She was born to be in the spotlight – rave reviews and curtain calls and cast parties, and men of all ages throwing themselves off bridges for her.

Or maybe they were spy stations, saying things in code—every fourth Hallelujah could mean the coup d’etat is one step closer; every Amen another reformer in shackles, being led down urinated hallways in the night.

Sure you’re all right?”The nurse. Maybe she was some kind of counselor, Chip thought, with some special kind of training, who gets sent around to deal with it when they find people staring out of windows.

If you couldn’t see the names, Pick thought, you could almost pretend that all of this was here for some other reason— any other reason. Someone dropping down from another planet, for instance. Give them a thousand guesses what’s under those markers, and boxes full of bones would never cross their minds.

She was born to be in the spotlight—rave reviews and curtain calls and cast parties, and men of all ages throwing themselves off bridges for her.

Like the paint cans in the basement, the file cabinets in the garage, the rusted push-mower in the shed off the porch— Goody lived in the corners, the creases, the tucked-away parts of their house and their lives. They never talked about it, but they knew. To talk about it was to admit it was there.

His eyes, barely open, were glazed and distant. There wasn’t a single vital function his body could perform for itself; machines crowded around him, hovering like apostles.

You don’t start learning until you start remembering; it’s the things that stay with you that become your guides. Just as the things you forget can become your demons.

He felt like the place was reeling him in now––slow and sure, like a kite, pulled by a hand that was as strong as it was unseen. Killing the lie that he was ever flying free in the first place.

They kissed goodbye—somewhere between a routine kiss and a wish that it wasn’t.