Gideon reached beneath his shirt and pulled out a thin leather cord.
A small brass key hung from it.
He unlocked the chest.
Inside were neatly folded shirts, several documents wrapped in cloth, an old revolver, and a small wooden box.
Gideon lifted the box.
He carried it to the table.
Then he opened it.
Rosalie forgot to breathe.
Inside lay another black fragment.
It was nearly identical to the thing she had just pulled from his ear.
Gideon had found the first piece when he was seventeen.
He explained everything in writing.
The process was slow.
He would write a few sentences, pause, rub his temple, then continue.
Rosalie sat across from him while the storm deepened outside.
When I was nine, I became very sick.
She looked up.
