Kill for Me, Kill for You

by Steve Cavanagh

Stronger than lover’s love is lover’s hate. Incurable, in each, the wounds they make.

Revenge, the sweetest morsel to the mouth that ever was cooked in hell.

“I didn’t kill your daughter.”

“It becomes different. More distant, I guess. The pain changes. It dulls. It’s always there, but it doesn’t always rip your heart out, you know?”

Mourning is sometimes a dull ache that won’t leave, and other times it’s like pricking your finger on a needle hidden in a shopping bag.

“I killed him last night. While you were in the group meeting. I’ve kept my promise. Now it’s your turn.”

Amanda was coming around to the view that what was legal and what was right were often two different things.

You’re not paranoid if there’s a good reason to be afraid.

“No, little lady,” said Donnelly. “When the paramedics took away the vic, he still had a pulse. This guy ain’t dead. If he makes it, he can just tell us what happened.”

Emotional touchstones in life create powerful memories that can live large again with a smell, a word, or a feeling.

“If you were someone who cared about Quinn, would you want the Muppets investigating this case?”

If there’s enough guilt and shame, it becomes a fire. It consumes flesh like burning gasoline.

There are two common responses: either they don’t want anyone to ever hurt like they do, or they want everyone to hurt like they do.”