Patrick worked like a robot. The real him was floating somewhere in a black void while his body shoveled on its own. When they finished, he went to the kitchen to wash his hands and throw up in the sink. He was mopping his face when Troy sauntered in, a familiar gleam in his eyes. Patrick looked at him and as quickly looked away.
"Hello there, little boy." Troy came to a stop behind him. He stood so close that Patrick could feel the heat from his body, but he refused to turn and face him.
"I'm not a little boy. I'm twenty-five."
Troy leaned closer, his breath in Patrick's ear. "I was born in 1887, kid. You do the math." He ran his finger down Patrick's tense spine. "You're shaking. Are you that happy to see me?"
Patrick swallowed a thousand horrible memories. "Go away."
"Keep talking like that ……
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