Karin Slaughter - Skin Privilege

He stood in Hank's living room, looking around, trying to get his bearings. The windows had probably never been opened and the fug of cigarette smoke and rotting meat made his lungs tighten in his chest. Trash was everywhere – old pizza boxes and takeout containers, soiled underclothes, stacks of papers and magazines that looked damp from the heat.

All of this was nothing compared to the smell. In his almost twenty-year law enforcement career, Jeffrey had smelled a lot of bad things, but nothing could ever compete with the stench permeating

Hank Norton's house. With each step, it got worse. He couldn't tell if it was a putrid corpse or decaying trash that was making bile squirt up in the back of his throat. Sweat started pouring off his body, some kind of primal response to protect him from disease.

There were two bedrooms; one of them had obviously belonged to Lena and her sister. The second had a mattress on the floor, the bureau spilling out clothes as if it had been searched by a thief. He found the source of the smell in the bathroom. The toilet bowl was broken in two, exposing what was basically an open sewer. Black shit caked the floor. A sledgehammer leaned against the wall, and he guessed someone, maybe Hank Norton, had used it to bust open the toilet.

Jeffrey gagged, backing out into the hall. Instinctively, he took a deep breath, but there was no fresh air to clear his lungs.

A swinging door to what must have been the kitchen stood closed on the left.

'Hank?' he called. 'Hank Norton or anyone in here, this is the police.'

There was no answer, and Jeffrey looked down to see what his shoes were crunching. Saltine crackers, he thought.

'Hank?'

Slowly, Jeffrey put the toe of his foot against the swinging door. He pushed it open, gun aimed at the space in front of him. He could see the kitchen was the largest room in the house. The cabinets were the old metal kind, the sink rusted cast iron. He swung the kitchen door wide, thinking that the smell wasn't as bad in here, or maybe Jeffrey was just getting used to it.

'Jeff?' Sara called. From the sound of it, she was standing in the front doorway.

'Don't come in here,' he warned.

Sara asked, 'Are you all right?'

'I'm fine,' he told her, trying to open the window over the sink. It was stuck, and he had to holster his gun and use both hands to force it up.

Jeffrey stood at the window, breathing the fresh air. The weeds in the backyard were higher than the ones in the front, but he could easily see the body lying on the ground.

It was Lena.

He ran toward the back door, yanking it open. There were boxes stacked on the back deck, blocking the path. Jeffrey kicked them aside, scattering leaflets into the air. 'Sara!' he yelled. 'Come to the back!'

When he got to the body he stopped. He was wrong. This wasn't Lena. It was Hank Norton. The man's body was emaciated, his face sunken. Open needle wounds pocked his arms.

'Sara!' Jeffrey yelled again, kneeling down beside the man. 'In the back!'

He pressed his head to Hank's chest, trying to see if the man was breathing. Jeffrey heard nothing.

'Sara!' he tried again, but she was already pushing open the gate to the backyard. He saw her relief when she realized he was okay, then her astonished expression when she saw the body.

She dropped to her knees and pushed him aside. 'Did you find him like this?'

Jeffrey nodded, taking out his cell phone to call an ambulance. 'Is he alive?'

'Barely.' She opened Hank's eyelids, checking his pupils. Jeffrey could see dark blood in the sclera.

Streaks of dried blood flaked from his mouth and ears. 'Hank?' she asked, voice raised. 'It's Sara Linton, Lena 's friend. Can you hear me?' She patted his face with a firm hand. 'Hank? I need you to open your eyes.'

Jeffrey was giving the nine-one-one operator Hank's address when Sara held up her hand for silence. She pressed her ear to Hank's chest. 'He stopped breathing.'

Jeffrey ended the call as Sara started chest compressions. 'The ambulance should be here in ten minutes.'

She nodded, then bent down to put her mouth over Hank's.

Shocked, Jeffrey pulled her away, yelling, 'Sara, no! There's blood.'

'I can't just sit here while he-'

'Look at him, Sara. He's an IV drug user.'

'He's all Lena 's got.' Sara leaned over Hank again, pressing into his chest, forcing blood through his heart. Jeffrey knew she wasn't really thinking about Hank right now. She was thinking about Jimmy Powell and the other patients she had not been able to help. She was remembering what it felt like to lose them.

Jeffrey told her, 'Get the CPR kit out of your trunk.' She hesitated, and he said, 'I'll take over here.' Finally, she let him take her place. He overlapped his right hand with his left and pushed the heel of his hand into Hank's chest, counting between repetitions.

Sara jogged toward the gate, but not before saying, 'Don't stop compressions.'

Jeffrey felt sweat dripping down his back as he leaned over Hank, the sour odor of the man filling the air around them. He could not believe Sara had not given it a second thought before leaning down to put her mouth against Hank's bloody lips. Looking at the man, it was obvious he didn't give a shit what he put into his body. He could've infected Sara with anything, and for what? So Hank would die tomorrow instead of today?

Just as Jeffrey was thinking his effort was useless, Hank made a gurgling sound, red-tinged air bubbles popping on his lips. Jeffrey sat back on his heels, watching the old man's eyes slit open as he struggled to breathe. He saw Jeffrey and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head, as if he could not understand why he had been brought back, why anyone would care.

Sara burst through the gate, CPR kit in hand.

'It's going to be okay,' Jeffrey told Hank, taking the man's dry, waxy hand. 'You're going to be fine.'

Lena had been to Coastal State Prison once before. Shortly after Jeffrey had arrested Ethan on the parole violation, she had driven to the prison thinking that she would confront Ethan, let him know exactly how she had set him up, betrayed him, given him the biggest 'fuck you' that she could muster. She'd sat in her car in the visitors' parking lot for almost two hours, her mind cataloguing all the violence he had done to her: the split lips, the broken fingers, the sprained wrists.

Unbidden, the image of the two of them in bed came back to her. She had never thought of sex with Ethan in romantic terms, but there had been times, maybe more than a few, that she could recall clutching on to him, holding him in her arms. He had loved her just as passionately as he had hated her, and she had often returned his moods in equal measure. Sitting in the car outside the prison, her skin started to tingle from the memory of his hands, his mouth, his tongue.

She'd barely made it out of the Celica in time to keep from being sick in the car. Visiting day was popular at the prison. Women and children were lined up at the door waiting to see their men. They had all turned, staring with blank curiosity as Lena threw up onto the asphalt. So much came out that her stomach felt as if a knife had ripped it in two. When she could manage, Lena crawled back into the Celica and drove back to Grant County with her tail between her legs.

This time was different, though. It had to be different. If she couldn't face Ethan for herself, then she could do it for Hank. Ethan was calling him for a reason, and Lena would not leave Coastal without finding out what exactly had gone on between the two men. Before she'd left the motel this morning, Lena had changed into slacks, and a crisp linen shirt. She'd put on makeup and fixed her hair so that she looked like a cop who was in control instead of a terrified woman.