“The name of the Star,” he repeated. “Very good! The Star newspaper. Of course now, there are much more effective means of delivering news—constant news, instantly updated. I am the story. I am the star. I am in control.”

Newman had never seemed crazy to me before that moment, but something had peeled away, revealing the raw energy underneath. He had what he wanted, and he had nothing left to fear.

He was going to kill me.

I experienced a kind of tunnel vision, a hollow sound in my ears. I could see only him. He was flicking the knife, casually slicing into the top of one of the chairs.

“Will you at least leave Wexford?” I asked.

“It’s a reasonable request.” He shrugged.

“Rory!” Boo said. She tried to wheel over to me, but I put up my hand.

“Not here,” I said. “Please. Not in front of her.”

“Where then?”

“There’s a bathroom down the hall.”

I was saying these words as though they made sense.

“As good a place as any,” he said. “I’ll follow you this time.”

There was no point in saying good-bye to Boo. I just nodded and walked out of the room and into the hall. I couldn’t hear Newman behind me, but I could feel his presence. I opened the bathroom door and stepped inside. He followed and locked it behind us.

The slash came as soon as I turned around to face him. It was so fast that I didn’t even have time enough to look down and see what the knife was doing to me. My shirt instantly filled with blood. I didn’t feel anything. I just stared at the increasingly large red stain all over my front. I watched it lengthen and widen. I couldn’t feel any pain, which seemed odd.

Standing up was suddenly an issue. My body was cold all over and my legs shook. I started to slide down the wall. As I sank down, my new angle provided me with a very good view of the blood pooling in my clothes, so I resolved not to look at that ever again. I focused on Newman, on the studious calm of his face.