Fear Me

17

Romero hadn’t said much to the kid all day.

Every time he looked at the little bastard, something flipped over in his stomach and grease bubbled up the back of his throat. His heart started to pound and he couldn’t seem to catch his breath. There was something about that kid, just as there had been from the moment Jorgensen had brought him in, something repulsive about him. Something that got inside you, twisted blackly in your guts. He offended Romero and Romero found himself badly wanting to squeeze the stuffing out of the little shit, except… he was afraid of what might come leaking out.

The kid kept thanking him about intervening with Gordo, but Romero didn’t want to hear about that shit. Last thing he wanted to be thinking about was Tony Gordo and what happened to him. Especially now. It was lockdown and lights out was coming soon. And he was trapped in the cell with the kid.

So he lay on his rack and read his book and tried not to look at him. Which wasn’t easy, because the kid kept looking at him. Palmquist was pacing back and forth, rubbing his palms against his prison-issues, hugging himself, shaking his head. Half a dozen times now he’d stop, pitch a glance at Romero, open his mouth like he was going to say something, then just shake his head and go right on pacing.

“Why don’t you fucking relax?” Romero finally said. “You’re getting under my skin.”

Palmquist sat down, then stood up, sat down again. “It’s gonna be dark soon,” he said.

“No shit?”

But the kid wasn’t having it. He studied his hands, thinking things and maybe wanting to say them, but not daring. He was pale as unleavened flour, his eyes like bruises punched into his face. He was jittery and nervous, couldn’t seem to sit still for more than a few moments at a stretch.

“That night,” he said. “The night Weems got it… did you hear anything?”

Romero dropped his book an inch or two. “Yeah, I heard you snoring.”

“Anything else?”

“What else would I hear?”

Palmquist nodded, rubbed his eyes. “I’m tired.”

“So go to sleep, do us both a fucking favor.”

But he just shook his head. “I don’t want to go to sleep. I don’t think I ever want to go to sleep.”

“Why is that?”

The kid looked at him and his eyes were practically bleeding. “Oh shit… if you only knew…”

And the bad part was, Romero figured he already did.