The world would see the same sunrise tomorrow.
The world wouldn’t care about the suffering Everett Larkin had endured at the hands of the firing squad, wouldn’t care if Larkin would even be alive to see the first early rays over the horizon, because the world was unaffected by morals and murder, beliefs and brutality.
The world simplywas.
But Larkin wondered if, perhaps, his interpretation of Nietzsche’s existentialism was too… literal.
Because yes, this world, with its seven billion people, really wasn’t perfect, nor beautiful, nor noble.
But Ira Doylewas.
And Ira Doyle was Larkin’s world.
“You still there?”
Larkin squared his shoulders and said into the phone, “Do you know what shape the Earth is.”
Noah’s uncertainty was nearly deafening.“What?”
“It’s spherical.”
“What are you talking about?”
“A sphere has no ends,” Larkin explained.“When someone says they’ll follow you to the ends of the Earth, that means they have every intention of being at your side forever.”
“Everett—”
“Ira hasn’t been skulking outside your apartment.”
“I know what I saw.”
“A blue Honda Civic.”
“Yes!”
“Honda Civics are among the ten most common cars driven in New York City.”
“Don’t start with your goddamn statistics.”
“What reason could Ira have for watching you.”
“Under normal circumstances, I’d say,you tell me, but you fucked first and asked questions never, didn’t you?”
“Stop it.”
“This isn’t the first time I’ve seen his car,” Noah protested, almost shouting now.“Everett, it’sscaringme.What if he does something?What if he hurts you?”
—a patient in the care of a father trained in the doctoring of childhood scrapes and bruises, seven stitches bandaged with such tenderness, such gentleness, his touch like butterfly wings—
Larkin rubbed his forehead, the gash he’d gotten from when Earl Wagner had shot at him outside Precinct 9 now a healed, slightly pink scar that’d fade with time.“Did you see him.”
“Not—no.I mean, he was in the car the entire time.”
“Did you get a plate number.”
“No.”
“Ira is not a vindictive, insecure, or jealous man.”
