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〃Go look in the mirror if you don't believe me。〃
〃No 。。。 no 。。。 I know who you are。〃 Bobby's shoulders slumped。 He looked ancient； desolate。 〃How old are you？ Nineteen？ Twenty？〃
〃Twenty…five。〃
〃Do you still draw？〃
〃Goddammit！〃 Trevor remembered the drift of shredded paper on the mattress； the pillow； their bodies。 〃You ought to know！〃
Very slowly； Bobby shook his head。 〃No； Trev。 I don't know anything anymore。〃 He looked up again； and Trevor saw by the naked pain in Bobby's face that it was true。 A terrible suspicion drifted like a cold mist into his mind。
〃Why didn't you kill me？〃 Trevor asked。 He had been waiting so long to say those words。 Now they sounded flat and lifeless。
Bobby shrugged helplessly。 Trevor recognized the gesture； it was one of his own。 〃I just kept sitting here；〃 Bobby went on； 〃looking at your drawings on the wall； wondering how in hell I could hit you with that thing； wondering how I could bury that chunk of metal in your sweet； smart brain； thinking how easy they'd been pared to you。 They were like anatomy lessons。 The body is a puzzle of flesh and blood and bone 。 。 。 you understand？〃
Trevor nodded。 He thought of the times he had wanted to keep biting Zach； to keep pulling and tearing at Zach's flesh just to see what was under there。 Then he thought of fighting at the Boys' Home； of slamming the older kid's head against the tiles of the shower stall。 Of tendrils of blood swirling through warm water。
〃And when you kill the people you love； you watch what your hands are doing； you feel the blood hitting your face； but all the time you're thinking Why am I doing this？ And then you get it。 It's because you love them； because you want all their secrets； not just the ones they decide to show you。 And after you take them apart； you know everything。〃
〃Then why 。 。 。〃 Trevor could hardly speak。 It was true what he had suspected all along： Bobby hadn't loved him enough to kill him。
〃Why did I leave you out？ Because I had to。 Because I sat here watching you sleep； thinking all that。 And then you came in； just now。
〃And I can't do it； Trev。 If I have any talent； any gift left at all； it's in you now。 I can kill them； I can kill myself； but I can't kill that。〃
He picked up the hammer again； stood； and walked toward Trevor。
〃Wait！〃 Trevor put out his hands； tried to touch Bobby。 Bobby stopped just out of reach； and his hands closed on air。 〃Are you seeing 。。。 Is this 。 。 。〃 He didn't know how to articulate what he wanted to ask。 〃What about Birdland？ What happened to it for you？〃
〃Birdland is a machine oiled with the blood of artists；〃 Bobby said dreamily。 His tone was as detached as if he were giving a lecture。 He came closer； held out the dripping hammer。 〃Birdland is a mirror that reflects our deaths。 Birdland never existed。〃
〃But it's right outside that window！〃 Trevor yelled。 〃It's where I just came from！〃
〃Yes；〃 said Bobby； 〃but I stay in here。〃
He pressed the hammer into Trevor's hand。 Then he spread his arms wide and wrapped Trevor in an embrace that felt like warm damp fog。 His outlines were blurring。 His flesh was softening； melting into Trevor's。
〃NO！ DON'T GO！ TELL ME WHY YOU DID IT！ TELL ME！！！〃
〃You don't really want to know why；〃 he heard Bobby's voice say。 〃You just want to know what it felt like。〃
Trevor felt the viscous fog seeping into his bones； curling up in his skull； blotting out his vision。 He felt blood running down the hammer handle； coursing warm and sticky over his fingers； mingling with the blood from his own scars。 From the corner of his eye he saw his drawings fluttering on the wall like trapped wings。
〃Tell me；〃 he whispered。
You're an artist； the voice whispered back。 It was deep inside his head now。 Go find out for yourself；
Then the world blinked out like a blown bulb。
Chapter Twenty Two
Zach was plummeting through cyberspace。 Imagine； he thought dazedly； I never needed a puter at all； you can get here just by drinking a cup of coffee and having someone hit you in the head hard enough to knock your eyeballs out。
He was going faster and faster； at the speed of light； of information； of thought。 Beyond that there was no consciousness； no identity。 There were no federal spooks； no United States； no New Orleans or Missing Mile； no one named Zachary Bosch。 There was no such thing as a crime； no such thing as death。 He felt himself dissolving into the vast web of synapses； numbers； bits。 It was plex but unemotional； easy to understand。 It was forting。
It was so cold 。 。 。
Zach struggled against the web in sudden panic。 No！ He didn't want to stay here and be assimilated into cyberspace； or Birdland； or the void…whatever it was； he did not want to bee a small part of a greater good or evil； a streamlined fragment of information that meant nothing on its own。 He wanted his troublesome individuality； with all its attendant difficulties and dangers。 He wanted his body back。 He wanted Trevor。
With every particle of will left in him； Zach strained toward the waking world。
He felt a cold electric flash； became aware of his body's weight and the mattress under him； felt his heart hammering in his chest。 He was unfortably sure that it had just started back up。 Blood was draining from his nasal cavities into his throat； nearly choking him。 His head buzzed and throbbed。 His hands felt as if someone had gone at them with coarse sandpaper。
Either everything he remembered had really just happened； or this was one intense motherfucker of a trip。
Zach forced his eyes open and saw Trevor sitting on the edge of the bed staring vacantly at the opposite wall。 His tangled； sweat…soaked hair streamed over his naked shoulders and down his back。 His arms and hands were still bloody； but the scars seemed to have closed。
Clutched in his right fist was the hammer； glistening with blood and other matter。 Zach knew Trevor hadn't hit him： if all that gunk was his； he wouldn't be breathing now。 But what had Trevor done？ And what did he think he had done？
He propped himself up on one elbow； felt his head spinning； his vision going blurry。 He realized he had lost his glasses somewhere。 〃Trev？〃 he whispered。 〃Are you okay？〃
No response。
〃Trevor？〃 Zach's hand felt rooted to the mattress。 He managed to lift it a few inches； extend it for what seemed like miles。 His fingers just brushed Trevor's thigh。 The flesh felt cold and smooth as marble。 Zach's fingertips left four parallel smudges of blood on the pale skin。
He had scraped the hell out of his hands。 There was nowhere in the house he could have done that。 Of course not； he thought； it happened falling on the sidewalk in Birdland； trying not to bust your teeth out on the curb。 Joe pushed you； remember？
And if he had met Joe； what had Trevor seen？
He pushed himself closer to Trevor； tried to sit up。 〃Trev； listen； you didn't hurt me。 I'm fine。〃 A wave of dizziness washed over him； threatened to bee nausea without further notice。 〃Are you okay？ What's going on？〃
Trevor turned。 His eyes were like holes drilled in a glacier； black gouges going down deep into