I asked if Paddy was insured and he was, but his policy was heavily mortgaged. Martin Cunningham is getting up a collection for the boy, Ned Lambert trying to do something too. Great blow to his wife. She has the laugh now. No more of his bullshit, his parenting, his secrets, his drugs, his crack whores, his attacks on her peace, her mind, her normalcy, her justice, her safety, her money, her forward, her backward. She got burned. She got so burned. It was a damn bad hand she got dealt and what’s worse, in her universe time cleaves here. Everything will be about before it happened and after it all went down. And her boy. God only knows what. There’s no. I just. Oh god that sweet boy. Not yet. I can’t say it yet. But she might marry again. Me? No. Him? And Molly marry again? No. Him? Yet who knows. And then. And then. Somebody has to go first, underground. Lie no more in her warm bed. Here’s a cold one for you. I hope you’ll soon follow. Well, he is more dead for her than for me. Condole with her. Your terrible loss. Nobody to haggle with over the boy. My day, your day, you are late, he needs this, drop him off when. And then ineffably worse, what will this do? Oh that sweet boy. What does he understand? How much of this is he taking on? When we look at this kid down the road, what will be naked for all to see and then incomprehensible, what will he show only when he trusts, when he is most naked? He was there with his father dead. Three days alone. Both unconscious. Then wake up Daddy. Wake up. Nothing. Nothing for three days. But not nothing. I can’t. For three days bodies don’t do nothing, they do plenty. And the boy too little to know what to do. Please wake up Daddy. Here, I’ll open your eyes for you. Daddy? Did Paddy know? Did he lighten at the last moment? Did he recognize all he might have done? Could he see? And all for a shadow of nothing. Stop.