As I waited in my car for Santiago, I pondered the guilt I felt about finding all these murdered people. It wasn’t my fault their bodies kept winding up in the buildings I was salvaging from; my rational mind knew that. But that poor man in the bedroom made six dead human beings that I had found, and it was beginning to feel personal.
I’d said as much to Mika and Santiago both, and both of them assured me that none of these terrible deaths were about me. “In fact,” Mika had said the last time I brought up the topic, “maybe you should think about it like this: You are actually giving people peace and helping their families find some closure.”
I had to admit she did have a point. I did find the experience of finding out the stories of these people to be really valuable to me, and not just
