The water splashes onto his skin with a predestined purpose, hitting the flesh like tiny balls, exploding as they hit their target. The water washes away the blood, and carries it to the enamelled surface of the troth, and then down the drain.
“Do you think, he’ll remember?” Deborah asks, as she casts a glance up at Stevie.
She raises an eyebrow and presses her lips tightly together.
“What do you mean? He’s dead, he ain’t going to remember!”
“I don’t mean now, I mean on the other side. Do you think he’ll remember what I did, what WE did?”