Page 3 of Go Alone

Gadd scoffed. "I wasn't a disciple. Man was a lunatic. It's funny when you see 'em on TV, but not so funny when they're out and about in real life."

“My point,” Kate insisted, “is that I believe he was responsible for my father’s death, not you.”

“Okay.”

“Fuck you!” Kate snapped.

She pressed her teeth together and got herself back into control. "I can convince the FBI to reduce your sentence. I can convince them to give you benefits inside. A more comfortable bed, maybe a TV in your room."

“The FBI don’t handle any of that.”

She sighed. “What I mean to say is that the FBI can convince the Department of Corrections to do this.”

Gadd scoffed. “Don’t matter. Got lymphoma. Stage three right now, but it’s goin’ to be stage four before too long. Ain’t gonna get another chance to talk to me, so if you’ve got somethin’ to say, now’s the time.”

Kate looked away, her jaw trembling. Not because she felt sorry for Gadd but because her only leverage was now gone. She hoped to bribe Gadd into telling her the truth in exchange for an easier fifty years, but if he was right about his cancer, he might not have the next five months.

Gadd’s lips twisted into an evil smile. “Sure you don’t want to know how he died?”

“Yes, I’m—”

“Blood come out of his mouth like one of them fountains rich people have in their front yards. He tried to speak. Didn’t come out well on account of the blood fountain, but I knew what he was trying to say.”

He leaned forward as far as his shackles would allow, eyes shining with madness. “Kate,” he whispered. “Kate.”

***

“Kate?”

Kate flinched, spilling coffee on her hand. Marcus backed away, chagrined, and Kate sighed and gave him a sheepish smile. “Sorry. My body’s awake, but my mind’s still dreaming. Waiting for the caffeine to hit.”

“The old nightmare?” Marcus asked.

“Just…”

She sipped the coffee that remained in the mug, using that as an excuse not to answer. She set the mug on the counter and grabbed a pair of paper towels. “Hey, big guy, want to watch me bend over?”

Marcus rolled his eyes and turned away while she cleaned the spill. “How’s your mother doing?”

Kate sighed and straightened, throwing the dirty paper towels into the wastebasket sitting just outside her one-bedroom’s compact kitchen. “Why don’t you ask her? I think she likes you better than me anyway.”

“Hey, I didn’t mean it like that.”

Now it was Kate’s turn to roll her eyes. “Oh, good, because I totally thought you did. If you hadn’t said anything, I would have absolutely believed that you were gloating over the fact that your relationship with my mother is better than mine.”

“It’s not… I’m not… I know…” He huffed and said, “Kate, talk to me. I still care about you.”

She looked at him, and he lifted his hands and let them drop. “You know what I mean.”

“I know. And I am very sorry, but I can’t talk about this right now.”

This wasn't the first time Marcus had tried to pry into Kate's relationship with her mother or her ongoing attempt to find answers about her father's murder. Each time ended the way this one was about to end in an argument.

“You never can talk about it.”

“Yeah, well it’s a little damned personal, Marcus!” She grabbed her coffee cup and took a sip that was too big, then tried one more time to smooth things over. “You want to keep pissing me off, or do you want me to make you breakfast?”

“Can I be honest?” Marcus replied.