Twenty-three. Callie 2 page

'You do know about Callie, don't you?'

'Yeah, I know.' Dan's voice took on a more sombre timbre. I for one was glad to hear the end of his jolly, bouncy tone. 'I'm sorry.'

Sorry . . .

So much I wanted to say. So much I couldn't.

'Where're we going to meet?' I asked quietly.

'When?'

'Now.'

'Now? But it's the arse-crack of dawn. What about football practice later? Aren't you going to come?'

'Not in the mood. I've got more important matters to deal with,' I said. 'I'll meet you in twenty outside the cinema. OK?'

'But it's not even open yet—'

'Dan, I'm not inviting you to watch a film,' I snapped. 'And by the way, did you tell McAuley what I said about grassing him up if the police came knocking?'

Silence.

'Thanks a lot.'

'You sounded like you meant it,' Dan protested. 'What was I supposed to do?'

You were supposed to have my back.

'You were supposed to know I'd never do that.'

'That's what I told Mr McAuley, I swear,' Dan rushed to explain. 'I told him it was just talk.'

I shook my head. Dan still hadn't connected all the dots. He was never very good on cause and effect.

'The cinema, Dan. Twenty minutes.' I hung up, then waited to see if he would phone me back. He didn't. It was only as I stared down at the phone on my lap that I realized with a start I was still wearing the same bloodstained shirt I'd worn at the Wasteland. Callie's blood had dried into the material, which had now stuck to my skin. And I could smell it. Why couldn't I smell it before? By the time I pulled off my shirt, I was shaking. Balling it up, I dropped it in the bin by my desk, then headed for the bathroom. I stripped off the rest of my clothes and got into the bath tub before turning on the shower. I didn't do my usual of allowing the water to run warm before I even let a toe get wet. The water was freezing, but I didn't care. It didn't matter. After a couple of minutes it was hot enough. I washed my hair and soaped my body. But it didn't matter how much or how hard I scrubbed, I could still feel Callie's blood sticking to my skin.

Twenty-seven

I stepped out of the house, carefully closing the door behind me. Mum was still working nights so was fast asleep, as was my sister. Just recently, Jessica always seemed to be tired. Revising for her final exam this week, maybe? I didn't want to wake up either of them. Answering questions was not at the top of my list of priorities right now. I stepped onto the pavement when a question had me whirling around.

'Excuse me, but are you Tobey Durbridge?'

A tall, willowy Cross woman with braids falling like a waterfall round her face stood in front of me.

'Yes, I am.' I frowned.

Who was this woman? I'd never seen her before in my life.

'I understand you were with Callie Rose Hadley when she got shot?' said the woman.

'Yes, I was.' My frown deepened.

The woman's eyes lit up. 'Got one!' she called out. She brought her right hand out from behind her back. She was holding a microphone. A Nought man stepped out from behind the unmarked white van parked in front of our house. He was holding a TV camera. I stared in horror as the man came straight at me.

'Who are you?' I asked, taking a step back.

'Josie Braden. Channel Nineteen News,' said the woman as if she was delivering all I should want or need to know. 'You wouldn't believe how hard it's been to find a witness to Callie Hadley's shooting.' She turned to her colleague. 'Are we up and running, Jack?'

'In a moment,' Jack replied, checking his camera. A red light appeared at the front, like a small demon's eye unblinkingly focused on me. Jack hoisted the camera onto his shoulder and started pointing the thing at Josie.

'Three. Two. One,' Josie Braden counted down before speaking into the camera lens. 'This is Josie Braden outside Callie Rose Hadley's home in Meadowview. I'm here with Callie's neighbour Tobey Durbridge, who was with Callie Rose, Kamal Hadley's granddaughter, when she got shot.' Josie turned to face me, as did Jack's camera. 'Tobey, can you tell us what happened?'

The microphone was thrust under my chin. The red eye waited for me to speak.

I said nothing. Josie looked at me expectantly.

'Excuse me,' I said before turning round and heading off in the opposite direction.

A few steps on, I turned my head. Josie drew her hand across her neck. Jack lowered his camera. They both watched me, disappointment written in capitals on their faces. I was out of there. A medieval tongue-extractor couldn't've made me speak to the press. Hopefully she'd be the first and the last reporter to try and bother me and my family. Jess and Mum didn't know anything so what could they say? And if I said nothing then what could they report? All I could do was cross my fingers and hope against hope that my face and name didn't end up plastered across the TV or in the newspapers. It wouldn't take much more than that for McAuley to firebomb my house. The saying – there's no such thing as bad publicity? Well, that was crap. In Meadowview, there most definitely was such a thing as bad publicity. The kind of publicity that could get a person deader than a roast chicken.

'I must be mad,' Dan kept muttering. 'Mr McAuley's not going to like this . . .'

Dan had been whinging ever since we'd met up and I'd told him what I needed from him, which was an audience with McAuley. I didn't bother telling him about the reporter outside my front door. Dan was worried enough as it was. I buried my hands deeper in the pockets of my denim jacket, my hands clenched so tight, my knuckles cracked.

'You're going to get us both into big trouble,' Dan said, deeply unhappy.

'I'll explain it was my idea,' I said.

'Like Mr McAuley's going to give a damn about that. We're both going to end up buried in concrete holding up a building somewhere at this rate.'

'How much further?' I asked, changing the subject.

'The other end of this road,' said Dan.

We'd travelled by bus for a good thirty minutes to get here, but this looked like an ordinary residential street – not the sort of place where you'd expect to find business premises. I frowned at Dan, but said nothing. We kept walking. Dan finally stopped outside an end-of-terrace house with a dark-blue door. It was nothing special. A three-up, two-down. The sort of house you'd pass a hundred times a day and never notice.

'McAuley's in there?'

Dan nodded, adding, 'This is a really bad idea. You're going to get us both killed.'

'Dan, change the tune, OK?'

'No, it's not OK. Mr McAuley doesn't like surprises.'

'He asked me to work for him, remember?'

'Yes, and you turned him down.'

'Well, I've thought better of it.'

Dan looked at me.

'What?' I asked, exasperated.

'Does this have something to do with what happened to Callie? Because Mr McAuley can sniff out bullshit at fifty paces.'

'It has nothing to do with Callie and everything to do with getting what's mine,' I replied. 'I want to make a lot of money and spend it whilst I'm still young enough to enjoy it. The shooting just woke me up to a few home truths, that's all.'

'Mr McAuley is not going to believe that.'

'Do you?'

Dan shrugged. 'It doesn't matter whether I believe it or not. It's not me you have to convince.'

'It's the truth, Dan. And if McAuley doesn't want me working for him, there's always the Dowds.'

Dan looked around fearfully. 'You don't want to joke about a thing like that. Around Mr McAuley, I wouldn't even think it. People have died for less.'

I gave Dan a look.

'Oh hell. I'm sorry.' Dan rushed through his apology. 'I wasn't talking about . . . I'm sorry.'

I shrugged and looked around. A black van sat outside the house. It had to belong to McAuley. The plush creamcoloured leather seats were a dead giveaway. Dan took a deep breath and headed for the front door. This was it. Once I set foot in this house, there'd be no turning back. Could I do this? Really go through with this? I could turn round and walk away and have this . . . this nothing inside me for the rest of my life. No self-respect. No pride. No Callie Rose . . . Or I could enter this house and never look back. Would McAuley believe me? Only one way to find out. Dan rang the bell three times, a pause, then twice more. The choice was made. The front door was opened by a Nought guy with light-brown, shoulder-length hair tied back in a ponytail. He wore a dark-brown suit with a crisp white shirt and was built like an army tank. If he exhaled too sharply, his clothes would fall apart around him. No way was anyone getting past him without his say-so.

'Hi, Trevor. Did you miss me?' asked Dan.

Trevor looked like he'd rip off Dan's head as soon as look at him. I hung a few steps behind Dan and looked up and down the street. This house was the perfect disguise. No one would ever guess that McAuley's illegal activities operated out of such unassuming surroundings. He had an office for running his legitimate business in West Meadowview, on the industrial estate by the old railway bridge, but I'd put money on him visiting those premises maybe twice a year, if that. And I'd also put money on this not being the only house he used for his dodgy dealings. Very clever. Mrs Bridges at the bottom of my road dealt drugs out of her house, but she also lived there. This was a much better arrangement.

Dan waved me forward to stand next to him. 'Trevor, this is my mate, Tobey. Mr McAuley knows him.'

Mr I-Love-Steroids looked me up, down and sideways. He finally stepped aside to let us pass, but not without patting both of us down first. Godsake! What did he think I was packing? An Uzi? Dan headed into the first room on the right. A huge flat-screen TV sat on the wall like a piece of contemporary artwork. Two black leather sofas sat self-consciously facing each other on the hardwood floor. I chose to stand, as did Dan.

'So what happens now?' I asked Dan.

'We wait here until McAuley sends for us.'

A strange scraping noise sounded from overhead, like a chair being dragged across the floor. One bang and what sounded like a muffled groan later, and all was quiet.

'What was that?' I asked, pointing at the ceiling.

'Don't know – and don't want to know,' Dan replied.

I took the hint and refrained from saying anything else. After all, the room might've been wired for sound, for all I knew. I wouldn't put anything past McAuley. My stomach twisted like an angry snake. In the history of bad ideas, this had to be the worst. There was no way this would work. But I had to do it. I had no choice. One minute turned into five before another muscle-head, bald this time, entered the room. He and Dan exchanged a cursory nod.

'All right, Byron?' Dan asked.

Byron didn't answer. He beckoned us forward. We passed through the small kitchen and out into a lean-to conservatory which held a small antique desk and two large potted plants. McAuley sat behind the desk in a huge burgundy leather high-backed chair like a king on his throne. There were two piles of papers on his left, a laptop in the middle of the desk and a cup of what smelled like fresh mint tea to the right of the laptop. Ignoring Dan, he looked directly at me.

'Tobey Durbridge . . . You're the last person I would've expected to come knocking at my door. What can I do for you?'

I took a deep breath. 'I wondered if your offer of work still stands?'

McAuley regarded me for at least half a minute. No one else in the room spoke or even moved a muscle. I forced myself to meet McAuley's gaze without flinching.

'Why're you here, Tobey?'

'For a job, sir.'

'Sir? Still so polite.' McAuley leaned forward. 'That's one of the things I like about you, Tobias Sebastian Durbridge. Always so polite.'

He'd been checking up on me. How else would he know my middle name? I never told anyone – and I mean anyone – my middle name. Dan didn't know it. Even Callie didn't know it. McAuley had been checking up on me, and what's more, he wanted me to know it. But that was OK. McAuley was watching me for my reaction. I met his gaze and didn't even blink. I had to convince him that I had nothing to hide. Byron, McAuley's bodyguard, stood at his side, making no attempt to hide the gun in his hand. Byron might've been a big bloke, but I didn't doubt that his reflexes would be viper-fast.

'So you want a job? I seem to remember that you weren't interested,' McAuley continued.

'I've changed my mind, sir. I need the money.'

'What's changed between now and last week?'

'Reality has set in.' I shrugged.

'Now why don't I believe you?' McAuley was a study in stillness as he scrutinized me.

I opened my mouth to argue, then decided against it. McAuley was no fool. The worst – and last – mistake I could make would be to underestimate him. I shrugged again.

'In your shoes, I wouldn't believe me either,' I said.

McAuley sat back and smiled. 'At last, something we both agree on.'

I nodded slowly. 'Fair enough, Mr McAuley. I just thought I'd offer my services. I'm sorry to have wasted your time.'

I turned and headed for the door.

'How's your girlfriend? What's her name again? Callie Rose?'

'She's not my girlfriend,' I replied, still heading for the door.

'Wait,' McAuley ordered.

I turned round to face him. He beckoned me over and pointed to the spot where I'd been standing next to Dan. I walked back to my previous position. I felt like a naughty school kid made to stand in front of the head. No doubt that was just what McAuley was aiming for.

'Why d'you need money?' he asked.

'To get out of this place,' I replied. 'Out of Meadowview.'

McAuley's eyes widened. I'd succeeding in surprising him.

'To get away from people like me?' he asked softly with the merest hint of a smile.

'Yes, sir,' I replied without hesitation.

There was no mistaking the horrified gasp that came from Dan beside me.

'You don't harbour any dreams of being just like me when you're older?'

'No, sir.'

McAuley leaned forward over his desk, his index fingers touching at the tips to form a peak which he then tapped against his lips. Several seconds passed.

'You don't like me very much, do you, Tobey?'

'No, sir.'

Dan was staring at me like I'd lost every bit of my mind.

'But you're willing to take my money?'

'To earn it, sir.'

McAuley started to laugh. 'I like you, Tobey Sebastian Durbridge.'

I said nothing.

'So what are you prepared to do for me?' he asked.

'Whatever will make me the most money in the shortest amount of time.'

'And why should I trust you?'

'Because I'm loyal, hardworking, I do as I'm told. And I know when to keep my mouth shut.'

'It appears that you do,' McAuley agreed. 'But loyalty is the most important thing to me.'

'I understand, sir.'

'I hope you do,' said McAuley. 'Because if I find out that you – or anyone else who works for me – is abusing my trust, there will be no second chances.'

I got the message, loud and clear.

'If you give me a chance, I won't let you down,' I replied.

McCauley looked up at Byron, who was still at his side, and nodded. Byron carefully placed his gun on the desk, then sauntered towards us. Trouble. I watched Byron approach, knowing that danger was only a couple of steps away – and counting down. McAuley hadn't believed a word I'd said and if I left this place in one whole, living piece it would be a bona fide miracle. Cold sweat pricked my back and my armpits. What was Byron going to do? Kill me where I stood? What did McAuley expect me to do? Fight? Beg? What?

'Mr McAuley, I can vouch for Tobey. He's a good guy,' Dan said quickly before Byron reached us.

It was a valiant try, but everyone in the room knew that Dan was wasting his breath. I turned to look at McAuley. If I was going down, it would be facing him like a man. Byron stepped behind Dan and me. I held my breath. But to my surprise, I wasn't Byron's target. Byron grabbed hold of Dan's arms and pulled them back. Dan cried out in surprise and more than a little fear. He struggled to get free, but he was wasting his time. He wasn't going anywhere. A couple of quick yanks on his arms were enough to make him yell out in pain, but it had the desired effect. Dan kept still, whilst Byron stood directly behind him, still pulling back his arms. I turned back to McAuley, who was watching me intently.

McAuley pointed to the gun Byron had left on his desk. 'Pick it up.'

I moved forward to do as I was told. The stock was warm where Byron had been holding it and the gun was unexpectedly heavy. I adjusted my grip, keeping my finger well away from the trigger.

'D'you know what kind of weapon that is?' McAuley asked me.

It was a M1911 Series 70, single action, semiautomatic handgun, with a single stacked magazine that took seven .45 calibre ACP bullets, plus one in the chamber – that's if the thing hadn't been modified to take more.

'It's a gun, sir,' I replied.

'You know your stuff !' said McAuley dryly. 'That particular gun happens to be a classic. I keep telling Byron that he should use a more modern firearm, but that gun is one of his favourites.'

Why was he telling me all this? Like I gave a damn which toys Byron liked to play with.

'That particular gun is loaded with point four five calibre, non-expanding, Teflon-coated ball ammunition,' McAuley told me. 'I have the bullets made especially for me.'

I went to lay the thing back down on the table.

'Tobey, do something for me,' said McAuley silkily. 'Point that gun at Dan and shoot him.'

I must've misheard. 'Pardon?'

'You heard me,' said McAuley.

He picked up his cup of mint tea and started sipping it. The gun sat awkwardly in my hand as I looked from Dan back to McAuley. 'You want me to . . . ?'

'Kill your friend.' McAuley's voice was soft and slick as melted butter.

Dan stared at McAuley, horror-stricken. He struggled against Byron's python grip in earnest now, but there was no way Byron was letting him go.

'Well, Tobey?' said McAuley.

'Mr McAuley, please,' Dan pleaded. 'I work for you. I'm a good worker.'

'You brought a stranger to my house unannounced and uninvited,' McAuley turned to snap at him. 'Into my house. You never, ever bring anyone here without my permission, Dan. For that alone, you need sorting.'

'I'm sorry, Mr McAuley. I messed up,' Dan cried out. 'Tobey's my friend. And you offered him a job. I didn't think it'd do any harm.'

'You didn't think – full stop. You're a fool, Dan, and that makes you a liability,' McAuley replied. 'Tobey, either shoot him or give me the gun so I can take care of business.'

Would I be included in his 'business'?

Probably.

I looked at Dan, who was shaking his head frantically at me. The gun in my hand was so heavy. My dad had taught me about guns, before he left. He used to buy all kinds of gun magazines and he'd sit me on his lap as we looked at the photos and read the specifications together. Before he took off. But Dad would never have dreamed of having a gun in our house or anywhere near it – not a real one. He had a couple of replicas, but he said it was to study the engineering behind them. The last time he disappeared, Mum put the replicas in the bin. That's when I knew he wasn't coming back. And now I had a real gun in my hand, loaded with real bullets.

Slowly I raised my hand, pointing the gun straight at Dan's head.

'Tobey, no. I'm begging you. Don't . . . Please . . .' Dan fought like a wild thing to get out of Byron's grasp, but it was futile.

Though his lips were a thin immovable slash across his face, I could tell Byron was enjoying himself by the gleam in his green eyes.

'Tobey . . . no . . .' Tears streamed down Dan's face. A dark stain began to spread across the crotch of his lightblue jeans.

Sorry, Dan. I lowered my gaze, trying to get it together. My arm fell to my side. The gun was heavy, so very heavy.

Stretch out my arm.

Hold the gun steady.

If I'm wrong, if I've got it wrong . . .

Take aim, Tobey.

I raised my arm to aim the gun directly at Dan's heart.

'TOBEY, NO!' Dan screamed out.

Legs slightly apart, body braced, I concentrated on just one face.

And I pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened. Just a click. It dry-fired. No bang. No boom. No gun recoil. Just a click. The loudest click in the world. I hardly heard it over the sound of my heart racing like a jet engine. Byron released Dan, who fell at his feet in a crumpled heap, still sobbing.

I turned to McAuley, turning the gun round to hand it back to him by the stock. The slide hadn't even gone back when I'd fired. 'This gun doesn't work.'

'That gun doesn't have any bullets in it,' McAuley informed me. He took the gun from me, placing it on the table. He took another sip of his tea, as we regarded each other over his cup.

'You definitely remind me of me,' said McAuley. 'I'll have to keep my eyes on you.'

'Do I get to work for you now, sir?' I asked.

McAuley took out a phone from the top drawer of his desk and handed it to me along with a charger. He turned to Dan, looking down on him with utter contempt. 'Dan, you're lucky you're still useful to me, but if you mess up again . . .' McAuley turned back to me. 'Keep that phone with you at all times. I'll be in touch. Now get out and take your friend with you.'

Twenty-eight

McAuley wouldn't even let Dan use the bathroom first to tidy himself up. Byron saw to it that we were out of McAuley's house less than thirty seconds later. It was weird leaving the house, like stepping out of reality into a fantasy world full of sunshine and promises, a world that felt fake and insincere. A world of people who didn't know the likes of McAuley existed, mainly because they didn't want to know. Ignorance provided countless nights of uninterrupted sleep in a way that knowledge never did. Once the front door was shut behind us, I took a deep breath, then another, and another. I'd entered the lion's den and got out in one piece. This time . . . So why wasn't my heart battering its way out of my chest? Why wasn't I puking my guts out? Maybe because my mind was racing ahead, whilst my body and my heart were stuck in the Wasteland with Callie. God help me when they caught up with each other. But until then, I had things to do. I pulled off my T-shirt and handed it to Dan.

'You can tie that round your waist,' I told him. The front of his trousers around the zip was still conspicuously dark blue.

Dan smacked my hand away. I couldn't blame him. He wiped his hands over his face, but didn't look at me. With each step away from McAuley, Dan's fear cooled and his rage towards me grew ever hotter. I could feel it radiating from him. There was an eruption coming. I put my T-shirt back on as Dan didn't want it. We turned the corner of the street and the explosion happened.

Dan shoved me against a wall and pinned me there, his forearm against my throat. 'You rotten bastard. You tried to kill me.'

'No, I didn't,' I replied as calmly as I could. 'The gun wasn't loaded.'

Dan pushed down harder on my throat. 'You didn't know that.'

'Yes, I d-did.' It was hard to get the words out with his arm pressed against my larynx. 'I knew it was a t-test.' If he didn't move and soon, I'd have to move him. My throat was beginning to hurt.

Dan's arm relaxed on my throat, but only slightly. 'How did you know?' Though his arm had relaxed, his expression hadn't.

'Byron was standing right behind you.'

'So?' Dan hissed at me, his spit spraying my face.

'McAuley said the gun was loaded with point four five calibre, non-expanding, ball ammunition.'

'So what?'

'If I fired the M1911 at that range, that kind of ammo would've gone straight through your body and probably straight through Byron's too. McAuley might not care about your sorry arse, but he wouldn't risk losing his minder that way. I knew it had to be a bluff.'

Dan stared at me. He slowly let go of me and stood back. But he wasn't happy. Far from it.

'You could've warned me.'

'How? McAuley and that Byron guy were standing right there. I had no choice but to do what I was told.'

'Suppose you'd been wrong?' Dan snapped.

'But I wasn't.'

'But suppose you had been?'

'But I wasn't.'

'You could've killed me,' Dan said, his eyes boring into mine.

'But I didn't.'

Casting one last fulminating look in my direction, Dan carried on walking. I fell into step next to him. I buried my hands in my trouser pockets and kept my eyes straight ahead. I was very aware of the filthy looks Dan kept giving me.

'What happened to Callie wasn't my fault,' he said belligerently.

'I never said otherwise.'

'But you blame me.'

'Dan, this is pointless,' I sighed. 'It was just one of those unforeseen things, that's all.'

'I didn't know what was in that package you delivered to Louise Resnick,' said Dan. 'I swear I didn't.'

I didn't reply.

'I know you don't believe me, but it's the truth,' he insisted.

'What makes you think I don't believe you?' I frowned.

'The look in your eyes when you pulled that trigger . . .' Dan was looking at me like he'd never seen me before. His words made me start.

'Dan, you're wrong. Besides, no one forced me to deliver those packages. It was my idea.'

And though we fell back to walking beside each other, each step took us further apart.

'Dan, you've got to believe me,' I tried. 'I knew the gun was either not loaded or else it had blanks in it. Besides, if our positions were reversed, are you telling me you wouldn't have pulled the trigger?'

'Don't you dare turn this round on me,' Dan raged. 'The point is, our positions weren't reversed.'

'You're the one who said—' I bit back the rest. No good could come from finishing that sentence.

'What?'

'Nothing.'

Damn, this was so hard. In the space of a few minutes, everything had changed between us. In the space of a few days, everything had changed between us. But I still had to rely on his friendship. I had no choice.

'Dan, will you do something for me?' I asked at last.

'I want to do bugger all for you,' Dan retorted. 'Except maybe kick your head in.'

'But you'll do this for me anyway.' I smiled faintly.

'What is it?'

'If anything happens to me, make sure my mum and sister are safe. OK?'

Dan didn't reply. I risked a glance at him. He met my gaze. Neither of us was smiling. Not even close.

'D'you promise?' I asked.

'Yeah,' he said at last. 'I promise.'

Two Nought girls of about our age or maybe a bit older walked towards us. Dan sidestepped, to walk slightly behind me, still conscious of the state of his jeans. The girls looked Dan and me up and down as they passed before turning to each other and giggling. Why do girls do that? Is it meant to make them seem more interesting? Attractive? 'Cause if so, then it misses by several kilometres. It just made them seem like airheads. Once they'd passed, Dan fell into step next to me again, not saying a word. The normal Dan would never have let two fit girls pass by without trying to get their mobile phone digits at the very least. His hands hung with false nonchalance over the dark patch at his groin. We approached a small parade of shops when I had an idea.

'Wait here,' I said to Dan, before popping into the newsagent. I bought two big bottles of water. Outside the shop, I grinned at Dan as I showed him the bottles. He frowned at me. I handed one bottle to him before unscrewing the top of the other one. I splashed the water over Dan's shirt and jeans.

'What the hell are you playing at?' Dan hopped about like the water was boiling. He tried to snatch the bottle away from me, but I wouldn't let him.

'The best way to hide one stain is amongst many,' I said.

He stopped dancing about after that, having finally clicked what I was doing. He wasn't happy, but he let me carry on. Once one bottle was empty, we swapped and I doused him with the second one. I clamped my lips together as I poured water over his head. The next thing I knew, we were both howling with laughter. People walking by gave us a wide berth – no doubt they thought we were both barking. By the time I'd finished, Dan was dripping wet with barely a dry patch anywhere on his clothes. His dark-blond hair was now darker and plastered to his head like a swimming cap. We looked at each other, and our laughter faded to nothing. Dan walked to the side of the pavement, put his hands on his knees to steady himself and vomited up his last ten meals. I watched him and there was nothing I could do. When he'd finally finished, he used the last remaining drops of water in my bottle to rinse out his mouth before spitting the lot onto the pavement.

Date: 2015-12-18; view: 563