"Are you suicidal, Jane?" he asks me calmly. "Are you?" he repeats, the volume of his voice increasing. "Because I sense that you may be. Why else would you continue to call a man who has expressed in no uncertain terms his disdain for your calls? Are you trying to oblige someone to kill you so you don't have to, Jane? Is that the master plan, Jane? Too goddamn craven to commit the act yourself?" I stifle a laugh at the implication that I am thoughtful enough to execute that intricate a suicide.
