I turn to Felix, or Richie, whatever his fucking name is. How can this be? I saw him dead. He was lying on the floor of the apartment with a gunshot wound on his forehead. I didn't look for too long, but I know what I saw.He's using a cane. The first thing I notice about him is his limp, then his shaved head. There's a white bandage around it. The left side of his face is drooping, and there's a scar on his forehead where the bullet hit. It's ghastly. No, why am I focusing on these things? He's alive, that's what I should be worrying about. He isn't dead. How can this be? I saw him die. I saw him."No," I shake my head vigorously. "This is some sick joke. No, you're dead. You're fucking dead!""You put far too much faith on that man," Felix says, completely ignoring my outburst. "He can't even shoot straight. Miraculous, isn't it? Do you know how many people survive a gunshot to the head? Five percent. Five fucking percent. And our father, he's one of the lucky ones."Lucky ones. I g
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