Danny Doucette has just finished killing his parents—carving out their hearts and eyeballs and eating them for dinner and cooking them rotisserie-style over a fire. Their bodies are bagged up behind him and their heads are in a black backpack he stole from a supply store when he was fourteen—killing the clerk and six people to get away.
Joe meets her gaze for the first time and sees how she knows what happened, the ghost of Wallace Wolfgang manifests behind her with a hand on her shoulder, his grey hair falling to his shoulders, his grey beard to his chest, and those eyes. Those icy, steel blue eyes.
Joe sprints down the tunnel and tries to outrun the voice, the cool, damp air washing over him and the mildew smell fading from his senses. Sweat runs down his neck and temples and gets in his eye, Joe wipes with the back of his hand and trips over a rock and falls to the ground, sliding a couple inches.