Read Online Rivers to Blood by Michael Lister - Free Book Online Page A

my head.
    “What about your plane?”
    I shook my head again. “Thanks for your help searching for it,” I said. “Sorry to waste the team’s time.”
    “You didn’t. Usually not finding anything is a good thing. Hopefully it didn’t go down.”
    I nodded. “Must not have. Somebody would have seen or heard something or reported it missing by now.”
    “Sorry for how the guys act,” he said.
    “The SAR team? I’m used to it. Hell, one of ’em’s my brother.”
    “He’s not too bad. Not compared to the others. Some of them … I really like to dive and I’m pretty good at it––and I want to help, you know, make a difference, but I just can’t deal with all their … bullshit anymore. I resigned yesterday. Anyway … I know you’re not here to talk about any of that. How can I help you?”
    “I’m looking for a book of Salvador Dalì’s work.”
    “I’ve got a couple. Right this way.”
    He led me to a large wooden bookcase inmates had built just outside his office. It had oversized shelves and held large, heavy art, architecture, and photography books.
    He found three Dalì books and pulled them from the shelves.
    “You looking for something in particular?” he asked.
    “Yeah,” I said, turning toward him. “A painting called—”
    I broke off abruptly, unable to continue when I saw the small scar on his neck. Nearly an inch long, the scar tissue rose off the skin, red and wormlike, just beneath his jaw line.
    “What is it?” he asked.
    “Let’s go back in the office,” I said.
    When we were inside I closed the door.
    “The scar on your neck,” I said. “How recent is that?”
    He shrugged, his whole demeanor changing, as if he were shrinking in on himself.
    “You feel like talking about it?” I asked.
    “How do you know about it?” he asked, his eyes moistening.
    “I’m trying to find out who’s doing it,” I said.
    He shook his head. “It’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to me in my entire life. By a long shot.”
    “Where’d it happen?” I asked.
    “In Medical. I was just going to get a snack out of the vending machine from the break room in the back. It was supper time and the sandwich I brought just wasn’t enough. He jumped me from behind. I never saw him.”
    “No one was in the infirmary or the nurses’ station?”
    “If they were they didn’t say or do anything,” he said, anger at the edge of his voice.
    His breathing became more erratic and his chin quivered.
    “He tackled me. Grabbed a handful of my hair and slammed my face onto the tile floor over and over again. Broke my nose, chipped my tooth—this one’s a crown,” he added, pointing to one of his front teeth. “He was so strong. Pinned me to the floor with his whole body, pressing down on me so hard I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t move. I tried. I tried so hard to get away, but I couldn’t. I was dazed, maybe even unconscious a moment.”
    He paused, trying to regain control. I waited, nodding in an attempt to be reassuring.
    “He kept whispering,” he said, looking down at the ground. “The whole time. Just whispering. I could feel his hot breath on my ear. God, it drove me crazy. It was almost the worst part. That and what he made me do to myself.”
    I reached out and put my hand on his shoulder. He jumped when he felt it, but recovered quickly, then put his hand on mine and patted it. It was something no man had ever done in all my years of comforting and counseling the broken and bereaved.
    “Have you talked to anybody about it?” I asked.
    He shook his head.
    “Would you be willing to?”
    He gave me a small shrug. “Who?”
    “How about Ms. Lopez?”
    “How about you?”
    “Sure.”
    “I was so scared,” he said. “I thought he was going to kill me. You think you’d rather die than have some sick prick butt fuck you on the floor—until you’re in the situation. Then all you can think about is surviving, doing whatever it takes to stay alive. I did just what he