Eleven
Clarence moaned. Something was wrong. Something was off. Lisha must have given him the wrong meds.
Wait.
He never took any pills. He tried to roll over in his bed but something literally punched him in the gut. He must have gotten out of bed in the middle of the night and run into a chair or stumbled into—
“I think he’s comin’ round.”
Something cold and hard touched his ear.
This wasn’t the nursing home.
He opened his eyes.
A van. Not just any van—a prison van. Randy was driving. Goat Man was snoozing on the bench seat facing him, and Scar Face sat beside Goat Man, eyes on Clarence.
Clarence floated somewhere between knowing he was in some sort of horrible nightmare and the reality he saw before him.
It all rushed back. He must have been dreaming. He looked at where his ha
