The strange thing was that it did not hurt as much as he expected.There was the burning in his throat, and a heaviness in his chest that felt like someone sitting on it, but those were already becoming distant, like a radio in another room. What he noticed most was how loud everything had become. Mark's voice, somewhere above him, saying Dad over and over. The doctor's calm, low murmur. The sound of three thousand people trying not to breathe. Every noise had edges now, sharp and bright, and underneath them the carpet was soft against the back of his head. It smelled of dust and cleaning fluid. Somebody had mopped it, he thought. Somebody had been careful.His eyes would not stay on anything. They drifted across the ceiling, the long white lights, the underside of a balcony, and then they found a face, and held.The boy was standing over him with his hands at his sides.Not a boy. Epstein corrected himself with an effort. A young man, in a plain jacket that he had worn three days run

Austin did not stand right away.He sat at the end of the row with his hands on his knees and his jaw set, and the people on either side of him slid away along the seats until he was alone in a small bare pocket of empty chairs. He had gone gray earlier in the evening and had stayed that way, the color of someone who has been awake for three days. When he finally got to his feet, he did it slowly, with great care, as if the floor might not hold him."I. I think there's been a mistake," he said."I don't think so," Agent Whitlock said.She took a thin folder from one of the agents behind her and opened it. She did not need to look at it. She had read the pages so many times in the past week that she could have recited them with her eyes shut, but she held them open anyway, in the plain view of every camera in the hall, because she had been told that what was about to happen ought to be seen."Mark and Austin," she said. "I'm placing you both under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder

Austin did not stand right away. He sat at the end of the row with his hands on his knees and his jaw set, and the people on either side of him slid away along the seats until he was alone in a small bare pocket of empty chairs. He had gone gray earlier in the evening and had stayed that way, the color of someone who has been awake for three days. When he finally got to his feet, he did it slowly, with great care, as if the floor might not hold him. "I. I think there's been a mistake," he said. "I don't think so," Agent Whitlock said. She took a thin folder from one of the agents behind her and opened it. She did not need to look at it. She had read the pages so many times in the past week that she could have recited them with her eyes shut, but she held them open anyway, in the plain view of every camera in the hall, because she had been told that what was about to happen ought to be seen. "Mark and Austin," she said. "I'm placing you both under arrest for conspiracy to commit m