"Then it seemed like an actual weight, a physical load, lifted from my mind when the Things died in me," he added, tapping a tumbler of the amber fluid on the table between them. "I'm sure I saw their bodies fading away that last time. There were a half-dozen shadows on the floor and then they disappeared."
Mallory nodded agreement. "I saw shadows, too, when we poured that liquor down a couple of my men. But what I can't figure is why your Thing jumped back and forth. First you had it. Then you gave it to me, and took it back again."
"I guess they just couldn't help it, Bob. Maybe it was instinctive, or perhaps they needed to change hosts lest they became rooted into one and died with it."
Knight stared at the glass, picked it up. He looked quietly at Mallory. "How's Mary Jo, Bob?"
Mallory grinned. "I wondered how long it would be before you asked that. So I suppose I'd better say it now."
He picked up his glass, clicked against Knight's. "Here's to Faith," he said. "Your Faith, Kent Knight."
"My Faith?"
"Mary Jo didn't know how much she loved you until you walked out so gallantly. But," he added ruefully, his green eyes flickering, "I found out what a smash climax you gave her. So, since then I've been looking for a Faith like yours.
"Honestly, I don't see what the hell she sees in you. You're about as romantic as an old shoe. But...." He drank in one swift gulp.
Kent Knight only stared out into space, seeing nothing for the joyous tears in his eyes.