Free Tears by Francine Pascal

this to the Manhattan federal jail. Just go through the visitors’ entrance. Your contact will find you right inside the door. The details are in the envelope, okay? Are we cool?”
    Cool? Come on! Say something! Find another move! There’s got to be another move
—
    â€œHello?” Josh laughed.
It sounded like the bark of a cruel dog.
“Earth to Sammy. Are we cool?”
    â€œYes,” Sam replied, his heart flooding with futility. It was the first time he’d spoken in hours. The word was dry, hoarse.
    â€œExcellent. See you soon.” Josh sat at his desk and opened a notebook, as if Sam were being dismissed.
    Sam turned around and walked halfway throughthe doorway. But something stopped him. He wasn’t sure what it was—rage, maybe. Either that or panic. But he whirled and turned back to Josh.
    â€œJosh?”
    â€œYeah, what’s up?”
    â€œI need to know....”Sam wasn’t even sure what he wanted to say. Maybe he was just praying that there was some stitch of common decency somewhere inside this coldhearted bastard. “Who’s doing this? It can’t be just you. Who are you working for? Who hates me so much?”
    Josh shook his head, his eyes buried in the notebook. “You don’t need to know that,” he mumbled.
    â€œI just... I just want to know why.”
    â€œDon’t get philosophical on me,” Josh warned in an annoying, jokey tone.
    â€œNo, please.” Sam clenched his jaw. “Why? Why me?”
    Suddenly the smile dropped completely from Josh’s face. He snapped the notebook shut and stared coldly into Sam’s eyes.
    â€œOurs is not to reason why, Sam. Do I need to finish that proverb for you?”
    Sam felt ice in his veins. “No,” he said. He turned away and left the room with a sense of horror that was totally new to him—a kind of dread he’d never experienced. No, Josh didn’t need to finish the sentence. Sam’s dad used to quote it all the time.
    Ours is not to reason why...ours is but to do and die.
    â€œBRIEF ME.” GAIA HELD UP A COPY of Albert Camus’s
The Stranger
as Ed slammed his locker shut. “I haven’t read it.”
    No Reason
    That wasn’t entirely true. Gaia had actually read the classic in its original French with her father when she was twelve years old, but she couldn’t remember it as well as her teacher would want. Her mother had been killed shortly thereafter. The first line was what she recalled most vividly:
Maman est morte.
Mother is dead.
    It hit a little too close to home.
    As they walked to MacGregor’s class, Gaia stared at the cover of the thin book: a desert scene with a silhouetted figure of a man in the distance. It was a short novel. She could easily have reread it the night before.
If
she hadn’t wasted so much mental energy trying to figure out Sam’s problem. Or Ed’s. But at least in Ed’s case, she’d come to some conclusion: Patience was the best bet. A great virtue.
But not one of mine.
Still, Ed being Ed, he was bound to spill sooner or later.
    â€œIt’s about a man who kills another man for no reason,” Ed said as he wheeled himself down the hallway.
    â€œThat much I knew.” Gaia stole a sideways look at Ed, hunched over in his wheelchair as he maneuvered his way through the traffic of floating Jansport bagsand Diesel jeans. His eyes gave nothing away, but his tight jaw betrayed the tension lurking beneath. Gaia knew that was about all she’d get from Ed in silent mode. He’d barely even looked at her, much less volunteered any clues as to what was happening with him.
    â€œIt’s about the absurdity, expendability, and randomness of life,” Ed continued in an oddly intense tone, still staring ahead.
    â€œCamus should have been a movie director,” Gaia joked.
    But Ed didn’t reply, didn’t even register that she’d spoken. His eyes were on