The tears flow from my eyes as fast as the tears depicted in Michael Jr.’s drawing. I stare into Sam’s exposed eyeballs, and I am convinced his own tears are combining with the blood that continually pours out of him along with his moans and groans.
“What the f**k am I supposed to do?!” I scream. “What the hell do you want from me, Skinner?! What do you want from us?!”
The flame on the lighter is burning my thumb, blistering it. But the hurt is nothing compared to the severe pain in my chest and in my heart.
“Oh, Sam,” I say through my tears. “How could this happen to you? How could I have let it happen? Pulled you into this nightmare?”
His moans are louder now, more forced. He’s moving his head in a circular motion like he’s telling me to put him out of his agony.
With a trembling
