Scalding water beat down on my face, my chest, my injured stomach, pinking up my borrowed skin and washing the grit of this God-awful day from my weary limbs. Going on two days now, I supposed, since the midday sun was high overhead by the time I'd arrived at this shit-hole of a motel. But I hadn't slept a wink since the bus ride to Bogotá, a meat-suit and a continent ago, so the last thirty-odd hours bled together into a tangled mess of pain and guilt and shame. Then again, I guess the same could be said of the past sixtyodd years. Snippets of my conversation with Danny kept running through my head like a record on repeat. Lilith's admonitions about the straight and narrow aside, I couldn't shake the feeling that I should have done something more to help him. But there wasn't anything I could do – and besides, Danny's problems were his own. After all that had passed between us, I didn't owe him a fucking thing. Thing is, if I really believed that, why couldn't I stop thinking about it?
