“Pouty sleeper,” Omar muses quietly. As an aside to his wife, “That’s a good way to put it.”
“Have you been here long?” Melissa asks Vince, hand coming to massage over her husband’s on their son’s arm.
He has to think about it even as he shakes his head. “Only a few minutes,” Vince decides. Time passes strangely in this little room. It’s a place where Reza is bound until a psychiatrist can sign off on the drugs flooding his brain, certify he’s level and not likely to dig into anyone else’s bullet wounds, should the opportunity present itself.
The boy doesn’t help his case by spewing absolute vitriol whenever the doctor shows himself. Vince can’t say he blames him; there’s a stack of books and school obligations piled on the tiny desk in the corner that serve as Reza’s only distraction w
