man and a bad one,” Nadine said, “has nothing to do with their jobs or the choices they make. What matters is the motivation—why they do what they do.”
“You are so in the tank for Sensory,” I said. “They must have paid you a queen’s ransom.”
“I won’t deny the paycheck, and I’ll leave it to you whether I sold out. But I’ve spent a lot of years learning about this agency, and I have to say, I believe in what you’re doing.”
“What I used to do.”
“What you were born to do.”
Dr. Nadine Crouch had been trying to reprogram me for days. Today she wore an ebony jacket and matching skirt over a white crepe blouse.
“You’re wearing long sleeves again,” I said. “Is it winter?”
She pursed her lips. “I must try to keep in mind how difficult this is for you. No, it’s Spring,” she said, “and I always wear long sleeves. When you’re my age, the arms have a tendency to sag.”
“You’ve got bingo arms?” I said.
“I beg your pardon?”
I laughed, thinking about it. “Like when the old ladies at the bingo parlor hold their cards over their heads and yell ‘Bingo!’”
“That’s a harsh observation.”
“Oh, please.”
“You’ll be old someday. See how funny it is then,” she snapped.
“Hey, I was just kidding around. There’s nothing wrong with your arms.” I grinned. “Or your legs, for that matter.”
“Let’s just get back to the topic at hand,” she said, trying not to smile.
She’d been showing me dozens of news articles depicting senseless, tragic deaths, in an attempt to convince me that innocent people die every day, and they’re going to die whether I kill them or not.
“I’m done with this,” I said.
“This is who you are,” she said. “You’re a tragic hero.”
“Me? A hero? You mean, like Superman?”
“Like Joan of Arc.”
“I remind you of a chick? Must be my sissy new name.”
“Fine, forget Joan. A tragic hero is an inherently noble, extraordinary person. He has a greatness about him that makes him seem almost super-human to others, and a purpose that serves mankind. He sacrifices his life for a great cause or principle.”
“I sense a however coming.”
“However, he has a fatal flaw that ultimately brings about his destruction.”
“And mine is?”
“Somewhere along the way, you’ve lost your ability to remain detached.”
“Have you met Callie?”
“I have, many times. She visits you regularly.”
“And Quinn?”
