Shit, [ says Arthur inside the cabin, ] shit, shit, shit.
[ It's been a little while since he killed someone, though not nearly so long as he would like. Usually he copes by staying busy with something important, like running from the police, or stumbling blindly into the police, or getting a piano dropped on him. This time he's run into a dead end, with nowhere to dodge as the enormity of what he's just done hits him like a storm surge, sickening and terrifying, pouring in to mix with all the guilt over Faroe that's not been allowed to rest in peace.
The most useful thing he's done with the last few minutes is try to cry into his sleeve so that maybe the neighbours won't hear. But no, yeah, sure, he can absolutely host company in the middle of a mental breakdown, no problem.
Would she actually break the door down? How does she know? He gets up off the bed and inches towards the night-stand, not sure what he's looking for, fingers finally closing round the stem of the heavy bedside lamp. And he calls out: ]
I haven't seen him.
[ This doesn't sound convincing even to himself, and something about the blatant lie combined with the unintentional joke makes him ugly laugh, an impulse that comes out more as a series of hiccups.
He doesn't even know why he's bluffing. Everyone will know. Everyone will know. Secrets don't stay secret around here. ]
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[ It's been a little while since he killed someone, though not nearly so long as he would like. Usually he copes by staying busy with something important, like running from the police, or stumbling blindly into the police, or getting a piano dropped on him. This time he's run into a dead end, with nowhere to dodge as the enormity of what he's just done hits him like a storm surge, sickening and terrifying, pouring in to mix with all the guilt over Faroe that's not been allowed to rest in peace.
The most useful thing he's done with the last few minutes is try to cry into his sleeve so that maybe the neighbours won't hear. But no, yeah, sure, he can absolutely host company in the middle of a mental breakdown, no problem.
Would she actually break the door down? How does she know? He gets up off the bed and inches towards the night-stand, not sure what he's looking for, fingers finally closing round the stem of the heavy bedside lamp. And he calls out: ]
I haven't seen him.
[ This doesn't sound convincing even to himself, and something about the blatant lie combined with the unintentional joke makes him ugly laugh, an impulse that comes out more as a series of hiccups.
He doesn't even know why he's bluffing. Everyone will know. Everyone will know. Secrets don't stay secret around here. ]