All my life, I longed for someone to treasure me, to place me properly, to preserve me with care. To spare me fright, spare me pain, spare me from drifting and wandering, spare me from having no branch to lean on.
But that person—I knew, I had always known—would never come.
—Egyptian Book of the Dead, circa 1800 BC
With a bang, the car door shut. O'Sullivan looked at Mills, who had returned with several thick books in his hands. One of their covers bore the name Freud.
"Are you really the guy I know?" O'Sullivan looked at him strangely.
"What?" Mills asked.
"Since when did you start reading?" O'Sullivan said.
"Shut up." Mills ignored him and began flipping through the books he had just bought from the bookstore.
O'Sullivan shook his head, stepped on the gas, and continued down the road.
After a minute or two of silence, O'Sullivan asked, "Who was the psychologist you saw?"
"Why are you asking?"
"A colleague of mine also shot someone dead. The court made him see a psychologist." O'Sullivan paused, then added, "You seem to be recovering pretty well."
"Do you mean that?"
"Of course!" O'Sullivan said firmly. "I don't want him to be left with a Shadow."
"I didn't see a doctor." Mills closed the book and watched the scenery flash past outside the window.
"Then how did you..."
"I met a priest," Mills said impatiently.
"A priest? You're a believer now?"
"He didn't succeed." After a long silence, Mills said, "Yoda said that freak thought he was a 'preacher,' but really, he was just a murderer. Nothing more. He hoped someone would imitate his crimes. If you weep because you have lost the sun, you will lose the stars as well. I don't want to be Darth Vader building a