Folsom (End of Men, #1)(29)

“Yeah…” I trail off. “I have been more tired than usual. I guess this is why.”

“Or because you work nonstop.”

“That too.” I smile.

I think about Laticus and the fun I’ve had getting to know him the past few weeks. He’s such a good kid and I know Folsom would be proud of him. My heart starts pounding faster and I don’t think, I just go for it.

“You need to meet your son.”

Folsom turns to me and I see the resignation in his eyes. “Okay,” he says quietly.

That was easy.

I get up and put my pants on, searching the floor for my lab coat. I have to hurry before he changes his mind.

“Does he want to see me?”

I pause in what I’m doing to look at Folsom. This is the first time I’ve ever seen him look vulnerable. His eyes are downcast, staring at his hands.

“Of course he does. He’s a fifteen-year-old boy who’s just been ripped from the only life he’s ever known. He misses his mother, and I think it’ll do him good to see you.”

He nods.

“Folsom, if people knew…if they knew that you didn’t consider the life of the End Men as…enjoyable…they’d—”

“They’d what?” he says, his head snapping up.

“The people should know. They should know how much they expect of you, how little they care about your well-being.”

His eyes flash. “I don’t need to be pitied. I’m doing what has to be done.”

I straighten up and walk over to where he’s sitting, then I bend down and kiss his forehead. “Thank you. It can never be said enough. For your sacrifice, for everything. Let’s go, we don’t have much time.”

Folsom follows me silently through the hallways and waits as I scan my badge at each security checkpoint. I glance back at him once only to see that he’s frowning. The lights in the building have been dimmed down, the brightness of the day gone. I’ve worked many late nights, often being the last to leave the building, but it feels strange to be creeping around with Folsom. When we reach dome five, I scan my card for the last time before stepping into the section where they keep Laticus. It’s just a few steps now, and my stomach clenches uncomfortably. What if this was the wrong decision? Maybe seeing each other isn’t good for either of them. Too late to turn back, we stand in front of Laticus’ door and I glance once more at Folsom.

“Ready?” I ask. He nods.

I push open the door.





FIFTEEN





FOLSOM


The boy is awake. His face lights up when he sees Gwen and then his eyes slowly travel to where I’m standing. His expression changes, a shift in his eyes and mouth. He stands up slowly from the bed where he’s been reading, and I move out from behind Gwen. His book slips from the bed and falls to the floor. He doesn’t acknowledge it as he takes a step toward me, his bare feet hesitant.

“Folsom.” He says my name first like he’s trying it out.

I say nothing, taking him in. He is the spitting image of my brother, the uncle he will never know. I see the Donahue dark hair, glossy black/brown curls and thick, even eyebrows; underneath sit two blue eyes that are both honest and mischievous. All words catch in my throat as I look at him.

“Hello, Laticus,” I manage finally, and he seems relieved that I’ve spoken.

“You look like me,” he says. “More than on the news.”

He glances at the Silverbook, which is on mute, a loop of my night at the party playing.

“I keep it on, makes me feel like I’m not alone in here.”

His simple statement makes me hurt so deeply I have to turn my head away.

“What are you reading?” I ask, nodding to the book which lays open on the floor. It looks like a book shot dead and sprawled face down. Laticus bends to pick it up and hands it to me.

“I read that it was your favorite.”

I take it from his outstretched hand, glancing at the spine. “Gone with the Wind,” I announce. “It’s definitely one of them.”

“Rhett has some pretty good quotes about war,” he says. I nod, unable to formulate words. I read this very book at his age and thought the same thing.

“Are you comfortable? Are they treating you well?” I ask him. He glances at Gwen then and smiles.

“It’s okay. I’m bored mostly. Gwen is my new best friend.”

“Yeah, that makes two of us,” I say, glancing at her. She’s standing with her back pressed against the closed door, trying to pretend she’s not listening to us.

Laticus smiles and this time it’s directed at me. “Want some candy?”

“Yeah,” I say, my voice gruff. He walks over to a basket sitting on a desk and plucks out two large chocolate bars in colorful wrappers. He offers me one and I take it. We both tear open the wrappers, eyes on each other. We eat them mostly in silence, watching each other. I hardly taste the chocolate sticking to my teeth and the roof of my mouth, but the act of eating candy with my son is so significant that my hands are trembling.

“That’s your favorite chocolate,” Laticus says. “I’ve read everything there is to read about you. I kept a notebook and would write it all down.”