As I struggled to keep from sobbing too loudly and as I strapped myself into the brace, I might’ve heard the front door quietly open and shut. I left the light on, and my bedroom door stayed locked. I was unable to stack my pillows right so that the brace’s metal halo wouldn’t bite into my neck, and I might’ve heard the Datsun engine sputtering and coughing and drifting away.

I said, again, “Leave me alone,” though I don’t think I meant it.

I had to walk away after reading this chapter. I walked for hours. Do I have to enumerate the ways in which this has gone plummeting off the rails?

Okay. You’re clearly writing a novel, not a memoir. *Deep breath* In that spirit, I’ve decided to be flattered a character based on me gets a starring role. BUT—plus all the buts in the world—let’s go through this chapter’s unveracity somewhat briefly, just to be on the record.

The photo: After the funeral I essentially admitted to you, without coming right out and saying it, I had smooshed my thumb on the photo of the dead woman while it developed. Pretending the blobbed film represented the woman’s ghoulish leanings was a fun, silly game, one you were totally in on. At least, I’d thought so. And fucking hell it was a blue blob on the photo, not green. Not even close to green. People have reported seeing blue lights or orbs over Mercy’s and others’ graves. Are you not going to mention the slew of other New England vamps who were dug up in the late 1700s and 1800s? And it’s always blue blobs. Not green ones. Though now with the entirety of this chapter ringing in my head, I’m guessing you described the thumb blob as green so my green jacket could transform into … what … some sort of parasitic monster thingy that’s part of me? At some point within the NOVEL you’ll have to explain what that was, dude, even if your Arty explanation is, “I confess I smoked weed that night and it might’ve been laced with angel dust or something.” And you DID smoke that night, two different times. The first time after dinner with your parents, which I’m guessing was your first time ever. You didn’t tell me that. But, come on, you didn’t have to. I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you being high was why you stumbled over the top of the cemetery fence. I still don’t get how you, Mr. Floaty Legs, managed to get your shorts caught without impaling yourself on the sharp metal pikes. Lucky fella. Yeah, that batch of weed was way strong, and more than probably had some extra chemical enhancements. My bad?