“Say it,” she said. “Do I think because you hear voices, you’re going to end up like the B-man, a random old homeless dude in a wheelchair, with a missing leg and rotting teeth, who needs a shower and drinks too much and collects cans and bottles and begs for spare change?” The edge of her voice was turning into a blade. Danger! “That’s what you mean, isn’t it?” she asked. Eyes narrowed. Watching him. He nodded, miserable. She studied him. He held his breath, his entire life in balance, waiting for her verdict. “No, Benny,” she said finally. “Most definitely not.” He felt a rush of relief, but
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