"You fucker," Stone choked out. "Let—" The man Bartlett had called Jake, the one in white, shoved a needle into his arm.
"This could be the experience you've been looking for," Bartlett said. "You've been pursuing me like a dog chasing a car. Now we're about to see if you're man enough to handle the consequences when you've caught it."
You're damned right I'll handle it, he tried to say. But he wasn't sure if he actually got it said, the void was closing in so fast.
Thursday, April 9
10:33 p.m.
"Grant, is that you?"
Ally squinted in the semi‑dark of the room, finally making out the silhouette. He was sitting in a chair beside her bed, and his face was troubled, reminding her of when he'd had a bad day in high school.
Am I dreaming again? she puzzled. The clock on the wall told her that this was a late hour for whatever he was up to now.