[There's a pause as he swallows, throat dry. Any other night he'd shrug off the comment, redirect the conversation back to what he'd meant to bring up, the good memories of knowing what the hell he was doing. Tonight, though...there's something in the air tonight that has it all spilling out into the open, even for a stranger.]

Not all of them did, I guess. I don't...I don't remember how many times he killed me. I wake up from dying all night in my dreams and I can't tell if it's a memory or if I'm imagining things that never happened.