Maybe I’ve dragged myself through the mud since then, but even mud hardens beneath your shoes. I must be standing on a mountain of it by now. And no one can touch me from way the hell up here.
You will eventually lose control, and when you do – when you lose every last shred of it until you can’t see red from black, right from wrong – I will be here. Ready to back you up, the way you should be doing for me.
His eyes close, and he draws a long breath. When they open again, they’re colder than ever. “And that’s where you’d be disappointed, Lou. There is no good to be found in Death.
