Inside the house one light ran near the door way. The rest of the house was dark with shadows moving. Brice adjusted his eyes. Four girls sat on the stairs. Brice couldn't make their faces out.
"He's upstairs." The mechanic took his kids into another room were a pink lightbulb lit the room. He shut the door. Brice took one step at a time up the stairs, gripping the barrister tight. Reaching the top where a warp wooden bedroom door with no knob, he knocked. Bed springs creaked. Then wheels shrilled against the floor planks. The figure in the swivel chair clicked the light on in the room.
"What happen to you?" Brice asked. Nicholson's head had been shaved two-thirds off with a scar replacing the hair. His face was hallowed and sunken in. He scooted back in the chair with only two wheels of the three working. His other foot twisted sideways and didn't move. He stationed himself by the window.
Brice clicked the light off before a quick memorization of the path to the window. He maneuvered through overturn stacks of newspapers. Paper plates scattered the floor, near the bed partial eaten collard greens and hamburger were still on one.
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