After That Day at Site E...
The stench still clung to him.
No matter how many showers he took, how many layers he wore—Charles couldn't wash away the sterile cold of Site E. The quiet hum of the IV drips. The soft, muffled sobs of shackled children. The machine-like blinking of dull, empty eyes. It echoed in his skull.
He needed clarity. Or maybe absolution. So he went to the only person he still called a friend.
Eddie Carter's Home — 4:12 PM
The late afternoon sun poured golden warmth into Eddie's home. Hardwood floors gleamed. Trophy cases lined the hallway decades of glory preserved behind glass. Photographs of championships, framed jerseys, smiling kids. There was a rhythm here. A peace.
