One thing about hard polished floors and solid enclosed corridors: they make for excellent acoustics. This can be unpleasant when someone is screaming incessantly, an activity not uncommon at Longview. The construction can also magnify ordinary footsteps, and this was the sound that caused Wright to give a cursory glance in the direction of the outside.
An instant later his full attention had shifted from the immovable wall to an approaching waist. His suddenly alert eyes proceeded to rove silently over everything both above and below that gently bobbing dividing line.
The guards looked, too. Visitants like Dr. Serena Kogan were rare in Longview. Her title was not what interested them, though Wright’s reaction was more conflicted than they would have suspected. Long used to such blatant testosterone-fueled stares, Kogan ignored them.
Still in her thirties, she was unconventionally beautiful. Part of this was due to the nature of her work, which gave her an aspect of perfection that was partly the result of intense concentration. Uncharacteristically, desperation announced itself in the slight gauntness of her face and the tightness of her lips. It detracted from her beauty only slightly.
Halting outside his cell, she looked in and met Wright’s gaze without flinching. The ensuing silence between them spoke, if not volumes, at least a word or two. He looked up at the priest.
“Leave.” Emerging from the prisoner’s mouth, it was plainly a command and not a request.
His State-supported visitor gestured hesitantly with the Bible he held.
“I’m not finished, son.”
Wright’s gaze shifted from wall to uninvited confessor. His stare was, arguably, more unyielding than the concrete. It was not necessary for him to respond—verbally.
As pragmatic as he was well-meaning, the priest got the message. As the heavy metal door was pulled back he did not even glance in the direction of the new arrival. He was lost in his own thoughts, which were not as comforting as he would have liked.
One of the guards managed to raise his gaze from the rest of Serena Kogan to her face long enough to give her a warning nod.
As the cell door slid shut behind her, awkwardness substituted for a casual greeting. Disinterested at the best of times in casual chatter, Wright regarded her wordlessly. The silence between them threatened to grow as wide as the gap between their respective social positions.
“How are you?” she finally murmured.
In the troglodytic confines of the cell the query was at least as funny as the paramount punchline of a highly paid stand-up comedian.
“Ask me again in an hour,” Wright replied coldly.
With the silence but not the unease broken, her attention wandered to the cell’s small desk. It boasted little in the way of accoutrements save for a single tome:
“You got the book I sent.”
Wright wasn’t one to comment on the obvious. For all he mouthed in response he might have read the volume through, or he might have used the pages for toilet paper. His expression gave no clue. And they were both running out of options.
“I thought I’d try one last time.” In the dim light of the cell her pale skin gleamed like the sun he could no longer see. “Beg, really.”
No smile, no frown. Same monotone, same unreadable expression.
“You should’ve stayed in San Francisco,” he muttered. “Situations reversed, I would have.”
She stared at him a moment longer, then moved deliberately over to the desk. From the slim case she carried she removed a sheaf of neatly bound papers, set them on the battered, scored surface, and added a pen. Per entrance regulations, the pen had a soft tip. Her voice strengthened.
“By signing this consent form you’d be donating your body to a noble cause. You’d have a second chance, with your last act, to do something for humanity. It’s an opportunity that’s not offered to everyone in your position.”
He looked up at her.
“You know what I did. I’m not looking for a second chance.”
She hesitated, then picked up the pen and papers. Her slender hands were shaking, and not because of his nearness. Having corresponded with her, he knew at least part of the reason why.
“’Course, I’m not the only one with a death sentence, am I? Life’s funny that way. You think by signing those papers I’m going to help cure your cancer, Dr. Kogan?”
She stiffened slightly.
“We’re all going to die, Marcus. Sooner or later, everyone dies, every thing dies. People, plants, planets, stars —everything. In the scheme of things my life, your life, none of them matter. We’re here for a minute or two; we eat, laugh, and screw around, and then we’re gone.”
She snapped her fingers.
“Like that. I’m not worried about myself. I’m worried about the future of the human race.”
He appeared to ponder her response, then nodded slowly.
“Like I should care about the future of the human race. Like anyone should. It produced me, didn’t it?” He went silent for another moment, then declared, “Tell you what I’ll do. I’ll
