Flick looked stricken, going from one friend to the trail of the other. He didn't want to leave Cole, but he couldn't be in two places at the same time. Why did this tale keep coming back. It was like he couldn't get away from it. He wanted to curl up and stare at the ground, remembering how the bucket of water sloshed over the blood wet floor, how he tried to clean it but just ended up making it worse. Finger painting in blood. And worse, he remembered finding out the night before. Washing the knife. Going back to bed.

Pell was wrong. Cal had made him just like he was, and now he was trapped in a nest of lies and pain.

"I'm going to come back for you. Or will that make it worse?" Flick asked the spirit-not-spirit. He wasn't sure.