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Hector felt the fury bubbling up to the surface again. He didn’t even try to put it into words. That was probably what Geoffrey wanted him to do.

Geoffrey just kept talking. “They could be quite scary, these hallucinations. One time, when you were just a baby, he saw a bomb. Strange, right? Just this simple canister with a digital timer on it--very obviously reminiscent of his days spent defusing such things, not that he ever told you about that, either. The point, however, is that not only was it not a bomb, but it was actually you!” Geoffrey laughed. “He almost threw you out of a window! If you hadn’t started crying, he might not have snapped out of it in time. And he never told your mother about it.”

“...Why are you doing all this?” Hector finally asked. “Why do you enjoy seeing people suffer?”

“Hold on, I’m not finished with my story. See, your father used this condition of his as an excuse to keep you at arm’s length, under the pretense that he was afraid of hurting you or some such nonsense. He convinced himself that this was the case. But really, the truth of the matter--the thing he would never admit--was that you simply did not interest him. Because he didn’t love you. Isn’t that something?”

Hector’s chest trembled. “...Why would I believe anything you say?”

“Because it’s so surprising! I may not be human, but even I know what love feels like. And your father never felt it. Well, not for you, at least. Your mother, sure. He was fiercely in love with her. But you. You were always just. Sort of. There.”

Hector fell silent again. He tried to think. How to save Ms. Trent. How to keep Sheryl safe. Anger got in the way of every burgeoning idea.

“So that is why I’m curious. Was this mutual? Did I just waste my time? Or did you actually love him?” He laughed again. “Or maybe you hated him! Perhaps I did you a favor in killing him! How fantastic would that be?!”