink flamingo perched on one leg in the corner. Hatcher finished reading the handwritten letter just as he heard the mechanical moan of the cell-block door being opened and the clip of footfalls off the concrete.
He placed the letter back into its envelope and put it in the folder with the others. His mother had written him twice already. So had Amy. Two letters, two unopened envelopes. It was only a matter of days before Susan sent one. He wasn’t sure whether he was going to open hers.
Gillis stopped in front of his cell and stared through the bars. He stood long enough to get Hatcher’s attention before moving over a step and allowing an MP to unlock the cell door. The bars slid to the side. Another MP came into view leading Tyler Culp into the cell. The MP uncuffed Tyler’s hands and backpedaled a couple of steps to allow the door to close. Tyler looked at Hatcher and tried to give what Hatcher assumed was intended as a menacing glare. He ended up looking more like a pale, constipated ape.
“Now, I won’t be tolerating any trouble from you men,” Gillis said. “No more fights. Understood?”
Tyler bared his teeth in a simpleton’s grin. “Yes, sir.”
Hatcher said nothing. He let his eyes drift over to Gillis. It was all a show. For the guards. Gillis the Innocent.
“And Hatcher, Colonel Owens told me to tell you he’d have his decision on a terminal furlough in a couple of weeks.”
Right, Hatcher thought. Fat chance, especially after Gillis had been in his ear about it so much. He knew that’s where Culp had been, giving a statement to Owens. Telling him everything Gillis had coached him to say.
“In the meantime, don’t you start getting it in your head you’re a short-timer. You’ve got six weeks, until the commander says otherwise. It’s unclear what exactly you got involved in while you were gone, but it doesn’t matter how many friends in the New York Police Department you made. You’ll get no special consideration. The colonel and I are on the same page on that.”
“Congratulations,” Hatcher said.
Gillis gave a short speech about insubordination and letting it slide for the last time, then patted himself on the back for his leniency before leaving the cell block. Hatcher hadn’t paid attention.
Tyler climbed into the bunk beneath Hatcher, gave a poke through the mattress. “So, I been meaning to ask you—did you get laid while you were out? Man, it seems like forever.”
A good line popped into Hatcher’s head, but he let it go.
“What was I talking about before? Oh yeah, praying mantises. You know, the females eat the males after they fuck? Bite their heads off, like I was telling you. Sometimes, they do it while they’re fucking. The males go on living for a spell, continue what they’re doing, not even knowing they’re dead yet. Can you believe that?”
Yeah, Hatcher thought. I sure can.
“You know, you better start responding to me. Know why? I’ve got permission to turn your life into a living hell, that’s why.”
Hatcher let out a short huff of a laugh. “It’ll be good practice.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Tyler started rambling again about insects and animal sex habits, comparing women he’d been with to various members of the animal kingdom. Hatcher tuned him out, thinking about Amy. Tried to tell himself what they’d had was artificial. A chemical form of entrapment. No different than if they’d been drugged. He realized some of that might even be true.
He rolled onto his side, grunting a vague response to something Tyler said about females being deadlier than males. One thing he was certain was true was that Amy Wright was a cop and a good person. There was the rub. If he were to pick up where he left off with her, he would have to lie, a humongous whopper of a monster lie. She couldn’t know, not ever. It didn’t matter that he did it for her more than for himself. Telling her meant putting her in an untenable position, forcing her to choose, to compromise herself or else turn him in. But not telling her meant carrying around a huge secret, poisoning the relationship from the starting gun. Killing a cop—her boss, no less—wasn’t some small detail. She would sense there was something large looming over them like a dark, swollen cloud, probably drag the truth out of him eventually. Sooner or later, all masks get removed. Then she would have to live with her choice. He couldn’t do that to her. One of them was already going to Hell.
“Hey!” Hatcher said. He raised his voice far above his cellmate’s drone. “Hey!”
Below him, Tyler cut himself off. Hatcher heard the mattress springs below creak.
“What?”
Hatcher flopped onto his back again and stared at the ceiling. It felt like an absolute barrier pushing down on him, a divide with nothing beyond it. Nothing for him, at least. As if whatever future he had was on this side of it. The way the ground used to feel.
“If you’re going to keep talking about sex,” he said, closing his eyes. He thought of Garrett. Wondered if any of this meant that he’d see him again someday. If that was how any of it worked. “Tell me more about those ghost brides.”
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