His cheeks were sunken and his cheekbones were pressing against the taught skin. His clothes were crumbled, dirty, and vomit covered, his eyes hallow. He was hurt, dried blood ran a dark red streak down the side of his face and off his chin. His hand was bandaged poorly, fresh crimson beginning to drip from the wound underneath. His uninjured hand held his still healing ribs as he took shallow breaths. And yet...

He grinned.

“You’re crazy,” I said with disgust.

“Why, darling, how rude. I prefer the term ‘clinically impaired’.”

“That’s not a real thing.”

“Maybe not,” he leaned back with a grunt of pain, brown bangs hanging in front of his eyes. He steeled his look until it mimicked pleasure. “But I don’t get many choices now, so I’d at least like to choose this.” He took his injured hand and gingerly pushed his bangs away, giving me a smile.

“Fine. You’re clinically impaired.”

He sighed, leaning his head back against the wall in a look of contentment. “Music to my ears, love.” And then he licked his dry lips and waved his hand at me, “I assume you didn’t come here to argue about how to address my sanity.”

“No.” I stare at him cooly. I had come to get information out of him. He hadn’t told us much in the months we’ve held him captive and I hadn’t been able to question him since he was suddenly custody of the government. Right. Do all the hard work and when it comes to questioning him, it’s suddenly in the government’s hands. And they did a crap job at it.

At least, after many loopholes, much pushing, and flat out begging I’m here. I’ve gained clearance to talk with him. I didn’t realize all the emotions that would come with it. He’d been asleep when I walked up and all I did was stare, my heart breaking all over again. I could barely look at him. I had to feed on my anger so I didn’t break down. I had to keep my hands in my pockets so he didn’t see them shaking. Why couldn’t he just have stayed good?

“I’m waiting. You do want to speak to me, don’t you?”

I’m surprised he hasn’t tried to use our past against me. I guess we haven’t been talking for long. It’ll come. It always comes.

“Yes, I do. I—“

He held up a hand and interrupts. “You’re wondering about the murders and explosions, aren’tcha darlin’? Well just wait a second...” he began ticking off his fingers, a sick grin slowly spreading across his face.

Dread gripped my spine sharply, crawling it’s cold hands up my back. How did he know? I felt breathless. Why was he counting?

“What the heck are you rambling—“

I couldn’t finish. The floor began to shake and terrified, bloody-murder screams rose into the quiet air.