Chapter Text
To say the evening the Woods family home was discovered was quiet would be an understatement. The silence that surrounded the charred grave of rubble was beyond what one would consider natural. Not a single leaf rustled in the wind. Nor did any animal howl or coo – for the local wildlife had been scared off. Frightened by the flames that ravaged through what had once been a normal family. It was terrifyingly suffocating. The type of silence one could only believe was possible after taking their last breath. At most, the property and its surrounding forest brought to mind the idea of sounds. Of crackling white hot fire. Eruptions or explosions. Screams of panicked parents. Cries of frightened children that were lost within the deep looming trees.
By the time the Pendleton County police had been called to check out the property, the flames had raged and went. This sorely disappointed Officer Stevens; who had been banking on a call more exciting than the confused old women and dead end pranks he always seemed to be sent on. When he'd gotten the call for a potential missing family – with word a fire may have broken loose – he jumped on the chance to check it out. But, now was left sulking as he cased the debris. There were no screams. No cracking of wood as fire chewed through walls. No spectacle. Just a black square burned into the forest floor; in a spot so deep in the mountain, that even neighbors failed to care that the four residents had not been seen in days. It had just been luck that one of the residents in the home had taken the time to order something frivolous for their new home. At the very least, the sight of a frazzled mail man nearly tipping his truck over before running in with the news gave Officer Stevens a chuckle. Or two, as he snickered again as he searched.
As Officer Stevens half-heartedly walked the perimeter, his partner, Officer Bailey, focused on a specific corner of the rubble. She assumed it was once a bedroom. Based on where it was in relation to the cobblestone path that led to the old front door. Officer Bailey narrowed her eyes. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. One particular piece of debris had disturbed her. An odd, somewhat L-shaped piece of rubble. It had first caught her eye amongst all the black char for the small bit of amber yellow at its tip stuck out like a torch in the dark. She knelt down and lifted the bit of wall it was under.
“Christ.”
The piece curved into a broken semi-circle. Teeth sat on the end hidden by the wall. A human jawbone. Officer Bailey had expected remains. But, she had been holding out hope that the family inside had been out of the house when the fire started – even despite her experience to know the hope was irrational. Her mind flooded with thoughts of a number of tragic scenarios. A mother and father winding down for bed while sharing gentle words and a kiss. Or – and her heart beat faster as the thought briefly crossed her mind - one of the two boys sound asleep being awoken to the predation of the pyre. Bailey's head shook as she tried to literally fling the thoughts from her mind. Though, the cry from a nondistinct childish voice called for his mother in her ears. She lowered the wall and clutched the walkie on her shoulder. Officer Stevens perked up; any discovery was enough to make him hover like a hungry mosquito.
“What? What did you find?”
Stevens was hushed by Bailey. The walkie chirped on and Bailey spoke in a tone that made his partner guilty he'd been so excited. Low and distantly sad.
“Dispatch, this is Officer Bailey, we've got a 10-67 at the Woods house. We'll need to 10-79.”
After a brief moment of silence, a voice responded through the fuzz.
“10-4, we've got a unit inbound.”
“10-4.”
Officer Bailey adjusted her collar after setting the walkie down. Her partner stared at her expectantly and she huffed. Roughly, she grumbled.
“You're way too giddy to be here.”
With a wave of his hand, Officer Stevens knelt down to look at the jawbone. Although he tried to hide it, he was preening with excitement – If he were any less mature, he'd have already started to pick up the bone. But, for all his lack of emotional depth, his training always kicked in to save him.
“I'm surprised you aren't. We been on so many dud cases recently.”
Officer Bailey walked further along the edge of the house. Her eyes scanned the debris. Though, her watchful gaze was less thorough as she spoke with Stevens. She felt much like a mother having to manifest eyes on the back of her skull instead of one half of a supposedly functional set of adults. Silently, she cursed about always being the one to ‘mediate' problem children. A topic she'd vented about at length to the chief – who chose to disregard it at every turn. She'd have to complain again.
“We wouldn't be on so many ‘dud’ cases if you'd stop back-talking the chief.”
With a defensive scoff, Officer Stevens stood back up. He puffed out his shirt with his thumbs in a mock threat, but was soon following Bailey like a duckling. Waddled much like one too.
“I'd stop back-talking the chief if he stopped being a raging hemorrhoid.”
Bailey was nearly about to start bickering again – that had been their routine for the short, but agonizing time they'd been paired together. The shed door slammed before she could. The sound hung in the air between the two officers. It pierced through the thick silence that still hung over them despite their conversation. They stared at each other. One half of the partnership alert, and the other with enjoyment promptly dropped for boyish fear. Bailey walked forward first. Stevens took half a second longer to prepare his gun.
“Arsonist?”
Stevens whispered. Through her teeth, Bailey hissed at him to be quiet. She listened to the soft scurrying within the shed – not fully convinced it was anything more than an animal. Though, if Stevens was right she understood even less why he felt the need to speak. Leaves pitifully crunched under their boots as they snuck closer. Inch by inch they moved towards the sounds in the shed. What sounded like wood scraped along concrete. Metal jingled. And, just before Bailey reached her hand out, the rustling stopped. Light flickered out from the crack at the bottom of the door. Deafening silence clogged the officers’ ears once again. Somehow even heavier than before. It swallowed their remaining confidence whole. Stevens's gun shivered in his shaky hands. His finger had already begun to dance around the trigger; which Bailey was too focused on the door to notice. A small shadow grazed across the tips of her boots.
Nervous spit pooled in Bailey's mouth. She swallowed and pushed her tongue to the roof of her mouth. Thankfully, despite the pounding that had settled in her ears, she could hear the faint sound of sneaker soles scratching against the concrete floor of the shack. Her offhand reached for her own gun; which caused Stevens's hold on his own to prime in anticipation. Bailey's other hand gripped to the doorknob of the shack. Every fraction of her twisting wrist caused the metal to click. It clicked horribly. Achingly slow. Click. Click. Cli–
The door creaked open. A long almost animalistic whine came from its hinges. Warm yellow light pooled onto the officers’ faces. Officer Bailey felt the tension in her shoulders begin to loosen. The shack appeared empty. Her ears seemed to have heard what paranoia wanted them to. She let her eyes drift around the small space. A small table and a few chairs were squeezed into it along with box after box of half a house worth of belongings. Never unpacked like they were supposed to be. One of the boxes shifted slightly. Too far to not have been touched by something. Bailey jolted back to attention, about to ask who was there. Stevens' gun locked onto the sound. A pitter patter of feet raced towards the officers. A small, whimpering voice cried something neither officer would be able to remember.
The bullet burst through Lewis Woods’ shoulder.
“Stevens! Oh my god- It's a kid!”
Bailey shouted. Her mind raced. But, not as fast as her legs. They sent her diving towards Lewis. The youngest member of the family torn apart by flames fell to the ground in an instant. A horrible ringing blared in his tiny skull. He knew the people panickedly speaking unintelligible words in jumbled static were police. He knew he was being shaken. But, he didn't understand why. Lewis would've started to cry if his consciousness hadn't started to blink in and out. The colors came in and out like his nightlight right before the wiring died. He wondered if he did something wrong. He must've if the police felt the need to shoot him. Lewis begged himself to say sorry for whatever it was he had done. Limply, he laid in Bailey's arms, hoping his brain was loud enough to hear.
The officer's hands moved like a fury. Ripping the sleeve off Lewis's pajamas so horridly loud that Stevens stammered in shock as he radioed for an ambulance. Bailey shredded the sleeve in half again. Set in his shoulder was a hole that had begun to pool with blood. Ripped flesh surrounded a chasm of void that went through the shoulder entirely; the skin had already begun to yellow and purple. Bailey hated to look at it. It would stick in her memory forever, she was sure. But, she needed to look at it. One half of the sleeve got tightened under Lewis' arm and she tied it taught just to the side of the bullethole. To her relief, the soccer printed tourniquet caused the bleeding to slow.
“What- what should I do? Do I-?”
As Bailey pressed the other half of the sleeve into both the entrance and exit hole, Stevens decided to step forward. Barking louder than she'd ever barked in her entire life, Bailey flung her arm back to push Stevens away.
“Stevens! Just back up! Just back away!”
In truth, Bailey would've appreciated the help, but not from Stevens. She knew he was jumpy. She knew he wasn't the best at his job. But tragedy often lifted a veil off the eyes of its witnesses, and Stevens' incompetence – especially in a moment as this – just angered her more. She would no longer need to just complain to the chief. She would need to raise hell. Shakily, Stevens looked down at the gun he used to tote around as a show of authority. It clattered to the ground as he walked backwards away from his partner. Pulling back like a dog caught digging in the yard. When the red and blue lights flashed through the trees, Stevens felt relief and jogged towards them. At the very least he knew how to direct an EMT to a body.
“Welcome back, Pendleton. Finally, our last story: Lewis Woods. The boy who miraculously survived not one, but two events that could've taken his life. The cop and the doctors that helped save him. And, the man that opened fire on him and what his chief has to say. We have the details here for you tonight.”
A T.V. mumbled from its anchor above Lewis's bed. The words whispered from its speakers a stark contrast to the many smiling animals and colorful plants painted on the wall behind it. Smiles painted to comfort the many infirmed children that passed through their room. And, they would've comforted Lewis weeks ago. Now they made his stomach churn, and whenever he told the nurses or the doctors about his aching belly – they'd give him some kind of liquid medicine. Or if he'd just had the medicine, they'd give him the world's smallest cup of ginger ale and crackers so bland, it made Lewis start to wonder if the walls would be tastier. His body still ached too much to get out of bed to test this thought. But, he did have his theories on how each color would taste. It was the only thing he had to occupy his mind other than the T.V. between visits from doctors, nurses, his CPS agent, and the occasional poke in from friends of his parents.
The T.V. rarely had anything he was interested in anymore. He'd flipped through every channel he could. He tried to watch his favorite cartoons, but they made him cry. He tried to watch an array of sitcoms meant for kids his age to his brother's age, but they bored him. Or worse, made him angry for how untrue to life they could be. The conflicts were domestically tiring now. He tried cooking shows. The knives and flames made him scream for help, so the nurses banned him from trying to watch them again. They wouldn't let him try most anything else after that. At least, not without one of the psychiatrists present, but watching T.V. with a doctor breathing down his neck made the whole experience too uncomfortable to bear. However, Lewis had found one channel that he could stand, and that was the news. He felt like an old man for it – something akin to his father when he came home late from work, kicked off his shoes, and hogged the family T.V. until dinner was served. There was a solace to watching reality happen and be cared about. He often pondered that if his brother was on the news, even once, maybe it would've changed… something.
Being on the news himself certainly made him feel special. Lewis imagined all the T.V.s he could be on. Maybe a mother was watching while fixing dinner. Maybe she gasped at the screen, shook her head, before saying “How awful.” before she rambled to her husband about how if Lewis was her boy, she'd make sure he was safe. Or, maybe, another kid like him – that had been through hell and back – watched with his family and planned to send Lewis a letter so they could be friends. Lewis thought about asking the nurse what his new address would be so he could tell the news to find that little boy to ensure they met. Lewis truly did not know the scope of how many T.V.s he was on this evening. In his mind, even two or three people watching the broadcast was a thing to celebrate. He didn't know that his story played on nearly every T.V. in his hometown – that every neighbor, friend, and stranger wanted to hear about the miracle of Lewis Woods. The new town legend.
A shrinking zip snapped Lewis out of his pondering. Chubby cheeks reflected back at him from the now black T.V. screen. He swiveled his head to the door. His favorite nurse set the remote back down on his bedside table. Lewis grabbed the bedrail and jittered it in an alarmed manner.
“Hey- Miss. Miss, why'd you do that?”
The nurse smiled reassuringly. She helped Lewis back down against his pillow and pet his head. Desperate little fingers wrapped around her wrist to make her do it again, but she didn't mind. She'd grown used to Lewis's grabbing hands since the first day she worked with him. Lewis had cried so hard he nearly stopped breathing when she removed her hand that first visit. He sought out a hand on his head like a kitten. Cooing gently, the nurse let Lewis press into her palm.
“It's okay, Lewis. Look, we have a few people here who need to talk to you. Is that okay?”
Lewis first shook his head rapidly. His eyes felt like ping pong balls. He paused and actually thought about it. Then gave a meek nod instead. The nurse offered a motherly shush and leaned closer to him.
“They're just going to ask about what happened, okay? Just do your best, and if you need to stop, I'll be right outside and you can press your button to take a break. Do you understand?”
After Lewis nodded again, the nurse mouthed “okay” and pet his head one last time. Lewis's small hands struggled to let her arm go, but eventually relented. He leaned back to the bedrail. The nurse waved in a darker skinned woman in a well-pressed gray skirt-suit. A lanyard dangled around her neck and at the end was a bundle of heavy keys and a badge that displayed a picture of herself next to a block of text. One of the only things Lewis could garner was her last name was Rowe. Her heels clicked gratingly against the floor as she approached the bed. Rectangle glasses were pushed back up to her eyes, which looked at the young boy with a professional kindness.
“Hello, Lewis. How are you feeling?”
She set a stack of files on his bedside table. Lewis stared past her at the nurse, who was still holding the door open. He squinted as she smiled and waved in more people. First entered Officer Bailey, dressed in uniform and carrying a sparkly bag with colorful paper stuck out the top. Lewis would've started to crawl forward if the next person to enter wasn't Officer Stevens. Instead, he scooted back on the bed. The man, even out of uniform, made his skin start to prickle. Ms. Rowe looked back at them then back to Lewis.
“Ah yes, we're sorry to crowd you, Lewis. We just need to talk to you for a few minutes.”
Lewis shook his head rapidly and backed against the headboard like he'd been thrown against it. Officer Stevens stepped forward and coughed to clear his throat.
“Hey look, sport-”
He almost went to sit on the edge of the bed, but Ms. Rowe looked down her glasses at him. Coughing in the back of her throat. Stevens instead just stood in place. He patted his legs with his hands – arms glued to his sides.
“I know I've said I'm sorry before, but I just need you to know I really mean it. I uh- We uh-”
Officer Bailey nudged the bag into Stevens's hands. He took it and set it at Lewis's feet.
“Well, Officer Bailey, she got you the present, but I picked out the card.”
Stevens backed away from the bed. He tried to make himself small in the corner, unsure if he was allowed to leave. He was only here to try to apologize again; his wife had nearly knocked him on his head when he initially intended to use his paid leave to just laze about. Once a week, she had ushered him out the door regularly to go check up on Lewis. All in spite of his arguments that neither party was too keen on the meetings. Officer Bailey stepped closer and stood next to Ms. Rowe.
“Go on, Lewis, open your present, then we'll talk.”
The boy's chest heaved with a breath so big he felt like he'd pop. He peeled himself from the wall. Then leaned towards the bag in the same manner a wild mouse jolted and jittered towards a handful of food. The bag tipped over onto his lap. Glitter from its sport themed decor dusted the scratchy hospital blanket. Lewis glanced up at the two women by his bed. Officer Bailey nodded encouragingly. Ms. Rowe had picked up one of her files to reread. Though, both women smiled as Lewis crumbled the tissue paper in his hands and took a set of soccer patterned pajamas, a card, and a small bundle out of the bag.
“I'm sorry it took me so long to find you a new pair.”
Officer Bailey rubbed the back of her neck as Lewis looked over the replacement pajamas. He held up the sleeve to the shoulder that was still bound in light wrappings. Lewis didn't think he wanted to wear long sleeves anymore – all the bandages and gauze that had been wrapped around his shoulder and arm had given him his fix of choking. His scars needed to breathe. Still, he mumbled a thank you and set the pajamas aside. Lewis picked up the card. Looking over the envelope before he tried to pick at the closed edge. When he couldn't tear it open neatly, he tapped Bailey's hands and whispered.
“Uhm… miss, can you help me?”
He very quickly added after.
“Please don't use no knives.”
The officer took the envelope. She hadn't the faintest idea how to open it neatly without a knife – she had her multi-tool tucked in one of her pockets, but she felt nervous about it looking too much like a switch blade. Ms. Rowe took off her lanyard and held it in front of Officer Bailey's view. Her heavy ring of keys jingled with intent as she cleared her throat. Officer Bailey took the keys and found one with a decently sharp end to slice the envelope open. Not the most elegant cut in the world, but at least it was open. Lewis took the envelope back and pulled the card from it. A drawing of a chocolate chip cookie with arms, legs, and two wide eyes above a smile that seemed to mock Lewis was printed on the front. “You're one tough cookie!” was plastered in colorful letters off to the side. Lewis stared at it. He wanted to tell them he didn't like how it stared back, but Officer Stevens loomed in the corner. Lewis kept his mouth shut – for fear of the man hurting him again seized any words he could've said. Inside the card was a bunch of handwritten pen remarks from every officer apart of the town's force. All wished him well. Some joked about him being able to brag to girls in the future. He shut the card.
The bundle sat plainly perched in the middle of his lap. It was perfectly mundane. Just a bag not full enough to be firm, so it folded over itself. But, Lewis felt the thing burn into his eyes. He wasn't sure why. Only a few seconds were needed for his heart and mind to confer that this simple brown fabric threatened him in some nebulous way. Officer Bailey tilted her head into his direct view and nudged the parcel forwards.
“You'll like it, I promise.”
She placed the bag into Lewis's hesitant palms. Now that it was close, he could smell a faint whiff of ash. In his nose, the scent was warm, but in his brain it was scalding. His hands shook around the top. If it weren't for the eyes pinned on him, he might have chucked it out the window. Lewis turned his head away. Clean air filled his lungs as he breathed in deep through his nose. Peeling open the bag's top, he whimpered. Its contents fell out with a shake and a familiar metal weight knocked against one of his kneecaps. Lewis peeked at it. Gasping with delight, he held up two tiny model cars – they were intact, but their paint was black and warped on the edges.
“My racecars!”
He squealed and giggled. He began to play with them almost immediately. Ms. Rowe cleared her throat; she seemed quite fond of doing so. Which caused Officer Bailey to peep. The officer nodded and lifted a scorched piece of paper to Lewis. It had fluttered so silently from the bag that it went unnoticed.
“We also found this. That's you and your family, right?”
Lewis paused his hands. Car wheels spun rapidly. Their squeaking was the only sound in the room as he scanned over the picture of him and his family. He saw himself sitting on a chair to make him tall enough to be in frame. His mother stood behind him with a hand on his head and his broad shouldered father beside her. And just below him – shockingly just an inch or two shorter – stood his older brother. Jeffrey Woods’ dark attire and posture made him seem detached from the family that stood with him, but he shared just enough of his father's wide frame and mother's monolidded eyes to also clearly be one of them. Sadness stung the corners of Lewis's eyes. Ms. Rowe's brow raised. He reached for his button, but she interrupted the motion.
“Lewis, can I tell you why we're here today?”
Tears started to stream down the boy's face, but the way Ms. Rowe spoke – so sharp and pointedly, like she already intended to tell him – made Lewis nod. Didn't stop him from pouting, but it went ignored. Ms. Rowe adjusted her glasses and pulled over the rolling chair by the bed to sit.
“Lewis, we've come to see you today, because we've learned a few things that have confused us, and it would be a big help if you helped us to figure it out.”
Ms. Rowe flipped through the file in her lap as she waited for Lewis to adjust himself. Behind the lenses of her glasses, details upon details about the case swirled about. She remained as professionally diligent as she could. Treading through conversation slowly. Acutely aware how one misspoken word could set off an explosion of fear. Lewis kept the cord with his call button clutched in both hands, but turned to face her. He sniffled.
“How can I help?”
His voice came out shaky and low. He was much too small to do any detective work – Lewis was quite used to not being big enough for anything. And, he'd already told so many people what happened the day he was found, that the idea of them needing to hear it again was laughable. Ms. Rowe straightened out a particular piece of paper. One that had a photo clipped to the top of it. Her eyes mulled over the bloody details as she determined how to gently ease into the questioning.
“First, just remind me of everything you remember the night you were found. I'd like to hear you tell it.”
“Well…”
Even with tears dribbling down his face, Lewis fought not to huff in frustration.
“I was out in the woods lookin’ for something to eat because my tummy hurt real bad. Then I saw a car pullin’ up the driveway, so I hid in the shed because I didn't know who it was. And- and my momma she said to keep the door locked when I was alone and strangers were around. But, the shed door don't lock right so I had to slam it shut. I turned on the light to find somethin’ to put in front of it, but then Miss Bailey opened it up. I tried to run to her and then,”
He looked pointedly at Officer Stevens. His voice was purposefully flat. Eerily distant. The man stiffened.
“He shot me… with a gun.”
Lewis stared daggers into Officer Stevens until the man decided to skip a formal goodbye and slipped out of the room before Ms. Rowe or Officer Bailey could stop him. Chased out of the room by those haunted green eyes. Ms. Rowe had begun to write on her file.
“And, why were you still at the house?”
That question was new. Most people wanted to know about how he got out of the house while it was on fire. Or about how it felt to be alive. Lewis cocked his head; his tears briefly forgotten as confusion chased them away. He settled on the thought that the reporters and doctors and such must've been going easy on him. And, for that, he was thankful. He knew he would've cried harder if he'd been asked this question any earlier.
“I was scared.”
“Why were you scared?”
Ms. Rowe oddly seemed to perk up. Anxiously, the end of her pen tapped against the page. Lewis wiped his nose on the back of his hand.
“Miss, how does this help?”
He swiftly apologized after he asked, but Ms. Rowe simply unclipped the photo from her paper. She held it out to him. An old beat up car laid halfway in a ditch. Cast in the cool ghost-like light of a camera flash. The back bumper littered with peeling stickers of skulls and band logos. Jeffrey's car.
“We found your brother's car a few nights ago, and we wanted you to tell us a little about him. Was he with you when the fire started?”
Lewis started to cry again. He couldn't help it. Phantom memories of his brother's voice calling through roaring flames gripped his attention. A glint on the edge of a knife and blood stained white jackets peeked between the censored madness. He squeezed the cord in his hands tighter as he nodded.
“Yes ma'am.”
The pen scratched against the paper in quick motions. Officer Bailey had taken the initiative to move to the other side of Lewis's bed. Her hand settled lightly on his good shoulder. It pressed into the touch fully. Ms. Rowe looked up again.
“Did he make it out as well?”
Even before the question ended, Lewis was shaking his head so fast it hurt. Officer Bailey squeezed his shoulder. His tears came out faster and poured down his chin.
“No, ma'am - No, no, no, I don't think so.”
He kept his head shaking, but let it fall. It had grown too heavy to keep perched upright. The officer's hand rubbed circles on his back. Ms. Rowe hummed. Her tone sounded strikingly unsure.
“Hm. Alright. Now, Lewis…”
She thought over her words carefully. The boy before her whimpered a string of panicked words before she could finish. The off-white blanket beneath him looked as if it had been in a light storm. Wet spots freckled over the surface where his tears had fallen.
“He scared me so bad. So bad - he was like a real-life monster.”
Ms. Rowe's eyebrows raised. Both women with Lewis seemed to stiffen in starkly different ways. Officer Bailey got closer to Lewis. She put her head down near his in the closest thing to a hug she felt appropriate. Her heart ached – she remembered her fears of him being burnt alive and stacked them against the present. A little boy that wasn't hers was pressed to her chest. His body may have been spared the flames, but his mind would rage with them for many years to come. And all she could do was offer him a smidge of affection as he wept. She felt more powerless than when she'd found his mother's jawbone. Ms. Rowe on the contrary, seemed almost excited. Perhaps more like she was rapidly connecting dots on a corkboard kept in her brain. She scribbled a few lines onto her paper.
“Why was that, Lewis?”
“Can I call my nurse now?”
Lewis pleaded. Ms. Rowe seemed to remember herself. Fixing her collar, her posture softened. Her pen got set aside on the table. Ms. Rowe gestured to his button.
“Yes. If you need to. We'll give you time to collect yourself, then we'll come back to talk.”
She began to stand. Papers shuffled towards their manilla folder. Lewis looked up as they hushed against each other. He caught a glimpse of a few more photos clipped to another page. The one on top was of his brother – they'd ripped it from one of his online profiles. Lewis remembered because he'd been sitting on his brother's lap when he had first edited it. Officer Bailey gave him one last squeeze before she got up. Ms. Rowe slipped her lanyard around her neck and picked up her folders. Her heels clacked twice against the floor. Halfway through a third, Lewis mumbled.
“Can I tell you about him?”
Ms. Rowe turned and nodded as she wheeled the chair close again.
“Yes,”
She sat again, as did Officer Bailey; who let her hand settle just beside Lewis, ready to soothe him again, if it was needed. Ms. Rowe slowly reopened her case files. Then suggested:
“How about you tell me if you remember anything odd about Jeffrey, hm? Could you do that?”
“Yes ma'am,”
Two sets of eyes focused on Lewis. He wished he could be behind the T.V. screen to talk to them. At least then he would feel like celebrating. He blinked and rolled the wheels of one of his cars with his finger. Lewis stared at his feet and started:
“Well…”