But then, it depended on whose definition you went by. “Did you mean for him to die?” he asked defiantly.
Michael’s head was bowed, his face almost hidden by that coal-black curtain of hair and the cloaking shadow it cast. “No,” he whispered. He looked up, suddenly. “But perhaps it’s in my nature to kill.”
“No,” Don told him fiercely. He would not, could not, believe anyone beyond redemption. “Maybe you are a demon, but you live here as a man. I refuse to believe you don’t have free will, just like the rest of us.”
“A man?” Michael’s smile was mocking, but there was despair in his eyes. He was standing right on the very edge of the parapet, now, his back to the ten-story drop. “Is this a man, Donnie?”