“Of course it’s going to end,” the McGill told her. “Probably not for a hundred billion years, but eventually the sun will die, the Earth will blow up, and every kid who’s ever sunk to the core will be free to zoom around the universe, or do whatever it is Afterlights do when there’s no gravity to deal with anymore.”

Allie tried to imagine waiting for a billion years, but couldn’t. “It’s horrible.”

“No, it’s not horrible,” the McGill said, “and that’s what makes it worse than horrible.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You see, when you’re at the center of the Earth, you forget you have arms and legs, because you don’t need them. You can’t use them. You become nothing but spirit. Pretty soon you can’t tell where you end, and where the Earth begins … and you suddenly find that you don’t care. You suddenly find that you have endless patience. Enough patience to wait until the end of the world.”

“ ‘Rest in peace,’” Allie said. “Maybe that’s what they mean.” It was perhaps a great mercy of the universe, that lost souls who could do nothing but wait were blessed with everlasting peace. It was kind of like the weird bliss Lief had found in his barrel.

“I could never imagine being that patient,” Allie said.

“Neither could I,” said the McGill. “So I clawed my way back to the surface.”

Allie snapped her eyes back to the McGill, whose eyes were no longer far away—they were both looking right at her.

“You mean …”

The McGill nodded. “It took me more than fifty years, but I wanted to be back on the surface again, and when you want something badly enough, you can do anything. No one has ever wanted it as much as me; I’m the only one who’s ever come back from the center of the Earth.” Then the McGill looked at his gnarled claws. “It helped to imagine myself as a monster clawing my way up from the depths, and so when I finally reached the surface that’s exactly what I was. A monster. And it’s exactly what I want to be.”

Although nothing about the McGill’s horrible face had changed since he began his tale, Allie could swear he somehow looked different. “Why did you tell me this?” Allie asked.

The McGill shrugged. “I thought you should know. I thought you deserved a little bit of truth in return for all your help.”

And although the picture the McGill painted was not a pretty one, it somehow made Allie feel a bit better. A bit less in the dark. “Thank you,” she said. “That was very thoughtful.”

The McGill lifted his head. “Thoughtful … Do you think maybe it was selfless?”

Allie nodded. “Yes, I think it was.”

The McGill smiled wide enough to show his rotten gums. “The answer was found when the question was forgotten, just as the fortune cookie said.”

“Fortune cookie?” asked Allie. “What do you mean?”

But the McGill ignored her. “I’ve achieved the selfless act,” the McGill said. “I’m ready for step four.”