Re: log: easy + miles; reunion
Easy didn't often see the way the dead had died. Fact was, the dead didn't see themselves that way, or at least every haint Easy had come across remembered the way they were alive and that mattered more, least it had to all but one who had slit her wrists in a bathtub and was real defiant about it. Easy didn't have the luxury of alcohol, snorting or smoking something, he'd been sober as a judge or a churchman for a decade and he didn't have the tolerance of a grown man so much as a fifteen year old kid. But he didn't need it the same way, didn't see the wrecks of people tossed up on the sea of inbetween so much as the ships they had been, the ones they figured they could haint their way back to.
Wasn't all that jittery. Might be owed to the lack of haints walking around real dead, might be Easy was just built that way. Solid, impenetrable. Could be his mama dying had done it, calcified the last chink in the solid rock that was looking back.
Miles looked at him like the guy in jail, the one who had been real thin, real weedy, who had counted on the wrong side. He'd looked like that before he went to the showers, the thread of it had clung to Easy long after he'd walked on by, head down. Ratting wasn't the way to stay alive but the guy had realized that too late.
Easy licked over his lower lip. Thought about it. Stayed quiet.