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Summary
Patrick tolerates Pete circling him for a while, then when the prickling at the back of his neck gets to be too much, he pauses between sentences and says, “Stop pacing, man, it’s getting on my nerves. Don’t make me chain you to the radiator or something.”
“Wrong kind of monster movie, dude,” Pete dismisses immediately, voice echoing in the wide open space. He starts dragging his nails along the counter top. “And it wouldn’t work, anyway.”
“I’ve got a couple things I could try,” Patrick contends, thumbing the corner of his journal.
“Kinky. You got some mad scientist shit you wanna try on me? Don’t tell me you found a priest to bless some rope or something.” Pete’s teeth glint from the shadows under his hood. “Ooh, are we finally gonna get to the point where you dissect me? Lay me out on a table and cut me open so you can find everything that’s wrong inside me?”
“I’m not gonna dissect you.”
“Watch out, Rick, it’s ugly in there.”