Bones not only emptied the market, he ran back into that same hell—hell squared—a second time, to rescue the one who’d enslaved them. Why? This was my problem. As the days passed and the answer built, it weighed me down. Pressing on my soul. Then, when I was unable to keep it at bay any longer, it hit me all at once. A freight train. Because Frank, too, was enslaved. Unlike the masses, Bones found mercy for his executioner. Whereas I’d simply written him off.
