Guilt. There in the background, even farther in the shadows, stood old reliable William Hagen. There in the background, holding a hand out to her, for...the remainder of this awful, long, rambling nightmare. John, playing with his son, Dan, while a sad-looking George stood nearby, reaching out to Dan but not being able to touch him, even as John faded into the distance. Ada, torn, holding her dying daughter, Charlotte, in her arms as a fading John pulled her toward him, toward a black hearse. ?I’m not going to do number seven,? I told him. ?There will be no tongue in my pussy today.?He looked at me, confused. It must have been confusing, because he knew how wet I was, and for days I had talked about how much I was looking forward to the grand finale. And I knew, for him, this final act of intimacy would be a stamp of – well, purpose – behind the torture he’d endured.I ran my finger over his top lip. ?Nope.? I said, sighing. ?Not that I don’t want to, Stephen. God, want to. I. More

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