The feel of his soft fur and the awareness of his unconditional love were an anchor. Possibly the only clean tether I had left. The only other thing holding me to the desire to remain alive was the fact that Santoro was still sucking air. But … what was going to happen if I caught and killed him? Where—and who—would I be then?

At one point, I got up and went into the toilet, locked the door, and stood for a long time looking into my eyes. I’d come out of the total control of the Darkness. I thought. I hoped. But I still had so many questions.

What was the Darkness? I mean, exactly. Had my cracked mind completely fractured? Could it ever be put back together again?

At times, during brief moments of terrified lucidity, I wondered if this was more of Kuga’s mind games. During the Kill Switch case, he used the God Machine to actually invade my mind. Top’s and Bunny’s, too. He’d forced them to commit murders. Was that happening all over again? I almost hoped it was. Though even my wishful thinking couldn’t help me construct a scaffold of probability for that, because I was doing damage to Kuga.

If not that, then what? I even flirted with the possibility that this was demonic possession. I didn’t actually believe in demons, but there was a bright and silvery thread of hope in that. A chance for this all not to be my fault.

If it was neither of those things, then what was I left with?

Me.

Damaged. Broken beyond repair.

And, no, I didn’t think that just because I felt it was my hands currently on the steering wheel that it was over. Nor did I try to lie to myself that what I did, however extreme, was for the good of all. That it was the right thing to do. I’d tried that rationalization on back in Italy, but it fit no better then than it did now.

So, where did that leave me?

Who was I now?

What was I now?

And … was there any real way to ever go home again?

PART 5

BECAUSE I COULD NOT STOP FOR DEATH

The murdered do haunt their murderers, I believe.

I know that ghosts have wandered on earth.

Be with me always—take any form—drive me mad!

Only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you!

—EMILY BRONTË

One need not be a chamber to be haunted.

—EMILY DICKINSON

CHAPTER 87

DAS VERARBEITUNGSZENTRUM

WANNSEE, BOROUGH OF STEGLITZ-ZEHLENDORF

BERLIN, GERMANY

The place did not exist.

Not officially. That’s what I was told. That’s what I read in RTI reports.