I hadn't slept properly for two days, stuck in the crawlspace at the top of the house after neighbours had called the police on me. But the friends were already dead by then. Let the failed APBs continue. I could wait it out a little longer.
The wheelchair was empty now, I saw. Misery purged. I sat where he had sat before his final release. Looking out, the remnants in the room of his friends' bursts of violence called to me; a sofa toppled in half-darkness; a hoist no longer necessary resting on the wall: bullet holes and blood across the paintings on the wall.