Demon: a Memoir
“I stared at it until the driver leaned over and opened the passenger door. “Get in. We have to talk.”“I don’t have to do anything.”“Just get in!”When I didn’t move, he leaned farther across the front seat. He was ruddy skinned and thick set. His head was shaved and his brows might as well have been; they were so pale that they hardly appeared on his face except when the light caught them. A thick stainless steel watch escaped the ribbed cuff of his leather bomber jacket. “I tried to delay her. Startling her was supposed to slow her down.”I thought again of his strange stumble that day in the Garden.“And prevent her getting killed?”“That was the idea.”“Why would you do that?”“Because I didn’t want it interfering with our time together.”“You’re not even going to pretend that you cared about saving her life.”He paused. “No.”I believed him. That the expediency of his purpose and his personal convenience took precedence over a life was both brutal and, I believed, the truth.
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