I stare at the gleam on his bald head. “You take theirfingers?” I hiss.
“How is that any worse than taking their lives?”
“It’s … well …” Okay, so I can’t really vocalize why it’s worse; I just know that it is. “You know …”
“I don’t.”
I scrape my brain for the logic I’m sure is there. “Shooting them is over instantly. They don’t know they’re in danger. They’re not in pain. It’s … nothing. Torturing is something they have to live with forever.”
“But at least they’re alive.”
I scrunch up my face, torn over the ethics of which is worse.
Then he chuckles. “How did the no-pain thing go for Reilly when you shot him?”
“Okay, but that was a onetime thing, and hestillholds it against me. If I took his fingers on purpose, I’m confident he would have held that against me even more.”
“Good thing, then, that you’re not cut out for this life.”
I sigh pathetically. “I’m worried that I’m not cut out for any life. I haven’t found that place where Ifit, you know?”
“Yet.”
“What?”
“You haven’t found where you fityet. But there’s a place for someone like you, and I know you’ll find it.”
“At least one of us believes in me.”
“You’ve never seemed bothered about this before.”
He’s right. I’ve never seemed bothered because I’ve neverbeenbothered, and I still don’t know why it’s tying me up so badly now. Is it really so unbelievable that I’d want to be more than aconstant fuckup though? Maybe once, I’d like to be the capable guy who handles shit instead of bumbling along and—oh wow. I think I’m having an identity crisis.
Come to think of it, I probably should have picked up on this before now.
The signs were there.
I immediately seek out the comfort of my bracelet and try to channel my thoughts into something more productive.
“I don’t think I know who I am,” I say suddenly.
Ever eyes me. “Is this really the place?”
“Well, if not here, where? I don’t see us talking about anything else, and if we can’t searchandtalk at the same time, I really worry about your multitasking abilities.”
“My multitasking abilities are just fine.”
“Then help me.”
If I didn’t know better, I’d say that Ever looks horrified.Horrified. The guy who turns fingers into spare parts. “My multitasking doesn’t extend to therapy sessions.”
Well, fuck. You think you know a guy, and then he’s not even there for you in a life-altering moment.
My head snaps to the side, and I’m successfully distracted as I pick up on a noise again. “Did you hear that?”
“I still have no clue what you’re talking about.”
I’m certain this time, and I pick up my steps like a greyhound on the hunt for blood. It was definitely this way, and I’m sure it was a voice. The further we walk, the louder it gets.
