Lind watched TV in his apartment and waited for the man to call with instructions. Stayed hidden and tried to fend off the visions. It was what he’d always done between assignments. This time, though, something was different.
The visions still came. Lind woke up every few hours on his couch, sweating, screaming, heart pounding. He closed his eyes and saw Showtime and Hang Ten and the targets, the man in Miami reeling from the gunshot. Saw blood and bone. Heard the screams.
He couldn’t escape them. They followed him everywhere, every night. He thought about what the man had said before he boarded the train, what the man had promised. Just a few more assignments. Then the man would save him.
Lind ate what remained of Caity Sherman’s dinner. He stared out his vast picture windows to the street and wondered what she was doing. He’d kept her phone number. He tried to imagine what it would be like to call her. He couldn’t. Every time he looked at the phone he felt the panic.
He knew he should call the man and tell him about the girl. He knew that the man would be angry, and that he’d tell him to kill the girl. So he didn’t tell the man. Somewhere inside him, for some reason, he didn’t want the girl to have to die.
He sat in his apartment and tried to fend off the visions, and he waited for the man to call with new instructions.