Too close.

The gun was on the table. The knives were on the table.

Erupted hard up and out. Caught the Partial on the chin with the top of his head. A grunt of surprise. Of pain. Finch fell on top of the Partial. Legs still too rubbery. Brought his forehead hard onto the fungal eye. Could feel it give. The Partial screamed. Tried to push Finch off him. Battered his sides with his fists. But Finch felt none of it. Bit into the Partial’s left cheek. Pulled back. Spit out the flesh. The Partial shrieking. Finch kept smashing his head into the right side of the Partial’s face. Until the eye socket sagged and the Partial was moaning. The beating of hands at Finch’s sides now more like the wings of a bird.

Finally, the Partial stopped moving. Maybe he’d been saying something. Screaming something. Finch didn’t know. Didn’t care. The warm glow that surrounded him muffled sound. Muffled everything but itself.

Was the Partial dead? He would be. Finch picked up a knife off the table with his mouth. Positioned it between his teeth. Knelt. Bent his head to the side. Came down hard. Jammed it hilt-deep in the Partial’s throat. Got out of the way as the blood came quick and heavy. The Partial convulsed once, twice, back bucking. Then nothing.

The pain was coming back. Everywhere. The veil fading. He backed up to the table. Got his hands around a knife. Tilted it downward. Cut himself free after a minute. Didn’t care what he had to cut through to do it.

Stumbled past the Partial. Past Heretic. To his jacket. Found the vial. Opened it. Stood there, trembling.

The Photographer had said it was poison. Bliss had said in liquid form it would rejuvenate Shriek. Shriek was gone. But the figment in his mind had been right about one thing: one way or the other, he was going to die without help.

Downed it in one gulp. Tasted like dirt and chocolate. Sprinkled with some sharp yet familiar herb.

Fell heavily to the floor. Sat there as the energy left him. As his wounds laid him out flat on his back. As he gasped. Every inch of his body crying out in an endless agony.

2

Finch and Shriek stood in the cavern by the underground sea. In front of Samuel Tonsure’s one-room shelter.

“You’re a hallucination,” Finch said. Wouldn’t look at Shriek. “I’m dying. I’m having a conversation with myself.”

Shriek said, “Remember how Wyte had Otto inside of him? In a different way, you have me inside of you. I entered your mind when you ate my memory bulb.”

Something had lived inside of Wyte. When it came out, Finch had shot it. Then sliced it apart as it squealed.

“That’s impossible.”