Chapter 50

Why was Bruno Grigade inside the bedroom with me, the same room that I had shared with Casey, night after night? How did he find his way inside the bungalow, and during the fire? I couldn’t understand. Nor could I understand why he held a plastic gasoline tank that couldn’t have been any bigger than a breadbox, in his right hand.

I had to be dreaming. Was that moment real or like the fiction that Margo Pagino created day after day, laboring over a vintage Underwood that still clicked and clacked? Half of me believed I had lost my mind, reaching into the depths of insanity. The other half believed that I had already died and would soon arrive in a less conventional place called Afterlife. What? Who? Where? Why?…