“I beg to differ.”

“It wasn’t,” it explained reasonably. “That was a one-dimensional construct you put in my place and called by my name. It wasn’t me.”

Infuriated, he jabbed a finger at the obvious bullet holes on his guest’s chest.

“Diane . . .” - he choked on the name and forced it out again - “Diane shot you!”

“No, she didn’t,” it insisted. “Diane only made me bleed.”

He shrank back against the headboard, but didn’t pretend not to know what it was talking about. His chest ached in the same place Harry wore its holes. He was half-afraid to look down and see them repeated on himself.

It continued on, as if lecturing a child, “I left the picture that day she didn’t come. The day she sent her lover instead. That was the day you went back to the script -- to the persona I was supposed to be when the job started.”

It wasn’t a memory he wanted to recall, but it forced itself on him anyway. He’d been expecting her and Dannyboy had shown up instead. He’d known instantly, of course, from the smug possessiveness on Sorenson’s face when he mentioned her name, to the fact - and the meaning - of her absence. And, although he could tell that his lashing out had hit the mark, that knowledge gave him little satisfaction. Whatever she had originally felt, whatever she might have felt later, when it was over, was gone. Her active hatred he could endure. Not her disinterest.

“It took too long,” he murmured softly, his voice growing in intensity, “The whole job took too long, and it was her fault! I delayed it for her!” For her friend and her friend’s son . . .

His vision blurred, though he could still see Harry sitting quietly on the bed. He took a deep breath and tried to compose himself, hesitating before he could trust his voice to remain rational.

“I changed the plans to get them out,” he finally continued, “Because she wanted it. I risked my life for her.”

He blinked the tears away, seeing Harry do the same.

“She didn’t know that,” it said gently.

“No,” he agreed, “Not then. But it was in the letter. She should have read the letter . . .”