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“'I can't explain myself, I'm afraid, sir' said Alice, 'because I'm not myself, you see.'”

- Alice's Adventures in Wonderland

Present Day

Mull’s last meal consisted of what was allegedly some sort of creamed beef, on what appeared to be a soggy waffle.

Her looming death looked like a relief compared to taking so much as a single bite of that.

For his part, Oz looked equally willing to face the grim reaper rather than go within half-a-mile of the meal. He looked positively relieved as she pushed the tray away.

“I still don’t understand why they would even bring me a meal.” She wondered aloud. “It’s the middle of the night and I’ve got half-an-hour to live, tops. Do they really think that I’m peckish?”

“Maybe they think it will give you strength and calm you?” Oz guessed, eager to dismiss the idiocy of others, because he was a positive person.

“It’s just making me want to go all ‘Gordon Ramsey’ on the kitchen staff, Oz.”

“I’ve seen that show.” Oz declared with an obvious amount of pride, apparently happy to understand one of her pop culture references. “I respect his dedication to cleanliness in his kitchens.”

“I meant the swearing and insults he screams at people.”

“Oh.” Oz nodded, looking down at the floor, his pride in his TV knowledge fading. “Yes, he does seem to do that a lot too, doesn’t he.”

They sat in silence for a long moment.

Oz cleared his throat, trying to find a way to phrase something. “What… what is…” He paused. “…I mean, how can…” He trailed off again.

“I think what you want to ask is: ‘what the fuck is wrong with you, Mull?’” She offered. “That about sum it up?”

“No, I would never make light of your…” He trailed off again.

“’Psychosis.’” She finished for him. “It’s a nice way of saying: ‘completely fucking insane.’”

“Yes, I’m familiar with the term.” He shifted in his seat. “What I’m most interested in is…”

“Whether I’m really Natalie or Multifarious?” She guessed.

“Something like that, yes. And it would be nice to be able to complete a sentence of my own, incidentally. You are putting words into my mouth and I feel they are giving you a less than kind opinion of me.”

“Relax.” She closed her eyes again. “You’re golden.”

“So, who am I talking to now?”

“You’re talking to me, of course.” She tried to snort in amusement, but only ended up in almost choking to death. “Who… who else would be in my room?”

“And who is ‘me’?” He tried again.

She took on a pitying tone. “You’re Oz . Remember? Your name is Oswald D…”

“That isn’t what I meant.” He shook his head. “If you don’t want to talk about this, I will abide by your wishes, but I really feel like this is a discussion that we will need to have at some point.”

“My life is an open book. It’s nothing but gibberish and crayon doodles, but still open.

” She told him, weakly trying to rearrange herself on the pillow.

“You got a question, fire away while I’m still here to answer them.

I’m told you have about twenty minutes though, FYI. So you’d better hurry.”

“Who are you really? ”

“If I knew that, Oz, my life would be a whole lot simpler than it is.” She told him seriously. “Suffice to say that I’m always who I say I am.”

“So, you haven’t been…,” he shifted in his chair again, “…laughing at me, then? Because I didn’t recognize you at the store even though I see you almost daily?”

“I don’t recognize myself half the damn time, Oz. Can’t hold that against you. Besides, you’re always a bright spot in the day.” She opened her eyes to look at him, remembering something. “I tell you I finally got them to agree to retile the second floor of the store?”

“Excellent.” He nodded, looking pleased. “The disorderly variation of tiles has bothered me for some time.”

“Yes, I know it does.” In actuality, that was the entire reason why she’d pushed so hard for the change.

No one else in the entire world gave a fuck about the size of tile used on the floor of a department store, except Oz.

And if it bothered Oz, then it bothered Natalie.

And bad things happened to people and things who bothered Natalie.

He frowned. “If someone had told me that I’d be having a conversation with you about tile choices while you lay in bed covered in blood from your fight with a hired killer, I would have doubted their sanity.”

“Hired killers aren’t so tough. It’s the crazy bastards that do it for free that you gotta watch out for.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He reached for one of the containers of apple juice on the table, then glanced over at her again. “May I please have one of these, Miss Quentin?”

“Dude, you can mix it with tequila and inject it into your veins, for all I care. I won’t need it where I’m headed.”

“Just drinking it should be sufficient, thank you.”

“Although, now that I think about it, ‘where I’m headed’ probably has nothing but hospital food…” She shook her head, an act made especially painful because of her neck injuries. “I haven’t really done anything to endear myself to any higher powers.”

“Well, except Jorva.”

“Who the fuck is ‘Jorva’?” She snorted.

He shrugged helplessly, looking crestfallen again. “I… I don’t know.” He carefully opened the sealed container, then used a sanitary plastic straw to take a sip. “I’m still trying to understand your dissociative identity disorder, that’s all.”

“I don’t have multiple personality disorder, Oz.” She rolled her eyes in dismissal. “I just have… you know… a secret identity or whatever.”

“A secret identity who has an entirely separate life and who refers to herself in the third person.” He continued for her.

“Yep.”

“I’m afraid that’s called another personality.”

“Oh, it is not, you drama queen . You’ve read too many self-help books.”

“Yes, I’m afraid that it is.” He finished off his drink and carefully placed it in the trash, going through extreme precautionary measures to ensure that his hand came nowhere near the receptacle itself.

“Well, I don’t think I’m going to have time to explain it, because things aren’t looking so hot for the kid right now.”

Oz frowned. “Who is ‘The Kid’? ”

“Apparently, I am today.” She tried to shrug but it hurt too much. “Never called myself that before, because it’s obviously asinine, but whatever. Can’t help a shitty day, can you.” She cleared her throat, which still felt raw and bloody. “Anyway, rumor has it that I’m a dead psycho walking.”

“You… you will be fine.”

“Very convincing, Oz.” She cleared her throat again, this time using the sound to hide an involuntary cry of pain, as something in her chest began to hurt worse than ever.

“You’re a terrible liar. I bet you’ve never done anything wrong in your entire white bread little life, so it’s a new experience for you.

” She teased, hoping to change the topic and get him talking about something so that she didn’t have to.

She was circling the drain at this point.

She could feel it. It wouldn’t be long.

“I did a prison term once.”

“For?”

He was silent for a beat. “Sixteen counts of first degree murder, sixty-seven counts of robbery, nineteen counts of grand theft auto, thirty-three counts of arson, forty carjackings and ten counts of... something not pleasant.”

Her eyebrows rose in surprise. “You go upstate?”

“Yes.”

“Huh.” She nodded in approval. “Good for you.”

“I am pleased that you are pleased.”

“Anything else?”

“And… and I killed my cousin.”

“He deserve it?”

He was quiet for a long moment. “I don’t know.”

“Little secret you learn about life when you see it from as many angles as I have, Oz? Everyone deserves it.” She nodded in certainty. “You killed him, ya probably had a reason. And your reasons are nobody’s fucking business, because: anarchy .”

“There is an order to…”

“Fuck ‘order.’ I order at a restaurant or when I’m taking hostages.

” She rolled her eyes. “Life doesn’t have order, it’s just some shit that happens.

Because: anarchy .” She tapped her finger on the rail of her bed, then winced because the finger was broken.

“Dwelling on shit that’s happened distracts you from the shit that’s happening . ”

“Live for the moment.”

“Well, in my case, a moment is all I’ve got left.”

“You told me that before.”

“I did? ”

“Yes.” He leaned closer to her, his voice softer. “You said that your life was like one of those people in comedies who are misdiagnosed with a terminal disease, and then do insane things as a result because they no longer feared the consequences of their actions.”

“I hate those fucking movies.”

“I’ve never seen one.” He gently smoothed a hair from her forehead, which was an exceptionally rare physical contact from him.

Oz didn’t like touching other people. She knew that.

Which meant either that he knew she was close to death or that the disorderly tangle of her hair was sending his OCD into overdrive and he simply had to straighten it.

“That’s sad.” She frowned, genuinely feeling bad for him. She met his eyes, getting lost in the beautiful and unknowable depths of darkness they offered. “I got stabbed to death today and thrown off a roof, but glimpses of your depressing little life still make me sad.”

Oz smiled humorlessly, and looked down at the floor.

It was a small movement, but Natalie recognized it. Oz wasn’t going to argue with her about her chances of survival anymore.

“I’m so sorry, Oz.” She whispered, recognizing that he seemed to care more about her life than she did.

She was really going to die today.