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I've really outdone myself disproving that theory.
Sitting on the other side of the cell was a very thin, old man in a flannel and corduroy pants. He had long, stringy gray hair and an impressive shadow of stubble. He stared at Mason through the gloom with sharp, piercing blue eyes.
“I said, what you doin’?” the old guy said.
“I’m suffering,” muttered Mason. He put his face back in his hands and hoped he wouldn’t have to speak again.
“I’m sure you are,” the old fellow said. “Ye’ had a ton of bruises on that fine face of yours when they brought you in.”
“What makes my face so fine?” Mason chuckled, amused in spite of himself.
“Nothin’. You just don’t have the look of a junkie or a drunk. Good skin and teeth. Decent haircut. I’m thinkin’ you’re a rich boy come afoul of his own luck.”
Mason looked up and met the old man’s eyes. “I’ve never had any damn luck,” he said bitterly.
The old man shrugged. “That’s a matter of perspective, isn’t it? Some folks would kill to have your kind of luck. Looks like you’ve never had to worry about money.”
“I came in here fucking naked,” Mason muttered, wishing the old man would just stop.
“What’s your name, boy?” the old man asked.
Mason groaned. “It’s Mason,” he said, not bothering to give his last name. No one knew who he was, so his last name wasn’t important.
“Well, I’m Colbert,” the old man said. “Colbert Monroe. Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Mason said, staring at the floor while he kept his hands clamped to his throbbing temples.
“I’ll tell you somethin’,” Colbert said. “You got that look about you. It’s a look I see often enough around here.”
“Oh yeah?” Mason said, sitting up and glaring at the man accusingly. “Are you in here a lot?”
“Enough,” Colbert said softly. “That’s how I can tell by your clean, trimmed nails and lack of scars that you aren’t a regular criminal. You still look like one, though.”
“What the hell do you mean?” Mason snapped, sitting up suddenly. The rage firing up inside him seemed to be helping to cure his hangover. He had no inclination to fight it.
Colbert nodded, meeting his eye without fear. “You look like you’re on the run, son.”
Mason felt a shudder run through him. It seemed to chill his bones. Suddenly, he was shivering as if the cheap, ill-fitting jeans and T-shirt they’d given him were not enough to keep him warm.
Mason glared at Colbert. The old man didn’t look away.
“You’re haunted,” Colbert said. “You might have had enough luck to keep you out of the gutter until now, but you’ve got that same look in your eye that everyone who comes through here does. You’re running from something, and the stink of fear is all over you. I’m telling you, boy, you’ll never be able to outrun it. You might gain some ground here and there, but then one day, you’ll look over your shoulder, and it’ll be right on top of you, and you never even saw it coming.”
Mason frowned, meaning to snap back at the old man to mind his own business, but to Mason’s horror, he felt an ache in his chest as if he was about to cry.
“Easy, kid,” Colbert said. “I didn’t mean to throw a hard curveball at you. But I’m thinkin’ if you ended up here, the road might be running out. A guy like you can just keep buying himself more track. Maybe, you aren’t that lucky, after all, if all your money does is keep you moving. A poor man would have hit the wall by now.”
“I can’t,” Mason shook his head, putting his hands back over his face. He prayed for Fred to bail him out right now. Colbert was right. The second he got out of this cell, he was going to start running again, and this time, he’d never stop.
“I know I’m just an old man, a stranger passing by in a hellhole,” Colbert said. “And I know you probably don’t give a fuck about anything I’ve got to say. Don’t listen if you don’t wanna. But, son, that look in your eye … it isn’t going away until you stand still.”
“No,” Mason muttered, not even sure what he was denying.
“If you keep running, the fire can’t catch you. You’ll never have to burn. That’s the truth. But it also means no one can hang on to you … and you’ll never hold on to them.”
Mason looked up. Colbert’s eyes were clear, slate blue. He looked sharp, even if he was old. Mason wondered what he was doing in here, what his crime was.
“Fire …” muttered Mason. It was too weird that Colbert had used those particular words.
