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“A butterfly flyin’ after dark is an omen, means your death is maybe comin’ soon. Don’t
“Eggshells?” “A woman steps on eggshells means she’ll soon go mad.”
“Don’t step on no ants. We’ve had too damn much rain the past week. We don’t need no more.”
He keeps the .45 close at hand, because he’s seen a vision of Lucia Jones Stossel Roskin Rickenbah in which she eviscerates him with a knife.
They want not merely to destroy the woman psychologically and prevent her from murdering again, but also to terrify and torment her so that she feels keenly the sword of justice.
Justice has been twisted by culture and politics until its meaning is everywhere contested. Each of their missions is instead meant to bring truth and its consequences into the life of someone who has woven a persona of lies, thereby putting an end to his or her crimes.
However, he is a tool of the program, a status for which he is sure that he volunteered before amnesia was imposed
on him. A hammer should not argue with the carpenter who wields it.
Perhaps the work he’s doing now is compensation for failures in his past. In which case, brooding only distracts him from what he is obliged to do, and he is best advised to let the past be past, the better to fulfill his mission. Denial endures because it soothes.
The fat moon is past the apex of its arc, rolling westward like a coin following a groove toward a slot, and when it drops, perhaps the vending machine that is this mysterious world will dispense an item so rich in truth that humanity can begin to be cured by it.
There are more things in heaven and earth . . . than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
