She would buy a Greyhound ticket to New Orleans, make a kill or two, then travel into Texas and seduce some wandering man into taking her to Mexico, feast upon him once they got there. That poor child, trying to escape, and not knowing how. She looked at him as he fingered a small switch on the side of the helicopter’s door. Sheila had dropped glaring hints that she knew, which Chuck tacitly acknowledged with a lowered gaze. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. Indeed, he told me nothing at all.
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