“The second rule of demonology: one cannot master what one still fears.”
Greg was flat on his bed, staring at the ceiling. It was all going to be over, soon. It wouldn’t be all that much longer, and people were going to start waking up. They were going to see that the entire school had been turned upside down, and what would happen next he couldn’t even imagine. Would it be immediate violence, panic turning to bloody rage? Or would there be a witch hunt first, trying to find someone to pin it all on? When they found him—and he did not doubt that it would happen—would it be over quickly? How long would he suffer before the blackness swelled up and carried him away for the final time? Who would break first, and admit their guilt to the world? As much as Kevin heaped the blame on Carl—and Carl had fucked up, it had to be said—Greg knew that it was ultimately his fault.