Nathan pushed off the wall and came to stand in front of us. “What, no snide comment? You’re not going to lord your intellectual superiority over me?”

“Stop it,” I warned.

“Let him.” Cyrus sighed, weary and resigned. Nathan opened his mouth, but no words came out. Looking up at him, Cyrus smiled sadly. “It’s my gift to you, Nolen. Spew whatever bile you need to.”

“Why? So you can feel better about what you did to Marianne?” His voice choked with emotion and tears, I could barely understand Nathan’s words. “What you did to me?”

“I was sick.” Cyrus wasn’t apologizing, but he wasn’t justifying, either. “I did far worse to many others.”

“Like Ziggy?” Nathan laughed bitterly. “I could rip you to pieces right now.”

“I wish you would. It would be much easier for me.” Cyrus rested his forehead on the table and covered the back of his head with his hands.

Nathan’s own hands clenched to fists at his sides. He looked at me, his eyes rimmed red and teary, then back at Cyrus. He cleared his throat and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’m not here to make things easier for you. And I’m not going to forgive you. I want you to remember all the fucked up things you’ve done. I want them to torment you at night. But do me a favor.”

Lifting his head, Cyrus met Nathan’s eyes. “What?”

“If you ever feel like committing suicide again, let me do the honors.” Nathan turned around and left the kitchen without a word to me.

Cyrus and I sat in stunned silence for a long time. Nathan hadn’t forgiven him, but he’d made some sort of progress by not simply tearing him to shreds right there.

“What will you do now?” I asked when Cyrus finally moved.

He picked up the sandwich and took a bite, chewing thoughtfully before he answered. “No one has notified Mouse’s next of kin yet, I assume.”

“The police are bound to have found her…” I trailed off. It seemed dirty to refer to someone he’d loved as “remains.”

He nodded. “I know. But they wouldn’t be able to find her family. She was very much like me in the respect she didn’t have many earthly ties.”

When he finished his sandwich, he stood, wordlessly moving toward the door. Sadness, more keen than I’d felt when I’d stood before him and plunged a knife through his heart, gripped me. I clenched my hands into fists to stop them from trembling, and felt the wetness of blood where my nails bit into my skin.

“If you ever need anything, money or—” I began, but he cut me off.