Tuesday, March 26th
Michael picked Patrick up the next night. Pale and quiet, he gripped the steering wheel as though it was a life preserver. The silence was worse than Michael's usual whining, so Patrick asked, "How was the trip?"
Michael didn't take his eyes off the road. "If by trip, you mean slaughter, then it was perfect. We marched into their den and we. we f*****g killed them." He tightened his hold until his knuckles turned white. "I f*****g killed people, Pat."
Something sick and watery settled in Patrick's stomach. "And you think I haven't? With those stupid parties?"
Michael shook his head. "Not like that. Those people are drugged; lifeless. They lie there and you don't really kill them. When you leave them, they're alive, and when you come back, they're dead, like at a hos
