“I want my husband,” Angela declared.
“I know. And you can see him.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow. Maybe the day after.”
Angela’s eyes narrowed. “I want my husband now.”
“I know. But he’s very, very ill. He needs us to help him through the worst of it and…”
A scream floated down the hall, and Angela stiffened. “What are you doing to him in there? What the fuck are you doing to my husband? You’re hurting him.”
“I’m not hurting him,” Edwin assured her, keeping his voice low. “I’m not hurting him. His body is going through withdrawals right now. The addiction wants to be fed.”
“He’s not addicted to drugs. He doesn’t shoot up.”
“No, he doesn’t, but there are other types…”
“I want my husband. Warren!”
Warren cried out again. She made a step toward the door, and Edwin automatically reached out to catch her arm. “Please, ma’am…”
“Don’t! Get your hands off me!”