What Philip Did in Tulsa

“Well, formal introductions then.” Harvey reached behind Philip’s back and grasped his bound right hand. “Harvey Jemison. Ex-Marine, ex-tig welder, and now, ex-con. Can you guess why I’m an ex-con?” Harvey waited, clearly expecting an answer from Philip.

“Um… because you were in jail?”

“Give the man a prize! Oklahoma State Penitentiary in McAlester, to be exact.” Harvey squatted in front of Philip and leaned in close. “Wanna take a stab at why I was in the Okie state pen?”

Philip thought of Miranda, her ghost floating through his head, with her tight red curls and her tight little ass and her horrible, high-pitched shrieking.

“Oh, wait… I think I see a light coming on.” Harvey tapped Philip’s forehead. “It’s coming to you now, huh? You thinking about a nice girl? With curly red hair? Name of Miranda Hartley? Yeah, you know who I’m talking about.”

It was a mistake. She wasn’t supposed to die. None of them were. Philip had spent the past 19 years running from his mistakes. From Miranda. He tried to tell that to Harvey, that it was all a huge mistake, that he would fix it if he could, but the words caught in his parched throat.

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