If Fresco's heart didn't recognize Garris, his mind would have doubted. As badly as he looked in the hospital
the memory surged back diamond clear, the stench of burned flesh and antiseptic, and the beaten look on the man's face
it was nothing compared to now. Garris was always thin, but the emaciated and sunken shell of a man who huddled in the chair far more resembled one of the Wasted kids he used to shelter than the tall and expressive man Fresco learned to respect, love, and despise for his betrayal.
His eyes slid over Fresco, seeing him, but unwilling to acknowledge his presence in the room. Meritas, however, waved Fresco forward to stand next to him.
"John just dropped by for a visit." The doctor's glasses flashed in the light as he looked up at Fresco and squeezed his hand. Fresco squeezed back. Meritas turned back to Garris. "You have no idea how pleased we are at your contribution to the program, John."