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"You don't know me," says Kendra. "You don't know my life."

"And you think you know mine?"

And now he's not on the bench. Now, he's right there, standing over her, so fast she has to spend a second reconstructing what just happened in her head.

'He's where they get it from,' thinks Kendra, not the Botfly. Yeah, he may have just climbed a mountain, and yeah, he may have been shot a few times, but that speed, that horrible economy of movement, it's from him.

"You think you know all about me," he says, inches from her face. "Oh, Gregor, he is crazy person, he talks to angels. Yeah? Well I do."