Carly startled him in the kitchen when he went in to put his coffee mug in the sink, one of his rituals of leaving—everything set in its place. In the back of his mind, it was for the last time. He wouldn’t pass through this room again.

He hadn’t known Carly was already downstairs, but the surprise was in how glad he was that she was there. He flattened his hand against the cool stone of the countertop and ran it back and forth, feeling it to remember it and let it go.

“Hey, Carlzee.”

“Hey.”

She was looking at him funny. Again. This is how he would remember her. And, of course, this is how she’d remember him. Everything that had made her look at him like this in the last few weeks would become part of the mythology of when John disappeared.

If all went well, they would never know why he’d gone. Donna wouldn’t be able to say much after what they’d done with Roy’s body. Jonathan would never know how often they wondered about him, or how quickly they might move on.

When Donna had said she was in love, he liked her enough to play along. But it had been more than that. There was no reason not to admit that. The longer he was here, the more he’d wanted to be here. The illusion held together with attention, so he gave it attention. It felt secure and a little bit real. Eventually, the second possible avenue had come into view—sell the painting and stay. Why not? The choice was his. Except that it wasn’t.

The choice, it turned out, didn’t have anything to do with anyone in either version of his plan. And it was made in the open, caught on video for all the world—and Owen and Marcelline—to see. It was the decision of a rotten, twisted kid whose compulsions drove him right over the wants and needs of anyone who fell into his sights.

Jonathan shoved back on the urge to think of the people who might say the same of him. Truth was a composite.

He wanted to leave it with Carly on a better note, in case he didn’t see her when he came back for the painting. He wanted to be friendly, as they’d always been with each other. “Kinda thought you might sleep in. You must be so tired. It’s been a hell of a few days, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“You’ve got to take care of yourself, you know.”

“I know.” She didn’t look up from her cereal bowl.

“Hey. Don’t let all this stuff get to you. Don’t let it do anything to you. The world doesn’t make you. You make yourself.”

She nodded. “Out of what?”

“Out of what you want.”

“That’s what you do?”

“Yeah.”