Twenty-One
Phil had raised his hand in the air, chanting with the inmates. “Bea is dead. Bea is dead.” Even though he was as much in the flow of evil as anyone there, he’d had trouble saying those words.
When he had tried to say the words, he couldn’t, even though Warden had assured him Bea wasn’t dead.
He must really be her father and not some slime-ball Katty had gone to bed with. Otherwise, saying those words wouldn’t get to him.
It was startling the way everyone had been engaged with the beat and the words. Lex, right next to him, backed away to the wall behind them. He’d done his share of battles and stupid, but even Lex seemed shocked.
Phil had watched as every face in every cell had become his own dad.
Ew.
The face and time was imprinted in Phil’s memory. He’d been just a kid
