Chapter 8

"Nice cut." I heard the boy with his potty-cut hair who pointed his head towards me as he showed his friend to look at me. Both of them were about 17 years old and clearly were some of those boys who had no respect and were going to end up on the streets. I watch the two of them exchanging their thoughts on my hair with each other as we rode the lift to the second floor of the hospital where Madelaine was being kept.

Their overgrown t-shirts covered with skulls hang loosely over their bodies, but for some reason wasn't long enough to cover their briefs peaking from their jeans that they were wearing beneath their hips. They looked terrible both clinging on to their skateboards beneath their arms. I run my fingers through... over my hair in habit reminding me that my hair was cut too short when their eyes followed my hand closely so I slowly let my hand fall to my side drawing my suit jacket slightly to the outside revealing my gun, which made them quickly turn their heads away from a