But then, she’s always alone. My least favorite part of the job is investigation and reconnaissance. And that’s saying a lot because there’s so much to hate. Since losing my free will, I count the days. Minutes. Hours. Seconds. I know precisely how long I’ve been serving them. There’s no way to be sure how long it’ll last, though. How long I’ll live. If I was braver, I’d refuse an order and force Wedderburn to execute me. That might be an end to everything. Ironic when—at one time—I only wanted that. Now that I’ve lost al control, life has become precious. If I die, I won’t see her again. I’m not supposed to consider a catalyst’s thoughts and feelings, except to gauge how close they are to extremis. Like a good impartial observer, I watch and wait. It’s taken on a new dimension with her, however. I recognize the pain of her hunched shoulders; I’ve been where she is. I tel myself it’s just a job, but I want to cross the street and have her look at me. She’s heavy, but it’s not just physical weight.
What do You think about The Girl In The Gray Sweatshirt?
