“Fuck this.”

Dante muttered from near the window as he seemingly grew more irritable by the second. Roland had been watching him. He was struggling with the heat. That much was clear to see even with the balaclava on. There was more than that though. He seemed unstable. Roland tugged at the rope that bound his wrists a little and winced in pain as it tore at his skin. When he looked up he saw Dante with his Glock in his hand. It was pointing in Roland’s direction.

His friend, the tall one, outstretched his hand towards him. “What the fuck are you doing, Dante?”

A wry smile appeared on Dante’s face. “What we should have done two hours ago.”

In that moment Roland saw his life flash before his eyes. He saw every mistake, ever misdeed, and every sin he’d ever committed. He tasted the kisses of every girl he’d ever been with and lamented that he’d never lay with another woman again. His life, his work, had all amounted to nothing. He was going to die out here in the Bog without a soul in the world that gave a damn about him. He was certain of that. He saw Dante’s finger pull back on the trigger some.

“No,” the tall man shouted. “No!”

There was a flash of light and a loud bang. Roland felt himself being thrown backwards but not the pain. No, there was no pain, it was over faster than he thought it would be, all he’d felt was his already bloodied skull crashing down against the floor of the shack. In his periphery he spotted Dante fall to the floor dead and saw the tall man stood beside him with a smoking gun in his hand. It took Roland several seconds to figure out what had happened. Even staring into Dante’s vacant eyes and the blood that pooled beneath his head what had really happened sunk in. It was only until he looked down and noticed there was no bullet wound in him that it dawned on him. He was still alive.

The tall man walked over to him and Roland felt his huge hands pulling his chair upright. After a few seconds Spencer managed to summon up some words. “Why did you do that?”

“I don’t know,” the tall man shrugged as he glanced down at Dante’s lifeless body. “I guess I wanted to see what it felt like to do the right thing for once in my life.”

That voice. It sounded like Antwan’s voice. Suddenly the pieces clicked into place and Roland’s eyes widened. The voice, Dante, the “Marcus” they’d spoken about, and their wanting to speak about Antwan. The tall man was Antwan’s uncle. He’d heard the boy waxing lyrical about his uncle and his exploits for years. 

“I know who you are,” Roland muttered. “You’re Chew Lewis.”

Lewis pulled the balaclava free from his face. His brow was mopped with sweat, as were his lips, but despite his shorn hair and hulking stature he bore a facial resemblance to Michelle. Chew threw the balaclava down to the ground and wiped his face clean of sweat before staring in Roland’s direction.

“That’s right,” Chew nodded. “But seeing as I just gunned down the only friend I had left in this world for you, I’d appreciate it if you kept my name out of your mouth once you got out of here. The last thing I need is Billy Brown breathing down my neck.”


Roland laughed derisively at that. “What? You actually think you’re getting out of here?”

“Think?” Chew said with a determined scowl. “I know I am.”

His face was stony serious. There was something in his eyes that made it hard for Roland to disbelieve him despite the unlikelihood of what he was saying. If half of the things Antwan had said about him were true then the crazy son of a bitch might actually be able to do it. Roland shied back into his seat a little as Chew approached him. He walked behind him and unbound the rope that had kept him strapped to his seat. 

Spencer’s hands cried with relief as he rubbed at them. “You hear those dogs? They’re coming for you, Chew, as much as I’m thankful for your little show of chivalry, I have a feeling it’s not going to do you much good.”

Chew walked over to the window and scanned the horizon. Roland couldn’t see the view from where he was sitting but whatever was awaiting him out there certainly didn’t seem pretty. He took a glance down at Dante’s body laid amongst the cracked vials on the floor and let out a heavy sigh. It was clear having taken his friend’s life rested heavily on his conscience. He shook his head a little as if to steel himself for what he was about to do.

“We’ll see about that.”

Lewis pulled out his gun and used it to smash through what remained of the rotting window frame. He placed a single leg through it and was about to climb through and out to the Bog when a thought popped into Roland’s mind. Marcus. As much as Roland’s interests in Antwan were financial, he’d grown to appreciate him for more than that, and in the wake of Jayson being shot his affinity for him had grown even more. Chew was the only man on Earth now that knew what really happened to Antwan’s daddy and he wasn’t about to let him walk out of there without finding out.

He stood up from his seat slowly and called out to him. “You really leave Marcus Dixon behind to die like that? Like he said?”

Without a second’s hesitation Chew nodded. “Yeah.”

His face grew wistful, weary even, and he stared down at Dante’s body once more. In the distance the sound of the approaching dogs grew louder and louder by the second. They were coming. He knew that. The sound of incoming voices broke him out of his wistfulness and he looked up at Roland and matched his gaze.

“But he’d have done the same to me in a heartbeat,” Chew said with a warm, nostalgic smile. “I guess that’s why we were best friends.”

With that he slipped through the window and Roland was alone.