The Devil's Dream: Waking Up
“If it tasted good, he couldn't tell. He ate because he hadn't in thirty-six hours, no other reason. He looked past Art, out the glass window of the restaurant. A band rested on his ankle, and a twin one on Art's. Both were on house arrest, he supposed, and their houses were each other. If either one ventured more than two hundred yards from the other, the cops would be notified, and then the cops would come arrest Jake, who was still an appointed FBI Agent.
Things were...gray. That was the only word that could really describe the world Jake saw. The sandwich, the people walking on the sidewalk outside, the man sitting across from him, his own future. All of it lacked color. Just a hazy, unfocused lens of loss.
They still monitored Welch, waiting on him to move, and that was all they had. Nothing else. But still, a man was in critical condition because of Jake. He couldn't shake that.
Had he turned into the person they were hunting?
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