CHAPTER TWELVE
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EPILOGUEA car horn honks behind me and I jump. I've wandered on to the road without realising it. I move on to the footpath and wave a hand in apology as a beat-up VW full of grinning teenagers rattles past me.
It's been three and a half months and I'm still walking around in a cloud of grief. Anger is never far below the surface. Anger that McGill didn't shoot me as well. At first I couldn't work out why. Did he want to lull me into a false sense of security, then come back and finish me off? Then it came to me—death would give me release. Better to keep me alive and make me suffer. Even though he's not here to witness it, the satisfaction of retribution is still his.
I hit the bottle for a while and sometimes I'd stagger out into the road in the middle of the
