Portia.
The chopper lifts off. A soldier straps me in as we veer sharply west and I catch my breath, grasping hold of the edges of the seat.
I hate this chopper.
David is sitting across from me, facing me. In his eyes I see his hate.
I can't still believe that Callahan is dead.
But I felt it, didn't I?
"How?" I ask him, my voice so small in the scream of the chopper's blades.
"Your lover killed him," David says.
"My... Fernando? He's not... Fernando killed him?"
"Don't pretend to care."
I'm not pretending but I don't bother to explain that. Callahan is dead. He used up all nine of his lives.
The chopper dips low unexpectedly and I gasp, my stomach lurching before that brick settles in again.
Dead.
Gone.
I'll never see him again and all I can think about is how much I'll miss
