Lane lies on his back on a bare twin mattress, staring at the ceiling as he regains his breath. His body is limp and glistening. On the floor in the corner of the room there is a single lamp covered by a red cloth, casting an eerie pink light over the room. The blades of the ceiling fan throw dark beams whirling against the pink; his eyes grow heavy watching. His chest rises, falls, rises, falls.
He hears a door open, the flush of a toilet, hears the door close again and feels the mattress sink. “You doin’ OK, baby?”
He turns his head. The woman sits on the edge of the bed, touches his chest with her finger. She has put her dress back on. “You OK?” she asks again.
He looks at the ceiling again and nods.
“Now how long it been?” she asks.
“Six years.”
She whistles. “Whooo hee, boy. And how much longer you got in there?”
“Got six more.”
“Whooo hee. That’s rough on a man.”
“I don’t think about it, much.”
“Oh no?”
Lane blinks. “I got other things to think about.”
She smooths her dress over her thighs. Voices murmur in the hallway. “Mind me asking what you done?”
“No.”
She waits, but he says nothing.
“Then what you done?” she asks.
“Killed a man.”
“How come?”
Lane watches the blade shadows sweep, sweep, sweep across the ceiling, wishes that he could feel their air. “I never meant to.”
“What do you mean you never meant to?”
“Gun went off and it was done.” He turns his head and looks at the woman. She reaches for one of her shoes on the floor beside the mattress.
“Well,” she says, as she puts it on. “For murder, twelve years don’t seem half bad.”
“No,” Lane agrees.
The woman reaches for her other shoe.
“What did Seward tell you?” he asks her. “The big man sent you over.”
“Seward,” she repeats. “He tole me you’re a trusty. Tole me you were only out for a day.”
“That all?”
“Tole me you were here with the chair to kill that boy.” She stands up, looks down at Lane unfazed.
“Don’t bother you?”
“Oh it bother me,” she says. “It bother me. That boy goin’ to his death. It bother me. But I got kids to feed.” She looks at the watch around her wrist. “You best get dressed and going, boy. Fat man wanted you back in a half hour’s time.”