Page 102 of Rat

Or pressing your fingers to their wrist for a pulse and nothing tapping back.

It was touching someone and expecting their warmth but shivering at the cold.

Part of Rory had still believed Erica’s death was a nightmare he’d been unable to wake from or a cruel prank by someone who must’ve hated him. Even with Erica in front of him, he didn’t believe it was her, not until he reached for her hand and had to part her stiff fingers so he could link his and hers.

Rory wanted Erica to drag him out of there. He closed his eyes, needing to feel the tug of her getting him to safety, but there was nothing, no pull except the hitch in his chest. He knew he wouldn’t be able to stay on his feet for long, so he lay a quick kiss to her forehead with trembling lips and then let go. Rory walked backwards until he hit the wall, then slipped down to the floor.

At some point, someone wheeled Erica away, putting her back behind the mirrored door.

Rory didn’t look up. He sat with his back to the wall, knees up to his chest, and arms hugging them. He thought he’d cry, or scream, and a part of him was ashamed he hadn’t.

The overwhelming emotion was emptiness, a huge, endless cavern in his chest where his grief-poisoned heart had fallen.

“Rory…” Morris whispered.

He didn’t look up at her but replied with numb lips. “What?”

“Here…”

She handed him a coffee, and he wanted to hurl it, to shout at her, to cry tears into the cup and make it even more bitter, but instead, he took what Morris offered and cradled it in his hands. It didn’t fight off the chill. He was numb through and through.

“Thank you.”

Morris didn’t leave. “She looked peaceful.”

And that much was true. Erica’s cause of death had been blunt force trauma, but the blow had been to the back of her head. On the table, Rory hadn’t been able to see the injury. If it wasn’t for the shockingly pale complexion, Rory might’ve been able to convince himself she was sleeping.

“Is…is there someone I can call?” Morris asked.

Rory frowned. “I don’t have anyone. I’m on my own.”

“At least let me arrange you a cab.”

Rory glanced up. “Where would I go?”

“Home.”

“What home? I have no home. I have no one.”

Morris averted her gaze. “What if I… We could—”

“We? There is no we. You hate my guts.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is,” Rory cut in before she could say anything else. “The only people I’ve got left that mean anything to me are inside that prison, and that’s where I want to go.”

Morris shook her head. “You can’t go back there.”

“What’s the alternative?”

“Sebastian’s out next week. It’s over. You played your part—”

“I still have a week of feeling something before it all goes dark, before I truly have nothing.”

“You…you can’t be serious. Rory—”

“That’s what I want,” Rory snapped. “I can’t process any of this.”

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