“Here you go, sir. The steaks should be out shortly.” “I need another whiskey,” Marissa said. “Make it two,” I added. I blink. Another flash of memory. Was it true? Or is that just a random memory of me talking to someone who got sucked into a bogus doomsday theory? No. It’s real. I’m terrified just thinking about it. And it’s not just sudden terror. It’s a cozy, comfortable terror with a permanent seat at the table. I’ve felt it for a long time.
