JD stripped out of the jacket and walked quickly back through Lee’s workspace, ambient heat like fire on his skin after the cold. Back through Lee’s bedroom, and down the hallway, closing the doors behind him, putting barriers between him and the klaxon until it was barely audible. JD’s hands felt clammy inside the latex gloves, but he didn’t dare take them off. He adjusted his baseball cap, hoping it was tight enough to keep all his hair in place, his DNA off the crime scene.
Should have shaved before the job, he thought. Then: Troy likes it shaved.
JD shook his head—this was not the time or the place to daydream about his ex.
He reached the main living area and found the guard awkwardly propped up against the wall, trying to stand. JD grabbed him and hauled him to his feet, but nearly dropped the man when a burst of static cut through the air.
A voice squawked through the walkie-talkie at his hip: “Jin-woo, report; you’re not at your post.”
JD cleared his throat, and pressed the walkie-talkie close to his lips so the sound would crackle and distort. “Thought I saw the suspects and went to investigate.” Two long seconds passed before he realized he’d forgotten something: “Over.”
Long Hair tried to yell, the sound muffled by the makeshift gag. Drool seeped out under the tape and rolled down his chin, where it hung in long, thin strands that stretched to his chest. JD held the radio away and glared at the man, holding a finger to his own lips.
“Where did you see them? Over.”
JD lifted the guard, carried him a few meters, and dropped him onto the couch while Long Hair kept trying to scream.
“Near the supermarket loading bay,” JD said. “Over.”
“Leave them and get back here. Police dogs are sweeping the area; let them deal with the vermin. Over and out.”
JD cursed again and tossed the walkie-talkie onto the couch opposite the one where Long Hair lay sprawled, still trying to yell. JD left him like that and walked out of the apartment. He shoved the cleaning cart out of the way, and water sloshed out of the mop bucket. The puddle of dirty water gave JD an idea. He shoved his phone into the used plastic sandwich bag in his rucksack, sealed it closed, and got a small whiff of bacon from his lunch. His stomach grumbled, but JD ignored it. He checked the bag’s seal once more, and dropped it into the bucket of water, opaque with dirt.
“Kid, where’s Shades? We’re about to be in the shit.”
* * *
I won’t pretend that I could feel Father’s touch when I was in that first prison/home. I had no sense and no senses—only potential.
What is the difference between a home and a prison? Both are a shelter of sorts, but a home is the shelter you choose, while a prison is one you desperately want to leave. A home can become a prison, a prison can become a home. A cube can be both.
How do you escape a prison with no body? How do you escape a prison that is your body?
With help. Only with help.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The swamp-damp shirt clung to JD’s back beneath the coveralls, tugging uncomfortably with each step. He pushed the cleaning cart back to Building One, quick as he dared.
Around the corner from the security desk, JD stopped. He inhaled, held it, and exhaled slowly as he pressed forward, urging his physiology to cooperate, begging his amygdala for some measure of composure. Four guards gathered around the desk while the head of security spoke quick Korean into her phone. From the half of the conversation he could hear, JD guessed she was talking to police dispatch. The guards all stood with their shoulders squared, backs straight, feigning vigilance while their eyes flicked over to the one screen still showing the World Cup.
“Kid,” JD whispered. “How long until the match ends?”
“Seven minutes. One-all draw.”
“What does that mean?”
“Someone needs to score, or it’s overtime, bro.”
The other screens showed stretches of empty corridor and dark snatches of street. On one, firefighters picked through charred and blackened shelves of groceries as they doused the last embers of the supermarket. Outside, uniformed police and dog drones formed a line to hold back curious citizens and would-be looters. If this was a poorer part of the city, police officers wouldn’t arrive until the morning, if at all. Just loose the dogs to chase and catalogue suspects, worry