Mark nodded even though she couldn't see. He'd suddenly lost any desire to talk, and his plans for a perfect day washed away with the stream. The memories. They never let him go, not even for a half hour. They always had to rush back in, bringing all the horror.

The dead pull the living down.

He felt more crypts cracking open inside of him; the stench he smelled was not decayed bodies but decayed memories, and that was somehow worse.

We're all hunters in my family, you know. Deer, ducks_damsels.

There's no consciousness without senses and memories.

Olivia, I__l put on a show in front of your friends, at your work, whenever we__e in public. But I__ growing tired of pretending when we__e alone. Don__ tempt me.