V-Wars
KolektifV-Wars Quotes
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The prisoner laughed. It was short, bitter and ugly. “Me? What’s to understand? I don’t understand what happened. I don’t remember what happened.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” said the interviewer. “I think you do remember. And I think you want to tell someone about it. You want to understand it, just as I want to understand it.”
“No I don’t.”
“Yes,” said the interviewer, “you do.”
The prisoner looked at the mirrored surface of the reinforced window that separated him from the voice. “Then why don’t you come in here and talk to me face-to-face.”
The prisoner was using the word ‘death’ now. It was an encouraging sign. It showed that they were making a little progress.
The whole world collapsed down around him, freezing into place, choking him, wrapping bands of terror around his chest.
They’re going to fry me, aren’t they?” asked the prisoner. “The cops, the D.A. … they’re going to want me dead.”
“They want to understand you,” said the interviewer.
“Bullshit. You want to understand me. They’re going to ask for the death penalty. The electric chair. Or — what’s that other thing? Lethal injection? Isn’t that what they use in this state?”
It was junk.
Pure goddamn junk.
Michael Fayne wanted to throw the script across the room. He wanted to pour lighter fluid on it and watch it burn.
The prisoner shook his head. Dead was not a word he wanted to use.
But instead, against all sense, he reached for the bathroom doorknob.
Not wanting to. God, how he did not want to open that door.
His fingers closed around the handle and it turned with a faint click.He released it and let it swing inward.The blonde chick was there.
The rest of her was. Suddenly Fayne dropped to his knees as his stomach gave a sickening lurch and everything he ate last night came surging up. It shot from his mouth in a torrent that splashed everything in the bathroom. Not Chinese food from the Hong Kong Buffet. No solid food at all.
The vomit painted the entire bathroom in dark red.