That was different from winning though.
Beats stared at the base of the Shoe Tree with a renewed appreciation—it was easier to stare at it than look towards Lori’s body or think of that day two encounter with Connor. Beats had never understood why criminals returned to the scene of the crime. Ace always thought that shit was stupid. When he would watch those crime shows and see the perps do shit like that, Beats would call ‘em dumb. Beats didn’t think he was a criminal. Ace knew he was a victim of circumstance--he had committed crimes all the same. He still found himself at the scene of one and why?
Because Ace felt he had nowhere else to go. Or nowhere he could think of. If you were thinking you were losing--and he was done losing, remember? That's what he kept saying.
And yet...
Beats was lost in thought and somewhat in a vulnerable state. His bag was off his shoulder and the BR18 as well. The three pistols remained on his person, one in each pocket and one in his hand. Beats had reloaded them shortly after leaving Darlene and he found himself gripping the Wildey. More bullets than sense. Beats kept one in the chamber because there was no use pulling it out for intimidation alone. That was one of the rules of having a gun, right? If you were gonna pull it than you had to use it.
Was that just another rule Ace made because he liked having rules to break? That's what rules were made for, right? To be broken?
Beats licked his lips and he thought of the meal he had just enjoyed. His stomach was full and cramping after the subsequent walk. Ace needed to rest and he doubted that he would find a safe place anytime soon. Beats didn’t want to be with people. Ace wanted to wait this out until the very end. There was no need to look for Blaise—Blaise could look for Ace.
The goal now was to outlast. It wasn’t to kill the most—it was to kill last. To be the last one standing. If Ace kept on repeating that to himself maybe he would believe it.
His eyes turned from the tree and he looked towards his feet. To his shoes. Beats became blind and deaf. The muddy and bloody adidas stared back at him and Ace could see the damage that came with walking a mile in his own shoes. Ace thought of Darlene and about how she was different and then more frightening—the idea that Beats was the different one. Maybe it wasn't that Darlene was an angel, maybe it was that Ace was a devil. What did that mean? Why couldn't he stop thinking like that? Ace stared at his shoes and wiggled his toes. In football if you were thinking you were losing...
But that didn’t mean this was winning.