I don’t know how these things died without benefit of a bullet to the brain pan. They seemed to exist in an eternal twilight of longing.
The sound of him drinking was indescribable-like dirty runoff down a storm drain.
This place is Hell’s waiting room.
The Shrink always warned me that carriers stay wracked with lifelong guilt. It’s not an uplifting thing having turned lovers into monsters. We feel bad that we haven’t turned into monsters ourselves–survivor’s guilt, that’s called. And we feel a bit stupid that we didn’t notice our own symptoms earlier. I mean, I’d been sort of wondering why the Atkins diet was giving me night vision. But that hadn’t seemed like something to worry about…
‘Can’t you see what they are?’ I said. ‘They’re all dead.’
‘Eighth one this week,’ he said.
Smiling, he handed Landry the bloody aluminum bat Warnick had used. ‘Time to die, old man,’ he said.
There’s no better way for a woman to punish a man than to make him sleep away from her.
A riverless silence made the air heavy.
His eyes were like two wafers of slate, grey and lifeless.