He had no choice.

But in those moments of communion when he took away the Hurting, Ronnie made it a point to memorize the names and faces of those who had brought this onto the children; he made a connection with them that could never be broken, a thin, silver thread of consciousness that would enable him to always, always find them when he wanted to.

And someday he would; he’d find each and every one of them, and he’d make them pay, just like he’d done with Jimmy’s dad.

Suzanne and the others looked on, and whispered to him, but he found the more children he took unto him, the more their voices drowned out each other. What he could hear, though, what kept him going, was the cumulative tone of love and gratitude. Without that, he would not have lasted as long as he did.

* * *

Four days after his twenty-third birthday, Ronnie came awake in a motel room in Lexington, Kentucky. He was drenched in sweat, his heart was triphammering against his chest, he could hardly pull enough oxygen into his lungs to breathe, and he was more terrified than he had ever been in his life, because he awoke knowing that, several years ago, he’d made a terrible mistake.

And the thin silver thread that still connected him to a woman whose name he could not remember, the thread that had become slack and nearly forgotten over the past seven years, instantaneously pulled taut and inflexible, becoming an ever more-constricting noose around Ronnie’s neck.

He managed to pull himself into a sitting position just a few seconds before some of the pressure around his throat and in the center of his chest eased off, unclenching his stomach and its surrounding muscles. Jerking to the side, he managed to grab hold of the metal waste-paper basket and pull it over to him just in time. He vomited very little (he’d not been eating much the past few days) but it felt as if he were emptying his stomach of everything he’d eaten since the age of three.

Afterward, he dry heaved for a few minutes more, then slowly pushed his legs off the bed until he felt the cold floor rise up to meet first the sole of his left foot, and then that of his right. He paid careful attention to each and every movement. No gesture, no step, no touch could be wasted. The silver noose around his neck vibrated but did not choke him this time; instead, it guided him, and would continue to guide him.

Because he’d made an awful, terrible, horrible mistake…but there was still time.

He rose from the bed while simultaneously reaching for his watch and wallet on the nightstand. He’d been sleeping in his clothes for the last few days, so there was no need to pack—he had only to grab his knapsack from its place beside the door as he left the room.

He used the bathroom, drank a glass of cold water, and put on his shoes.