It’s okay, the dog says. It’s over. You’re safe—at least for now.

“Safe?” I say. “What does it matter? Geordie’s dead and look at Lizzie. Nothing’s ever going to be okay again.”

Geordie’s . . . dead . . . ? Lizzie says.

I can feel the weight of sorrow swelling inside me again and can only manage to give a slow nod. But then something occurs to me.

“Unless . . . “ I say. “This is all happening somewhere in my head, right?”

The dog nods. So it appears.

“So maybe it’s not real. Maybe we’ll just wake up and Geordie will be fine and Lizzie gets her mouth back and we’ll be free of Del . . .”

My voice trails off as she shakes her head.

It’s not that easy, she says. Not as long as you leave the memory of your brother sitting in some dark, hidden place of your mind.

“But what am I supposed to do? How can I stop that?”

My hearing’s coming back because my words are now louder than that weird sound like bells ringing in my cars.

I don’t know.

I make myself look at Lizzie.

“I’m so sorry,” I tell her.

She shakes her head. You didn’t bring me here.

I suppose I should be surprised that she’s got the talking-in-your-head thing down, too, but I don’t think anything can really surprise me anymore. But the fact that she can still communicate, even without a mouth, makes me feel a little hopeful until I realize that she still can’t eat. What’s she going to do if we ever manage to get back? Spend the rest of her life on an IV just to get nourishment?

This is the bogans’ fault, she says. If it wasn’t for you and Honey, who knows what that monster would be doing to me now.

So that’s the dog’s name. Honey.

My arm is still around her and she stays close to me, making no sign that she wants me to remove it.

I look down the stairs to where Del still lies in a pool of blood.

“I keep expecting him to get up again,” I say.

He probably will, Honey says. Unless . . .

Her voice trails off, and I think of all the well-meaning advice about forgiveness, usually delivered by someone who’s never had my kind of life, who only sees the world through rose-coloured glasses.

“Unless what?” I ask. “This isn’t going to turn into some bullshit after school special, is it? You know, where I’m just supposed to forgive him and everything’ll be fine.”

No, she replies. You’re supposed to forgive yourself for thinking you were to blame for what he did to you. For thinking you deserved it.

“Oh, man. You don’t think I feel like that, do you?”

The dog turns her head so that she’s looking right at me.