Five seconds, six seconds, seven seconds ... a tear hangs on Glenn’s lashes, drips to his cheek, trickles down it. Another one follows, making a small wet patch on his T-shirt.

I’m staring at him. I’ve done it. I’ve made Glenn Semple cry.

I let go. He staggers into the metal railing of the bridge, hunched over, eyes squeezed shut. I want to say something, but I don’t know what to say.

Wiping my hands down the side of my sweats, I hurry past Igor and start running up the hill, running as if six starving Dobermans are after me.

At first each step is a killer, rattling my ribcage where Floyd hit me. But if Docker can be persistent, so can I. My feet fly along the dirt road; they’re not stopping for anyone because they’re running away from themselves. They don’t quit until my legs are quivering with strain, until my breath is tearing at my throat and a stitch rips my side.

Hunched over like Glenn, I drag air into my lungs. I always thought that if only I could make Glenn Semple cry, I’d feel better.

*

CASSIE IS sitting at the kitchen table munching dry Cheerios. She doesn’t look up when I walk in. I don’t give myself time to think.

“Cassie, I shouldn’t have yelled at you yesterday. Even though you scared me half to death.”

She picks up a Cheerio, rolls it along the tablecloth until it drops off the edge to the floor. Then she picks up another one.

“It’s as though Floyd took over,” I say desperately. “Floyd inside me, his words coming out my mouth ... oh man, I’m losing it. It’s like I didn’t have a choice—I couldn’t help it. I don’t want to turn into Floyd. I hate him!”

I’m talking to myself now—even I know that. Maybe I am losing it. One slap too many to the side of the head.

“You were scary,” she whispers. “Scary like him.”

At least she’s looking at me. “I won’t act like Floyd again, Cassie, I swear I won’t.” Although how can I swear to anything if stuff spews out before I can put the brakes on?

“Okay,” she says. “You gonna kiss me when I go to bed tonight?”

“If you want me to.”

She nods. So I’ve fixed one thing, at least. Hold that thought.

I can’t. I sit down next to her, elbows on the table, and dig my fingers into my scalp. This morning on the bridge, I blocked Glenn’s punch. A rough-and-ready block, but still a block. Then I made a fist and tried to put power behind it. Doesn’t matter that it missed the target.

If Docker finds out, he’ll drop me quicker than a front kick.