The two other men stand sentry behind him near the side of the bed, and just like in the garage that day, their gazes are rooted to us. Locked on us. Heat burns in their eyes, and neither one of them makes any move to leave, or even to look away. I don’t want them to. They’re supposed to be here. Just like this. It’s always been all three of them. When they leave, a part of me dies.
