Page 117 of Rat

Rory shoved it through the hatch. “You have to take it. You have to let me apologize, have to let me explain.”

“I don’t want an apology.”

Rory flapped the letter. “Take it.”

Sebastian snatched it from his hand, then tore the letter in half, then into four, then into eights. He threw the pieces back through the door. “If you really want to explain, you’ll talk to me. You’ll explain to me while I can see you. While I can talk back.”

Rory licked his lips. They were salty from tears. “Okay… I—”

“No. Not here. Not where there’s people listening and I’m trapped in a box. Friday. Meet me outside the prison.”

“What?”

“Be there, in the car park,” Sebastian mumbled. “Then I’ll hear you out.”

He moved away from the hatch.

“Sebastian…”

“That’s enough now, Rory,” the governor whispered, “You gave him the letter, he didn’t want it. Now it’s time to go home.”

Rory got to his feet. “Home...”

Rory leaned against the wall outside the prison. He knew he should ask reception to call him a cab and go back to his flat, but he couldn’t. His mind had slammed the brakes on, and he was stuck, lost in a pit of his own making, with no clue how to climb out of it.

He had to go back to his flat. He had to contact the hospital and make arrangements for Erica, but he couldn’t even motivate himself to get a cab, let alone try to accept the loss of his sister.

It wouldn’t matter anyway; he’d be dead by Saturday.

There was no way Sebastian would let Rory’s betrayal go unpunished, and the knowledge was freeing in a sense.

A suited man stepped out of the reception door and immediately dropped all the files he was holding. He cursed, got down on his knees, and began collecting them. Rory stared numbly at all the scattered papers and folders.

The man got to his feet, slotted the files under his armpit, then glared at Rory. “So, you could’ve helped…”

Rory blinked out of his depressive state.

“What?”

The skin at the top of the man’s nose dented with a frown. His eyes were brown, and he had black-framed glasses. His hair was brown too, and his cheeks were sprinkled with faint freckles.

“I dropped all my stuff over the ground, and you stood there and stared.”

“I’m sorry, I… Can I help?”

The man huffed. “I’m okay now, thanks, but what about you?”

“Me?”

“You look like you’re a million miles away.”

Rory sighed. “I really wish I was.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“I’m not comfortable talking to a complete stranger about how I so spectacularly messed up my life.”

“Sometimes it’s best to talk to a complete stranger,” the man said, then craned his neck down and pointed to his badge with his chin.

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