Chapter 23

But did he want him to?

“Why is Williams so angry with you?” Dubois looked over at him.

“It’s a long story.”

“Oh, all right. And I have that train to catch. Pity, I suppose you could tell it when I return from my trip to Toronto―”

“Very funny.”

“Tell me,” Dubois said, sitting again, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Why does he hate you so?”

“Well, I wasn’t the way I am now, when I first got here. I was different. Used to fly into these rages. They had to sedate me a few times. And anyway, one night, Williams, he was new back then, he came into my cell. He was drunk, I could tell. They have this liquor in here, it’s really strong. It’s some kind of homemade whiskey. I could smell it on him.”

“What did he want?”

“I don’t know. But he kept putting his hands on me.”

“Onyou? You mean―”

“I mean, you know. On me. On my chest. My…” Joe remembered Williams’s eyes that night—the desire in them. “So anyway, I shoved him into that wall right there, and he threw the chamber pot at me.”