I look like death that I carry and am. I don't sleep at night. I'm trying to leave, really. A month ago, or two, I'm not good with time, there was a Boy at the ball. Different from everyone, not fitting in. In the wrong place and at the wrong time, or just superbly camouflaged. As for the Lawyer, he called back after fifteen minutes. He recorded on my voicemail with his drunken babble. Of course, I saved that recording to disk. He's panicked, and I'm effective. He begged me to keep our secret. And it pleases me that discretion matters to him too. Shy people are easier to destroy. You can burn them with their own shame.