Bab 21: Chapter 21

For thirty years of his life, Arik had fought away the madness. And that’s what it was—fucking madness. Imaginary creepings of pseudo-religion-inspired hallucinations, and fears granted entry into consciousness. If Arik paused too long to listen, if he let them get a finger hold, before sanity would understand what was happening, Arik would tumble headlong into the same terrifying pit that had consumed his father. He’d be the one mumbling fanatical bullshit masked as prayers, or pontificating with strangers over worlds that did not exist and abilities outside the realm of normalcy.

Arik was a businessman. He had savings and an investment portfolio. He had furniture from Italy and a car from Germany. He was normal and whole and it was really, really, really fucking important that he stay that way.

Wasn’t it?