I didn't anticipate that he'd ask that.
Crossing my arms and bumping the back of my head softly against the closed door behind me, I thought of the day I saw in a vision of what exactly had happened to Henry at the hands of Dr. Carell.
How I got into the bathroom inside the center and got rid of the ankle monitor and the bracelet.
How I conjured up dark clothes and teleported to Dr. Carell.
How I, contrary to my actual memories, didn't break his neck but ripped his arm off when I saw him sitting at his desk.
How he turned and screamed deafeningly when I grabbed his jaw and pulled it off.
How the blood splattered inside the small room, how the screaming subsided, and he lost consciousness, followed by me smashing his torso until he died for good.
How I gathered his parts in a conjured-up trash bag and teleported into the desert.
