I want to go home, he whispered. A barely audible whisper. Almost a silent prayer. Almost. Don’t let him have heard. Don’t let him have heard.
Well, I want a million dollars, he sneered.
Hold it back. Hold it back. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Count backwards. 10…9….8…
Oh! Counting backwards, are you? Think it will help, do you? Nothing will help. Nothing will save you. No one can save you.
And the wild, maniacal laughter that had haunted his dreams had become a reality.
The Final Stand, page 187